Page 61 of Denim & Diamonds
Brock
Six Years Later
February’s voice shook. “I’m freaking out that I’m not gonna make it.”
“Okay, breathe, Red. You still have some time.”
“Traffic isn’t even moving!”
February had just landed after a quick trip to London. She was only fifteen minutes from the exit to get to our town. But if traffic didn’t move, there was a good chance she’d miss Patrick’s presentation at school.
I moved to the hallway outside the auditorium and spoke quietly. “I bought you some time. I asked the teacher if he could go last. She said no problem. That’ll get you an extra half hour.”
Our son’s kindergarten class was putting on an event where each kid presented a little speech. I knew what Patrick had been practicing, but the specific subject matter was a surprise for February.
“I told him I’d always be there for the big moments,” she cried. “I haven’t missed anything yet. I don’t want him to think I’m a liar. ”
“If there’s anything he’s learned from being your son, it’s that you have to be flexible in life and that it’s okay if we don’t always do everything perfectly, as long as you try.
He sees how hard you hustle for us, and he knows how much you love him.
That doesn’t change just because you get stuck in traffic one time. ”
She sighed.
The past six years had certainly been a balancing act for my wife.
February never technically left us again after that visit when the car accident happened.
She came back to Meadowbrook almost every weekend after that for a while.
Eventually, when Patrick and I moved into the cabin, I turned one of the rooms into an office for her, and she worked remotely whenever she could.
Sometimes that looked like three days out of the week and other times, two weeks in a row.
In the summer, we spent more time in New York, since February never gave up her apartment there.
We’d found a way to make it work, thanks to my wife’s determination.
When Patrick was two, February and I had made it official, getting married in a small ceremony in Meadowbrook, followed by a big party in New York the following summer.
The separate wedding celebrations were representative of our two worlds, which had somehow managed to blend harmoniously against all odds.
We decided sometime after the wedding that it was probably best if we didn’t add another baby into the mix, given all of Feb’s traveling.
She wanted to give Patrick as much of her attention as she could and knew that wouldn’t be possible if she had to juggle two kids along with her crazy schedule.
I respected that, though I still held out hope that someday we’d have a baby together .
Waiting for her to arrive at the elementary school, I nervously sat through each presentation, checking my phone for text updates. The second-to-last kid was just about to finish his speech when I heard the frantic click of February’s heels.
I turned to find my frazzled woman scurrying down the aisle of the small auditorium, bag hanging off her shoulder, hair uncharacteristically disheveled.
Her cheeks flushed as heads turned amidst a bunch of whispers.
I lifted the jacket I’d been using to save the seat next to me to make room for her.
“Thank God,” I whispered. “You’re just in time. He’s up next.”
She let out a long sigh of relief before continuing to catch her breath.
As the teacher introduced Patrick, I filled with pride. He walked over to the podium and searched for us in the audience before looking down at his paper.
February offered him a thumbs-up in encouragement as he cleared his throat. I smiled to myself. She had no idea what was coming.
Patrick spoke into the mic. “When Miss Green asked us to write about our hero, I knew I would either write about Spider-Man or my mom.”
The audience laughed.
“I decided to write about my mom. So here goes…”
He looked down at his sheet and read.
“My mom is cooler than your mom.” He paused. “Your mom makes cookies. My mom makes sparkly bags in the shape of a frog’s head.”
February chuckled.
“Your mom tucks you into bed at night. My mom FaceTimes and tells me stories, even if she’s an ocean away. But sometimes? She falls asleep before I do. ”
February beamed as she muttered, “This is true.”
“Your mom drinks coffee. My mom drinks fancy lattes my dad can never remember how to order.”
I smiled as I squeezed February’s hand.
“Your mom wears sneakers to drop you off at school. My mom wears heels that get stuck in the mud outside.”
Everyone laughed.
“Your mom makes you eat your vegetables. My mom brings me cake from New York and lets me eat it before dinner.”
February’s mouth dropped open. “He just snitched on me.”
Patrick continued. “Your mom makes pancakes. My mom accidentally burns them into the face of Jesus.”
“That really happened,” February whispered. Her shoulders shook with laughter.
He sighed. “My mom might be a little different than your mom. But she loves me just the same.” He looked up for a moment. “I chose my mom over Spider-Man because my mom chose me . And that’s why my mom is my hero.” He nodded. “Thank you.” Patrick rushed off to exit the stage.
Tears filled her eyes. “I can’t believe I almost missed that.”
Our little boy found us in the audience and hugged February before returning to his seat at the front of the room.
She wiped her eyes. “You think he meant it, or is he just kissing up because tomorrow is his birthday?”
“If that’s true, he learned the power of schmoozing from you .”
** *
The following day, we celebrated Patrick’s sixth birthday with a party at the cabin. The house had been filled with family and friends all day, along with a giant inflatable bouncy house out back. It was an interesting sight when Oak decided to join the kids on that thing.
After everyone finally left, I decided to do something I’d never done before: write Nina a letter.
Patrick’s birth mother had asked that I write her each year on his birthday, but up until now, I hadn’t honored that request. She didn’t deserve it, and I’d decided if she wanted to know about him, she should reach out to us.
But this year, it felt right, almost therapeutic.
After Patrick went to bed, February took a shower while Oak sat by my feet. I took out my laptop and typed.
Dear Nina,
I’m sure you’re surprised to hear from me when I haven’t written you these past six years. Maybe it’s taken me this long to put aside my pride and give you an update on the beautiful boy you gave birth to.
If you’ve ever worried you left him motherless, you should know that hasn’t been the case.
I was fully prepared to raise him as a single father, but I met the love of my life shortly before I found out you were pregnant.
She understood from the beginning that Patrick and I were a two-for-one deal and has helped raise him as her own.
February was adamant that Patrick know the truth about our family as soon as he’d be able to understand.
When he was about three, we sat him down and explained as best we could that he didn’t grow in his mom’s belly.
We let him know that this didn’t mean she was any less his mom.
His reaction was to tell us he wanted to go to McDonald’s Playland.
Not sure if he fully gets it even now, but he knows February chose to be his mom and that giving birth doesn’t make you a mother.
He has the best of both of our personalities. He loves building things like me and is smart and witty like her. You’d be proud of the boy he’s become. He is safe, happy, and loved.
Thank you for giving birth to the best thing that ever happened to me.
In retrospect, he was the best surprise of my life.
It’s matched only by the surprise I got this morning—that he’s about to become a big brother.
Something neither my wife nor I expected.
Not entirely sure how we’ll manage that yet, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned: where there’s a will, there’s a way.
I no longer think anything is impossible nor subscribe to self-limiting beliefs.
You left town because you wanted something bigger.
I hope you found your peace. My own “something bigger” came without me having to go anywhere at all.
She wears six-inch heels and likes an extra dry martini, shaken not stirred, with a lemon twist, dash of orange bitters, and two bleu cheese olives.
Take care,
Brock