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“Miss G?” His voice was sleepy, content. “Can I call you mom?”
My heart seized as had my breath. There’d been a handful of times over the years when he’d slipped and called me mom. I brushed it off, never making a big deal about it.
This was different.
I wanted to tell him no because there would be a day in the near future when I wouldn’t be his mom, but he would never understand.
He shouldn’t have to understand.
What a mistake this was.
Instead, I nodded. Unable to use my voice out of fear. Out of weakness.
“Mom,” he said trying it out. I looked at him, my eyes watered from love and sadness. I loved this little boy more than anything. “Hmm?”
“I’m glad you’re living here now. It feels more like I have a real family now.”
My throat tightened. “What makes it feel like a real family?”
He considered this seriously, snuggling deeper into his blankets. “Well, you and Dad both take care of me. And you make breakfast sometimes, and you know how I like my sandwiches cut. And you laugh at my jokes even when they’re not very funny.”
“Your jokes are always funny to me.”
“And now I don’t have to wonder if you’re going to come back the next day. You’ll just be here.”
The innocent observation pierced straight through my chest. How many mornings had he woken up hoping to find his world unchanged, only to discover another person had left? His mother had walked away from him. Even babysitters changed with Colby’s work schedule.
“I’ll be here,” I promised, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “For as long as you want me to be.”
He was asleep before I finished the story, one small hand curled around my wrist like he was afraid I might disappear if he let go. I sat there for a long time, watching him breathe and marveling at how completely my life had changed in the span of a single day.
When I finally crept downstairs, I found Colby in the kitchen loading the dishwasher. He’d changed into a gray t-shirt that clung to his shoulders and emphasized the strength in his arms. Domestic Colby had always been dangerous to my peace of mind, but married Colby was going to be the death of me.
“He go down okay?” he asked without looking up.
“Like a light. He’s exhausted.” I pushed my hands into the soap water and handed Colby another dish. “He asked to call me mom.”
Colby paused; his hand suspended in the air. Slowly, I looked at him, unsure what to expectant.
“What did you say?”
“I didn’t say anything but nodded because I had this giant lump clogging my throat. You know he’s slipped up a few times before, and I guess I should’ve asked you?—”
“You don’t need to ask me,” he said. “You’re here more than Lyla is. I’ve said it time and again, Luca loves you and if he wants to call you mom, let him. As long as you’re okay with it.”
I was, but then . . .
“Yeah.” I leaned against the counter, suddenly unsure of my place in this space that was now supposedly mine. “We should talk about the sleeping arrangements . . .” I needed to change the subject, although I should’ve chosen something like the parking arrangement outside or whether he needed me to pick Luca up from school tomorrow.
He closed the dishwasher and turned to face me. “I know we need to talk about the practical stuff. Ground rules, expectations, how we make this work.”
“How do we make this believable?”
“We’ll need to act like a married couple when it matters. In public, around Luca, if anyone asks questions.” He ran a hand through his hair, looking as uncertain as I felt. “But in private, we can maintain whatever boundaries make you comfortable.”
“What about sharing a bedroom? Luca will expect?—”
“Only if you’re okay with it. Everything else, we’ll figure out on the fly as long as we look convincing when it needs to be, keep things separate when it doesn’t.”