Chapter 2
TYLER
ARE YOU DEAD?
“Buttercup is the sister,” the toddler said, his legs curled under him where he sat on the rug in a pair of indigo tie-dye pajamas. His little hands gripped two hand-knit cats–one white and the other orange. “And Poncho is the brother.”
Cradling his now-cold cup of tea in his hands, Tyler Raymond lowered himself to the floor beside his son, Rowan. “What are they up to today?”
Rowan hummed, seeming to consider the question. His brown curls bounced out from his head, tangled and untamed. At three, his imagination was starting to run wild, and Tyler was barely able to keep up with the stories he came up with. “Fishing,” he finally said.
“Awesome, kiddo.” Tyler snagged a blue bandana from the floor with a heavily tattooed hand, and then flattened it out on the rug. “Check out this pond. Do you think there might be some fish in here?”
“This pond has fishes and whales.”
“Whales? Really?”
“Mmhm,” Rowan’s big blue eyes were wide. “They can be shy, so we have to be quiet.”
Tyler nodded, shifting to lean against the end of his queen mattress. The room he and Rowan shared was small, but they’d managed to fit a crib in one corner, as well as a chest of drawers and a few baskets of Rowan’s toys.
The last time Tyler had lived in this boarding house, he’d been a senior at the University of Wisconsin, partying away the final days of his college career in Madison.
The nine other people who lived in the house had been his family–they’d shared classes and spent weekends seeing DJs in warehouses and camping out at music festivals around the Midwest. There’d always been someone willing to share a joint on the back stoop and dirty dishes piled in the sink.
It had been chaos, and Tyler had loved it.
Now he was back, and everything was different.
This is what you wanted, Tyler reminded himself.
He’d recently left his parents’ house in Vermont, along with the free childcare and homemade meals that had come with living there.
He’d tried to explain how he felt to his mom: how he needed to prove to himself, needed to prove to Rowan that he hadn’t made a mistake when he committed to raising his son as a single parent.
So there they were, living in student housing, trying to figure out how to sleep in a house where there was always someone playing music or having loud, bedframe-bouncing-off-the-wall sex.
It was all they could afford at the moment. Tyler had a part-time job at a coffee shop and, when he wasn’t working there, delivered groceries. The latter he could do with Rowan strapped into his carseat, and a friend in the house watched Rowan while Tyler worked at the coffee shop.
Between the meager funds and food stamps, they were trying to make it all work. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. As long as he had Rowan, it was enough.
“Flat white with oat milk for Bailey!”
Tyler slid the paper cup across the counter, and then turned back to the espresso machine. Next: dark chocolate mocha, two shots, hemp milk, add cinnamon. His hands moved instinctively as he checked out the morning crowd.
The Daily Grind was always busy. It was the kind of coffee shop that had waves of patrons throughout the morning: the early-morning exercise crowd became office workers, and then students and remote workers.
The buzz of voices and sound of the espresso machine were a familiar soundtrack by this point.
Annabeth, who lived in the same boarding house, agreed to watch Rowan in exchange for cash on the days Tyler worked. He knew her from school–she was sweet, and was working as a freelance artist around Madison, so her schedule allowed her some flexibility.
Tyler frowned down at what he was wearing.
His favorite colorful knit cardigan had an egg yolk stain across the front, thanks to Rowan deciding he was a street sweeper in the middle of breakfast that morning.
At least the lace-edged camisole he wore underneath had escaped the mess.
His hair, which he’d impulsively cut into a mullet a few months ago, was growing out, and he’d clipped his brown curls back from his face with sparkling butterfly clips he’d found in the break room.
“Ty! What’s happening, brother?”
Tyler turned toward the familiar voice. He hadn’t seen Corey in…Well, it’d been at least four years. Corey still looked like Tyler remembered him: skinny jeans, a deep v-neck tee, homemade jewelry made from hemp string and wooden beads, and his black hair buzzed short. “How’s it going?”
“It’s so good right now, Ty. I’m serving over at The Oracle for some quick cash, and I’ve got a one-way ticket to Cape Town in the spring.”
“Cool.” Tyler finished pouring the steamed milk into the mocha and handed it to a waiting woman, plastering on what he hoped was a convincing ‘customer service’ smile. “Sounds like a sweet adventure.”
“I didn’t know you were back in town.”
“I just got back a few weeks ago,” Tyler replied.
“Do you go out anymore? I see the others from the boarding house all the time.”
“I have a kid.”
Corey looked surprised. “Oh shit, that’s right! You and Falcon had that baby, didn’t you? What’s she up to?”
“Traveling, last I heard.” Tyler thought of his friend, of the way she’d looked up at him with wide, panicked eyes from the hospital bed, her blonde hair wet with sweat.
I don’t want this, Ty. I don’t want to be a mom.
I don’t know what I was thinking. He and Falcon had never been more than friends who occasionally hooked up, but when they’d found out she was pregnant after a casual night together, they decided they were going to try to raise the kid.
He’d been terrified, but it seemed like the right thing to do.
When she’d said she wanted that, Tyler hadn’t said no.
He wiped down the espresso machine. “I think she’s teaching yoga in Bali.”
“Nice.”
The sound of Muse’s Exo Politics filled the silence that fell between them. Tyler was accustomed to this from the people he used to hang out with, the unspoken questions: Are you and Falcon still together? Is she in the picture? Why are YOU the one with the kid?
There had been moments in those first few months when Tyler had been belligerent with anger, so overwhelmed and lonely he’d struggled to keep his crying silent as Rowan, his beautiful, healthy, perfect son had slept curled up on his chest. But with every passing day, Tyler came to appreciate the courage Falcon had shown in that moment.
She’d been honest. She hadn’t been ready.
He’d rather parent alone than with someone who didn’t want to show up for a kid.
“We had some good times, yeah?” Corey smiled at him, easy and unburdened.
Tyler remembered. It all felt like a fever dream, so distant from the reality he currently inhabited.
He could barely believe that he used to be the guy who had recited poetry in a cramped tent, Corey fucking him while their friend Natasha had been on her knees with her lips wrapped around Tyler’s cock.
There had been others there, a whole group of them who’d lived a glorious life full of music and fucking and drugs and philosophical discussions they’d all believed would change the world.
It was how his life had been, back then.
He’d called them his family, back then.
When he came back to Madison, he’d hoped to find that same family waiting for him. But somewhere along the way, he’d changed. He didn’t fit anymore, not the way he used to.
Turned out they’d been his family for as long as he was the slutty, always up for whatever guy. There had always been room for that version of Tyler. But Tyler the dad? The one who needed someone to play with Rowan just long enough for him to take a shower?
There hadn’t been a place for that version of him.
Maybe it had been naive of him to hope that everything would be the same after four years away.
As his mom always said: Don’t waste time waiting for people to be someone they are not.
And his college friends? They were exactly who they’d always been: a gaggle of free-spirited people who chose to live the way they wanted to.
Who had no interest in things like settling down or having children.
Corey was still looking at him with an easy-going smile, waiting for Tyler’s response like he had nothing but time. “Things have changed,” Tyler finally replied, not sure what else to say.
“Well maybe you can come out some time? DNGR is playing in Tim’s garage on Saturday.”
“Maybe.” There was no way in hell he was going to go.
Corey wandered back to sit with a group of people Tyler vaguely recognized. When his pocket vibrated, he put down the jug of milk he was holding, scrambling for his phone. He didn’t care what his boss said–Tyler had to check. He had to know that Rowan was okay.
Annabeth
Is it cool if Rowan watches 28 Days Later?
Tyler
No?!!!! Please don’t let him watch that.
Really?
Really.
He looked up at the clock. Noon. Only an hour left, and then he could go home.
The stairs creaked beneath Tyler’s feet. He moved slowly, exhaustion weighing down his limbs. It was after midnight–Rowan had woken up crying, and it had taken a minute to put him back down.
It had been a good afternoon. Cyrus and Davey, two of the guys who lived with them, had come home with a huge haul of random clothes from the thrift store where they worked, and had helped Rowan build a snowman in the front yard.
They’d put some hideous orange and green sports jersey on it, and had even found a carrot for a nose.
It was sweet, really. His friends were great. They were all fun and creative people who lived their lives to the fullest.
And yet, it was painfully clear that they were at different places in life than Tyler. None of them had children, and while Samira on the third floor was in grad school and had a regular schedule, most of the others had jobs with unconventional hours.