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Madison may not sense my humor, but Ms. Sadie smiles, steely blue eyes entertained. “Basically, yes.”
My confidence soars to a new level. I grin at Madison and wink, draping my arm over her chair. “He takes after his father.”
Madison rolls her eyes, her lips thinned with irritation. She pushes me back in my seat next to her. “Stop it. This is serious.”
While I’m giving myself varying mental high-fives and fist pumps, Madison looks more concerned.
“Is it a problem the girls like him?” I can’t miss the concern in my wife’s voice, and I think maybe I should be taking this more serious than I have been.
Ms. Sadie considers Madison’s question and then shakes her head. “Well, normally no, but since we’re on the subject, it seems the girls have taken on a very possessive relationship with Callan. They are constantly competing with each other for his attention.” She’s back to talking with her hands. “During recess, Callan and the girls tend to gravitate toward the picnic benches where they have started a sort of origami club. It seems that the girls have taken on the task to try and outshine the other with more creative origami shapes in an attempt to impress Callan. There have beenseveralincidents of sabotage.”
Sabotage? I don’t know about you, but I’m picturing little girls with pigtails boxing next to the flag pole over my son’s attention. I guess maybe I don’t know anything about little girls.
“These are first graders doing this? Shouldn’t they be playing tag and swinging?” You have to admit you were thinking it too. What kind of six- and seven-year-olds act like this?
“And it’s not Callan’s fault the girls like him,” Madison notes.
“No, not at all.” Ms. Sadie smacks my head. “Oh, I’m sorry. I get a little excited when I talk.”
Ya think? Jesus.I rub the side of my head and stare at Madison. She probably paid the teacher to hit me.
Madison snorts, her laughter contained and waits for Ms. Sadie to explain. “You were saying?”
“I wanted you to be aware Callan has been asked to give his account of certain incidents, and while he has been honest, I can tell that it stresses him out when this occurs,” Ms. Sadie explains, finally folding her fucking hands on the table with a gentle sigh leaving her lips. “He just wants everyone to be happy and get along.”
And there you have it. While our son is far more advanced than other kids, he cares. He wants everyone to get along, including his mother and me.
“Does he get along with the boys?” I ask. After what I saw last night, I’m worried he doesn’t have any friends.
Ms. Sadie frowns. “It’s not often I see him with the boys. They tend to gravitate to the ones who play sports at recess and Callan doesn’t seem to have any interest in joining them. I think it’s easier for him to relate to the girls. They’re thoughtful and creative just like him.”
So he doesn’t have any friends but girls. While I wouldn’t necessarily describe this as a problem, I get why Madison and his teacher would be concerned.
I’m staring at Madison wondering how I can make this right when she glances over at me, and then turns her attention toward the teacher. “Well, thank you for your time.”
Ms. Sadie hands Madison a brochure on the school she suggested. “I just want you guys to consider it. I haven’t talked to Callan about it. I wanted to meet with you first, but I think you should look into it. Maybe take a tour and speak with their guidance counselor.”
Madison and I stand, together, and make our way silently to the parking lot. When we’re beside my truck, our eyes meet. “Is he weird, Ridley?”
She’s concerned and worried, and I don’t blame her. You don’t set out to have a child who’s different from others. It’s hard, and you feel bad for the child because they can’t relate to anyone, sometimes you included.
Thinking this is one of those times she wants me to comfort her, I lean in and pull her into a hug. She lets me, but her muscles tense. Maybe it’s the concern weakening her distaste for me but she lets me hold her, the hot Arizona sun beating down on our faces. “Yeah, he’s weird but that’s okay. He owns it and I think it’s to be admired.” And then I laugh. “Now Noah, he’s got issues. He stabbed me this morning.”
Madison jerks back. “With a knife?”
“No.” I silently wonder if stabbing is something he does often. The look on her face tells me this isn’t the first time. “With a GI Joe. It hurt.”
“Oh, well I’m sure you’re fine.” She blows me off like my ruptured eardrum means nothing. “He stabbed Nathalie on last week with a pencil.”
Nathalie is Madison’s beside from and I don’t have any sympathy for her or that she was stabbed by my son. In fact, I intended on high-fiving Wolverine when I get home tonight. You’ll understand when you meet Nathalie. Until then, I don’t even want to discuss her. It’ll just piss me off.
“Callan’s not weird, Mad.” I lean back against my truck, my hands falling away from her. “He’s special, and we have to make him understand it’s not something he did wrong.”
She nods as though she agrees, tucking her hair behind her ear. My eyes are drawn to her neckline, my thoughts then moving onto what I’d like to do to that neckline with my mouth. “I’m going to be late tonight. Can you pick the boys up from Trisha’s house?”
I’m no longer thinking about Madison’s neckline. I’m sweating in fear.
Remember how I said I rushed into daycare this morning and right back out?