Chapter 28 Not a Dinosaur Cara
“IS IT CWIS-MAS?”
“It’s not Christmas.”
“Oh. Is it… is it my birfday?”
I glance at Abel, standing in front of the gift boxes we just unpacked from the giant box the delivery driver left on the front porch during breakfast. Mémère spared no expense, but then she never has.
She’s been thoroughly enjoying her weekly video chats with us over tea for the last month, and I’ve only had to remind her of his name and who he was once.
A week and a half ago, though, she called me while she was out shopping with her personal support worker, demanding Abel’s measurements, because she’d found the most darling of outfits.
I expected a small package, not seven individually wrapped gift boxes stuffed inside a massive box.
“Your birthday is in the summer, in July. Mémère saw some clothes that made her think of you, so she sent them over, just because.”
“Just ’cause?” He scratches his head, soft auburn waves that remind me of autumn falling over his forehead.
It was eight days before he stopped wearing Emmett’s hat inside, and being on the receiving end of that smile when I’m running my fingers through his hair as I pass him by has become one of the things I look forward to most each day. “Are we gonna talk to Ma-bear today?”
Grinning at his attempt, I grab my phone and start the kettle. “How about we call her now, and you can open your boxes while we talk?”
“Okay, and remember.” He holds up a very matter-of-fact finger. “If I don’t say thank you, then Santa will come and take all my presents away, and I will never get one ever again.”
There’s that ache again, right between my ribs.
I work to swallow, giving Abel a soft smile.
“Saying thank you when somebody does something thoughtful for you is kind, but Santa is not going to take your presents away if you forget. Sometimes we say thank you without words, like with a hug, or by doing something nice for someone.” And sometimes we’re only three years old and still mastering social norms and expectations, and it’s not bad manners, it’s just child development.
But hey, what the fuck do I know? Certainly not more than Peter and Elizabeth, who seem to be behind all of Abel’s skewed thoughts and fears.
“Oh, mon c?ur.” Mémère answers the video call, fluffing her white hair. “Is it Wednesday already? I’m so sorry, Cara. It must have slipped my mind.”
“Only Tuesday, Mémère. Your gifts were just delivered, though, so we thought we’d call you now.”
“Gifts?”
“For Abel,” I remind her gently, watching in real time as she sifts through her memories. “You saw an outfit last week while you were shopping. You wanted to send it for him.”
“Oh, yes, of course.” She claps a hand to her forehead, then winks. “It was a lot more than an outfit.”
“You don’t say,” I murmur, propping my phone up so she can see Abel and his pile of boxes.
He dashes over, waving with both hands. “Hi, Ma-bear! Do you m’member me today?” The sweet boy takes a step back, patting his chest as he tells her softly, “I’m Abel, m’member?”
Mémère laughs, loud and so bright, and I cherish every laugh line around those brilliant blue eyes. “Yes, sweet boy, I remember you today. You are Abel, not quite four years old, and when you grow up, you want to be a… a… merde, what’s the one with the plates on its—Oh! A stegosaurus!”
“You m’member!” He gives her two thumbs-up, and when he tells her with every ounce of sincerity, “Good job, Ma-bear,” I fall a little more in love with him.
“Yeah, I used to wanna be a… a T. rex, but I think I will not like to eat other dinosaurs.” He shrugs, sinking to the floor, pulling a box between his legs.
“Stegosaurus, they gots spikes on their back to protect ’em, so that’s why I choose stegosaurus. ”
“Ah, so that’s why. And what about Cara? What kind of dinosaur would she be?”
“A T. rex, surely,” I offer, popping a strawberry in my mouth as Abel starts unwrapping his gift. “I’d eat other dinosaurs for dinner.”
But Abel shakes his head. “Cara is not a dinosaur.” Before I can sulk and ask why, his eyes light up.
A raincoat emerges, followed by splash pants, rain boots, and an umbrella, all with the same dinosaur pattern.
“Cara, look!” He climbs to his feet, jumping up and down, hugging his coat to his chest. “I put it on now,” he says, immediately tugging the splash pants on, stepping into the boots, giving Mémère a close-up when he’s done. “Look, Ma-bear! Look at me!”
“I am looking at you, happy boy. You shine just like the sun. The rain clouds won’t stand a chance against you.”
“Thank you, Ma-bear.” He wraps his arms around himself. “I love it!”
We watch as Abel busies himself with opening each box, humoring Mémère by showing off each new outfit, just like I used to on all our shopping trips. Honestly, I can’t tell who enjoys it more; my little buddy might just be built for shopping.
“How are you feeling this week?” I ask Mémère quietly as I glance at my phone, heart squeezing when I find her watching me with the kind of smile that looks exactly the way love is meant to feel—warm, easy, and everlasting. “What?”
“He reminds me of you. All that light, the joy, the love of life. Appreciation for fine fashion,” she adds with a pump of her brows.
Snorting, I watch Abel put his rainsuit back on, tucking his brand-new stuffed stegosaurus beneath his arm. The finishing touch? The blue T. rex sunglasses he fixes on his face.
“He’s got a pure heart, that one,” she murmurs. “Plain as day to see.”
“Ma-bear.” Abel hops his way over, crashing into my side, hiding his shy smile behind my hip. “Did you get all this for me?”
“I did.”
“And-and-and… you got them for me just ’cause?”
Mémère’s smile is every bit as soft as the gaze she watches him with. “Just ’cause, my darling.”
His nose scrunches, cheeks flushing. He tugs at my arm, beckoning me closer, like he has a secret. “Cara, can I make a painting for Ma-bear? Just ’cause?”
“That’s a great idea.” I pull out the paint supplies, spreading them over the kitchen table. “Mémère loves art. We can put it in an envelope and walk to the mailbox to send it to her so she can hang it up in her room.”
“Because she lives far, far away?”
“Too far,” she answers with a sigh.
Abel crawls onto a chair, brush in hand as he examines the paints. “Ma-bear, what’s your favorite… what’s your favorite color? Is it… pink?”
She gasps. “How on earth did you guess?”
He grins, shrugging. “I don’t know! I just guessed it! Maybe ’cause my brain is learned-ing new things every day. Did you know that? Cara says so.”
“What do we say at bedtime?” I ask as he spreads pink paint over his paper.
“I am smart. I am kind. I am important. And I can do anything!” He pumps his fist through the air, just like we do every night, and his paintbrush falls from his hand, pink splattering on the edge of the table on its way to the floor.
I see the panic flare in his eyes as they ping to me, the tremble in his hands before he curls them into fists.
“It w-w-was a accident,” he sputters, pushing away from the table. “I—I—I didn’t mean to. I—”
“Abel,” I murmur, staying where I am but crouching to his level. “Pause. Breathe. It’s just p—”
“Oh no! No, not my—” He tosses his head back, fists curled at his sides, and stomps a foot as tears storm down his cheeks. “Not my dinosaur boots!”
“Oh, shit,” I mutter, grabbing a couple cloths, holding them up like white flags as I approach him. “Hey, sweet pea. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
He looks up at me through flooded eyes, swiping at his tear-stained cheeks. “Cara!” Small arms come around my neck, tiny hands fisting in my hair as he flings himself into my arms. “I got p-p-paint on my new boots! She’s gonna be so-so-so mad at me!”
“Hey, hey. Shhh, Abel, it’s okay. You’re safe.” I push his hair off his face. “Who’s going to be mad at you?”
“Ma-bear!”
“Oh, Abel,” Mémère calls softly from my phone. “I could never be angry with you for spilling some paint.”
“B-b-but… my boots!”
“Hey, look.” I wipe his boot with my cloth, and the pink paint disappears. “See? Comes right off.”
“And you know what rain boots are for, don’t you?” Mémère winks at him. “Mud puddles. A little paint isn’t going to hurt those boots. We’re supposed to get dirty.”
Abel sniffles, dragging his hand across his nose. “We is? Peter and ’Liz-beth never told me that before.” Another sniffle, and he blinks away the remaining tears. “I had a-a-accident, Cara.”
“Accidents happen. What should we do?”
“Clean it up? I could wipe the floor, and maybe you could wipe the table.”
“Working together to clean it up is a great idea,” Mémère says. “It’s much faster that way. Teamwork makes the dream work.”
Abel cocks his head. “Teamwork is the dream word?”
I tap his nose, cleaning the paint off the table. “Teamwork makes the dream work.” I gesture between us as he wipes at the floor. “You and me, we’re a team.”
“And Emmett too?”
“And Emmett too.”
Abel thinks for a moment, then looks over at my phone. “You can be on our team too, okay, Ma-bear?”
“I would be honored, my darling.” She smiles at me as Abel goes back to painting. “The love, mon c?ur. The love between you… magnifique.” She taps her heart. “I feel it, all the way over here. You were meant to find each other.”
My gaze drops to my mug, warm between my hands as I think back on the last month, the late nights spent clinging to us, begging us not to leave, the wildly early mornings, the big, big feelings, the constant readjustments as we try to get things just right.
And still, despite all the challenges, every day I get to watch him step a little more into himself.
Watch the fear slowly dwindle, the trust build right along with our connection, and I know Adam and Rosie were right: It is every bit as worthwhile as it is difficult.