25. Ian
TWENTY-FIVE
IAN
I thought sprinting around in the back yard with Dutch half the day would wear the kid out, but that turned out to be a pipe dream. It’s like activity only ramps him up with more energy than he had before. He’s a tiny perpetual motion machine.
Enjoy it while it lasts, kid. One day, you’ll be thirty-six and exhausted after a few hours of babysitting. I’m not complaining, though. We’re having fun. It’s not the kind of socializing Amy was trying to get me to do, but it counts for something.
He comes onto the patio to pick over the afternoon snack options every now and then. I set out grapes—cut in half, which never seemed necessary until today—pretzels, and cheese sticks. I’m keeping tabs on his apps, and all his numbers look good.
It’s a bummer the kid has a medical condition like this, but diabetes care has come a long way in the last decade or so. He’s not doing finger pricks all day or injecting himself with insulin for every meal. He’s just a regular kid.
I do not think about how Tess treats me like a “regular guy,” prosthetic leg and all. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like how it’s a non-issue for her. Or if I said I haven’t thought about her breathy “I like the way you look in shorts” comment approximately seventy-five times a day.
I set down August’s phone and pick up mine, swiping over to my text messages with her.
Tess: On a break and checking in
Tess: Is A giving you any trouble?
Ian: He beat me at Candy Land
Ian: Sang a whole song about it
Ian: Seems a little much, but otherwise we’re good
Tess: He likes to win
Tess: I think you share that
Ian: I always win
Ian: When I want something badly enough
The three dots appeared and disappeared twice before her response finally came through.
Tess: It’s the pirate in you
Ian: Arr
Yes. I’ve been reduced to “ arr-ing” at the woman. Twice now. Like a scurvy-riddled lunatic.
August flops into the chair across from me. “Do you like honey?”
My thoughts go straight to Tess trickling golden honey into her coffee this morning. I’ve always thought it too sweet, but I would very much like to taste honey off her lips.
Only a pirate would think about something like that right in front of her child. Still. I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted anything more.
“I don’t mind it,” I tell him.
He scratches the side of his face, leaving a trail of dirt. “I like honey, but I don’t like bees. And Mama says we have to have bees to get honey.”
“This is true. They put a lot of work in to make that honey.” Although, if he knew exactly how bees make honey, he might not like it as much. Steven told me about bee vomit when I was nine, and I didn’t eat the stuff again until well into adulthood.
“What else makes stuff?” August kicks his feet back and forth, his wide blue eyes stuck on me.
“Hmm. Cows make milk.”
He lights up like I’m helping him solve world hunger. “Yeah, cows!”
“Chickens lay eggs.” This game is surprisingly hard.
“I like eggs.”
I snap my fingers. “We shear sheep to get wool.”
He seems less impressed with that one. “What else?”
I’m running out of ideas that aren’t just animal parts. Talking about ivory and leather doesn’t really seem kid-friendly. “I can’t think of any more.”
“What about monkeys?”
I have to think for a second. “What do we get from monkeys?”
“Wrenches!” He bursts into laughter, revealing his gap-toothed grin.
I sure like to hear him laugh. “That’s a pretty good joke.”
“Max told me that one in Kindergarten.”
“You already finished Kindergarten? Wow.”
He nods, his little chest puffed up. “I’m going into first grade this year. After I turn six on July six. Isn’t that funny? Six on the sixth.”
It is funny, for more reasons than he knows. “July sixth is my birthday, too.”
His eyes go as wide as saucers. “No lie?”
“No lie. But I’ll turn a few years older than you will.”
He laughs again. “A lot more years.”
Harsh, kid.
“We can share a birthday party!”
Something soft and warm seems to fill my chest at his generous offer. “What are you doing for your party?”
“We’re going to the park and we’re going to have games and water balloons and dinosaurs everywhere and Mama’s going to make my cake. Strawberry, because that’s my favorite.”
“Sounds like fun. Maybe I can just visit your party.” I haven’t done much of anything for my birthday in too long, but his excitement almost makes me want to join him and see what it’s all about.
His little face turns serious. “We can’t share presents, though.”
I pretend to pout. “What if I like dinosaurs?”
He seems to consider. “Maybe I could share one present with you.”
“It’s okay, pal. I’m just teasing. Your presents are all yours.”
“You can come to Fourth Fest with us, too! There’s a parade where they throw candy at little kids, and at night, fireworks! You can come be with Mama and me.”
“Maybe we should see what your Mama thinks of your plans first.”
I probably shouldn’t be making plans for birthdays and holidays with them without her input. Even if I’m ready to RSVP to his invite right now.
My phone rings on the patio table. Pierce. I’d avoid it, given where I am and all, but I suspect this is an important call.
“I have to take this, okay?”
“Okay.” August slides off his chair and heads to the flower bed where he’s stashed his trucks.
I step to the opposite end of the patio. “Pierce?”
“I caught you. Good.” He sounds wrung out, which confirms my suspicions. “I’m a dad! Bonnie delivered our baby girl this morning.”
“Congratulations. I’m happy for you.” I truly am. I’ve never heard him sound quite this overjoyed. Other than on his wedding day, when he was also a little dazed and in awe of his luck. “What’s her name?”
“Ophelia James. Seven pounds, seventeen inches long.”
“I have no idea what those stats mean. Big baby? Small?”
“So tiny. With perfect little fingers and toes. She’s got an impressive amount of hair on her head, too.”
“Red?” We all inherited red hair from our dad. Mine’s the darkest, Steven the lightest, and Pierce more of a pale red-brown. Bonnie’s had her fingers crossed for a ginger baby since they met.
“No luck this time.”
I won’t point out he’s already leaving the door open for another baby when they just had their first hours ago. It’s actually kind of cute. In a sickeningly sweet way.
But sweet’s been growing on me lately.
August runs up to me and taps my arm. “Ian? Can I watch a show?”
“Sure, buddy. I’ll be in in a minute.”
He dashes toward their apartment, saying goodbye to Dutch at the door. I wasn’t sure Tess would appreciate him in her house all day, so we’ve played with him out here. Probably best to only spread dog hair after he’s been invited in.
“Who was that?” Pierce wants to know. “And don’t say the TV again. I’m not stupid. That’s a little kid you’re talking to.”
I’m still not sure I want to share any part of this with my brothers. Then again, he did just tell me some of the best news of his life. Seems only fair. “That’s Tess’s son, August.”
“Who is Tess?”
“My neighbor.” The angel next door I can’t get out of my head. But I’m not sure I’m even trying anymore.
“I haven’t slept in twenty-seven hours, but I feel like I’m missing something.”
I quickly explain about Tess’s daycare shutdown and my offer to step in for a few days.
He seems to process this slower than normal. “So…you’re babysitting. For your neighbor.”
I don’t like the way he says it so laced with judgment. I’m not sure just what he’s judging, but it’s probably me.
“I’m her manny,” I tell him.
He barks a laugh. “I must have called the wrong number. This is Ian Vaughn, right? Notorious climber, guide to celebrities, and absolute attention hog is a…manny?”
“It’s not that funny.” I don’t like the defensiveness in my tone, but I hate the incredulousness in his. “She needed help, so I’m helping. Is that such a shock?”
“Actually—”
“Forget I asked.” I don’t need a reminder of how unfamiliar this is for me. Not helping Tess out—I like to think I was always there for my friends who needed me in the past. But I never said Tess was just my friend. And I’m not sure I want her to be just anything.
“Is this something serious?” he asks, his mirth subdued with the weighty question.
I hesitate. I haven’t had anything serious in…maybe ever. Nothing quite like this. Which is absurd to say, given that Tess and I are only friends. We’re not dating. We haven’t even kissed, much less considered anything more.
Well. I’ve considered more quite often. But that’s not the point.
I sit with his question. And I offer Pierce the most honest answer I can.
“I don’t know. But I’d like it to be.”