Page 100 of The Story of You

“I’m sorry you didn’t like the beach, Eaglet.”

“Baba? Sand on my feet,” he complained. “Sand on my arm.” He wiped at it.

“I know. We’re going to wash it all off. Baba will fix it.”

I took him upstairs to the hotel room. Once he was clean and I was done cursing the sand from Barbados to the moon, he was my sunny little ballerina again with no intentions of napping.

“Look! Look, Baba! Ballabina.” He danced for me.

I smiled. “A sleepy ballabina?”

“No.” He giggled.

I laugh. Poor, Baba. Thankfully, I grew out of my hatred for sand. I love walking over it when it’s hot and letting my disfigured toes sink into it.

Huh … he and Aleksander have an argument about being on the trip, but Aleksander is not what I’d expect. He’s responsive to Silas’s upset. I would have predicted more word violence.

“Are you angry with me, butterfly?”

I wanted to yell and scream at him, but I was cognizant of Oliver watching us. “Don’t call me that when I’m—yes. I’m angry.”

“What have I done?” Such a fucking charmer. He kept a playful smile on his lips. His pretty green eyes shone.

What had he done? I didn’t know why I was angry, just that I was. I didn’t even want his help with Oliver. I didn’t want him touching Oliver. Period. What did it matter if Aleksander lounged in the sun while I worked tirelessly to entertain my toddler?

It came to me, and I had to face the truth of something. He had become a spouse. I wanted him to care if I was struggling as any husband would.

“I don’t want to sound ungrateful—we are lucky that you can afford these things for us—but we don’t like it here. This is supposed to be fun, but we’re struggling, and I feel like you don’t care.” I huffed and a curl that had fallen in my face blew upward.

I was the young single father, and he was my older boyfriend who didn’t understand what having a child was like even though he’d raised two others.

“You’re right,” he said. I nearly died of shock. “I apologize. What can I do to make this better? I can’t bear you angry with me.”

They makeup and then …

I was no longer the only butterfly in the room, there was a fleet of them fluttering around in my stomach.

After that is an entry about what they did that night in Barbados and—I can’t believe I’m saying this—it was kinda magical. They make new friends out on the lanai as I sleep soundly on Baba. Their new friends believe whatever way they’re looking at each other and are awestruck by the love they claim to feel between Aleksander and Silas. It shocks Silas as though he’s only just realizing the depth of his feelings. Nothing can erase the awful things Aleksander has done and yet, Silas has fallen for him anyway.

There it was. We had become the lie. The lie was living us.

I chew my lip thinking about that. I remind myself that I’m looking with Silas’s eyes. Trying to understand how—or maybeifis more appropriate—he could have fallen in love. From the outside, it doesn’t make sense at all. Or seem possible.

Oh! A me part! It’s selfish but I love reading about little me with Silas.

Oliver and I tackled potty training before my nineteenth birthday. I had tried once before, but he wasn’t ready, so I stuck to diapers for a while longer. This time we nailed it. He was excited to be a “big boy” and I was excited not to have to change anymore diapers.

I was also proud of myself.

Although I considered Oliver mine, especially with Mama gone and Aleksander forsaking his paternity, I still felt like Oliver’s long-term babysitter. I hadn’t been referring to myself as “Daddy”. I didn’t feel it was my place.

But now I’d taught him a valuable life lesson—using a toilet! It made me reflect on all the other things I’d taught him. He knew how to color a picture in his coloring book. He could count to fifty. I was showing him how to do letters. He knew to say “please” and “thank you” … with a prompt. He could use cutlery. He helped me make pancakes on Saturday mornings. I may not have taught him how to dance, but it was because I’d enrolled him that he was learning how.

And I was pretty sure the crease between his brow when he was worried was because of me.

He looked just like me. His mannerisms were like mine.

I wasn’t just looking after him anymore, I was making an impact. Each one of his milestones made me feel like I was succeeding and not a useless parental failure. Soon I’d be his dad officially. There was nothing in life I wanted to succeed at more.