Chapter 17
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
Axel
Patricia has retreated to her room, and I look around the apartment. It still smells like the salmon and sweet potatoes Enzo made for dinner.
“Movie time!” I exclaim and clap my hands. “Who wants to watch Winnie-the-Pooh?”
Luca and Enzo stare at me.
“You know. It’s Winnie-the-Pooh.” I hum the theme song.
Silence.
“Well, don’t make me sing it. My voice quality is lacking.”
“We’re going to miss out on an Axel Knight musical performance?” Enzo teases.
A laugh escapes me, but I pretend to pout. “Not many singers also play hockey. It’s a curse.”
Enzo snorts. “We can watch Winnie-the-Pooh.” He looks at Luca. “That sounds fun!”
I find Winnie-the-Pooh. There are lots of children’s movies I haven’t seen, but I’m not going to put something on for Luca without vetting it first.
“Let’s have ice cream! And waffles!”
“A month before playoffs?” Enzo asks.
I wink. “We’re going to be very naughty.” I narrow the distance between us. “You ready to be naughty with me, Enzo?”
His face pales, and his gaze dips momentarily to my torso, and something warms in my body. He turns around hastily, his cheeks are pink. He trembles, and I want to pull him into a hug.
But people don’t give each other hugs in kitchens for no reason. That’s not a thing.
I haul out my waffle maker triumphantly and place it on the counter.
“Wow!” Enzo smiles. “Do the team nutritionists know you have that machine?”
“That’s why it belongs under the counter,” I say. “Not out. Never out.”
I plug in the machine, hoping I can remember how to do this.
I turn to Luca. “Have you seen how waffles are made before?”
Luca stares at me, puzzled. He does that a lot. Though come to think of it, a lot of adults do that to me too. No matter.
I open the lid of the waffle maker. Luca looks confused. I don’t blame him.
I remove my mixing bowl from a cabinet and start to crack eggs in it. I take a whisk, then hand it to Luca. “Can you mix this for me?”
I sit Luca on the counter and give him the bowl to put in his lap. I start him off, then Luca continues. Enzo joins us to help him.
I mash bananas in a separate bowl, then add oat flour. I look at Luca’s bowl. “Good job, Luca.”
He beams.
“Now I’m going to combine the eggs and bananas and flour.” I slowly add the egg mixture, keeping on stirring. “We want it nice and smooth. No lumps.”
Enzo watches me.
Luca’s eyes narrow slightly. He glances at Enzo.
“But wait until you see what happens when I put it in this machine.” I show Luca how to take a dipper and add the batter to the machine. We do it together, then I close the lid.
The machine hisses. The smell of warm batter fills the kitchen.
“It will beep when it’s ready,” I promise, wishing it hadn’t been a year since I last used it.
“This is so cool,” Enzo says, coming close to Luca. “Real, homemade waffles. You’ve eaten them before, right?”
Luca nods.
Finally, the machine stops. I hand Luca a piece of waffle. “It’s warm.”
He eyes it suspiciously, turning it around in his hand.
I take Enzo’s hand without thinking. His skin is warm, and he goes completely still—and then I realize what I’m doing and put some waffle into his palm like that was the plan all along.
“Go on,” I say. “Try it.”
Enzo lifts the waffle to his mouth. His hand trembles, but then so does mine.
Weird.
Maybe the waffle is hotter than I thought.
“Delicious,” Enzo says, looking at me.
I smile at him, and his cheeks pinken, and he looks away.
Enzo has always been a bit shy. It’s sort of adorable.
“Your turn, Luca.”
Luca breaks a piece of waffle, then puts it into his mouth.
Well, that’s very smart. Are the pieces too big for him?
Or does he just like to crush food in his hand?
Because that sounds fun too. I should probably spend more time crushing things in my hand also.
Would give my Robo-vacuum more interesting things to pick up.
I suddenly remember when Enzo put a whole grape in his mouth and managed to choke on it.
I remember rushing toward him as his eyes widened and all the color left his face.
I remember my panic, and his, and then how he fit into my arms as I heimliched him, thankful for the pictures displayed in my school cafeteria that taught me exactly what to do.
“Good job,” I tell him. “Always chew carefully and slowly. Then you can really enjoy the good taste.”
I make another waffle, since we ate almost a whole one already ‘testing’ it.
“Now for the ice cream.” I dump frozen banana chunks into my blender. “Base first, then I’ll customize each one.” I put some options on the counter. “Do you like plain or chocolate or peanut butter or berry?”
Luca watches me. He points at the berries.
“Sweet.” I fist-bump him. “What about you, Enz?”
“I want chocolate.”
“And no one likes plain?”
Luca and Enzo shake their heads.
“My men have advanced tastes.” I pull them both into a hug.
Enzo stiffens, and my heart stops.
Shit. I shouldn’t have done that. That was weird, right? I think it was weird.
I avoid eye contact with him and focus on the ice cream. Enzo still hasn’t told me why he got so upset that I gave a sample so Gaby could make Luca, but we’re sort of getting along now, at least when I don’t make things awkward, and I don’t want a heavy conversation.
Maybe he was just tired and annoyed with me. Maybe I called him too much, and he didn’t really care about whenever I shared things with him.
I eye him. I hope he’s happy. Does he hate living with me? Does Luca?
My pulse kicks up.
I frown and prepare a tray of waffles and ice cream. I set them on the couch, then find the remote control. I scroll to the Winnie the Pooh I saw on the TV app earlier and get it queued up.
“Let’s wash our hands, Luca,” Enzo says.
Huh. I should have thought about that before I fed him waffles.
Luca is always touching things and putting them in his mouth.
I have a regular housekeeper, but I whip out my phone and text her that I have a kid in the house now and to double check that all the products are organic and clean and child safe.
I promise to reimburse her for anything she needs to buy.
Once that is sorted, I follow Luca and Enzo into the bathroom.
Enzo holds Luca up to the sink, and I pull out my phone again and order a step stool for him.
I think about piling some heavy books on the floor until the step stool arrives, but no way do I want him to fall, and books and bathrooms are a bad combo.
I wash my hands after Luca and Enzo, then we all go to the living room. I have Enzo and Luca sit down, then get some drinks for them: water mixed with juice. Luca’s comes in a sippy cup.
Finally, I sit down.
The movie starts playing. Luca is between us, and I make sure he’s eating okay. Maybe putting a movie on and eating at the same time is a bad idea. My stomach turns.
“Small bites,” I remind him.
Luca nods seriously. I’m pretty sure Enzo drilled in the importance to him on chewing.
Soon the screen fills with Winnie-the-Pooh and Tigger and Piglet.
It’s not the way I normally spend my nights, but it’s pretty cool. Luca seems to think so too, and even Enzo is transfixed. It’s weird that Enzo hasn’t seen Winnie-the-Pooh before, but I know he was raised by a busy single mom and money was always an issue.
My parents weren’t rich, but comfortable enough for me to play hockey, and my grandparents were also helpful.
I wish my family lived closer. Enzo and I have away games again next week, and I need to figure out additional childcare soon. I could send Luca to my parents with Patricia, but he’s pretty shy, and I’d like to be there when I introduce them to my parents.
I make a note on my to-do list to speak with Evan tomorrow.
The movie credits roll, and I glance at Enzo. His breathing has gone slow and deep: he’s fast asleep. The TV light flickers across his face. Something in my chest goes soft.
It’s eight o’clock, and that’s bedtime.
“Come on,” I tell Luca. “Let’s get you to bed.”
He looks alarmed.
“Your uncle is sleeping,” I whisper. “Come. I’ll show you.” I take Luca’s hand and lead him to Enzo. He looks ridiculous—head tipped back, mouth open, a line of drool on his chin. I watch him longer than I should.
“See?” I whisper.
Luca’s mouth forms an O.
I press my finger against my lips.
Luca grins.
“You’re good at being quiet,” I whisper.
He gives a modest shrug and nods, and a laugh escapes me. I hurry Luca out of the living room.
We go to his bedroom, now minus the bad rug.
“Let’s find your jam-jams,” I say, rifling through his drawers. I find a couple of options and present them to Luca. “What do you want to wear?”
He hesitates. Maybe I’m just supposed to toss him something. He points at the one with fish.
“Good choice.”
Maybe Enzo and I can take Luca to the aquarium one day. It’s a bit tricky since Enzo and I can both be recognized. I’ll ask Enz what he thinks.
I look for the training pants I ordered.
“Can you put these on?” I ask Luca.
He nods, and I get him his pajamas.
After he’s dressed, I have him brush his teeth, making sure he does it for a long enough time. I look at the bathtub and wonder how often he takes baths. Should I have had him take a bath before I put him in his jammies?
He looks clean though. I’m going to need to ask Enz about that too. Maybe Patricia has some best practices for two-year-olds.
I have Luca use the bathroom and wash his hands, then we go back to the bedroom. I think I remembered everything.
Luca crawls into bed, and I tuck him in. His nightlight glows in the corner. Then something occurs to me.
I didn’t buy Luca any books.
Shit.
I look around in case Enzo brought any from Luca’s home, but I guess he didn’t.
Enzo was distracted, and they did fly to Boston.
It’s not like we have Mary Poppins handbags yet, and I’m not sure scientists are even working on them.
Maybe we should have 3-D printers everywhere so we can travel without luggage.
We could have them installed in every hotel, so the clothes and books and toys would be waiting in the room.
Though probably not great for the environment. Hmmm…
But no picture book, no problem. I can tell a story. I mean, I never have before, but I’m capable of it. Hopefully.
“Now close your eyes,” I say. “Once upon a time…”
He falls asleep soon, which is maybe a compliment to my soothing voice or an uncompliment for not having enough plot points.
I kiss him on the forehead, then whisper, “I love you.”
I ease the door shut. The hallway is quiet, just the hum of the apartment and Enzo’s soft snoring from the living room. My son is asleep. The man who somehow became my partner in all this is asleep. I lean against the wall and let myself breathe.
I’m a dad.