11. Claire
CHAPTER 11
CLAIRE
I ’d planned for the park to be sort of a kiss-off. Oli had a pattern when he met new adults: he’d start shy, get curious, then he’d get bored. I’d picked the park on purpose so he’d run off and play, and Blake would see where he fit in, which was nowhere. Oli had me and he had his grandparents. He had his friends and his teachers from Little Bugs pre-K. He didn’t need some stranger trying to play dad… except, maybe he did, because he jumped straight on Blake. And his fascination didn’t wear off when we left the park. All week, he was on me with questions on questions.
“Mom? What’s my dad’s favorite book?”
“Mom? Does Dad like spaghetti and meatballs?”
“Mom? Did Dad have a dog growing up?”
I hated that I knew every one of the answers. I knew Blake as well as I knew myself. So I should’ve expected what he did next.
“You’re kidding me, right?” I skimmed through the schedule he’d made. “Eleven forty-five, lunch at Pie Palace. Twelve twenty-five, bathroom break— You scheduled a bathroom break?”
Blake looked bemused. “Because we’ll be driving?”
“But you can’t just, you can’t…” I threw up my hands. “You didn’t consult me about any of this. Pizza and the aquarium, and the play center? And then you want?—”
“The aquarium? Can we pet the penguins?” Oli charged in with his shirt buttoned wrong and one of his socks on inside-out. “I want a pet penguin. Can penguins be pets?”
“Come here,” I said, and reached for his shirt. He’d dirtied his blue one playing with Buster, and I’d sent him to clean up for lunch with Blake. I’d meant grab a new shirt and wash his hands, but he’d put on his church shirt and his big-boy pants, and the striped socks I’d gotten him for Christmas. He bounced from one foot to the other as I undid his buttons, and batted my hands off when I tried to fix them.
“I can do it myself!”
“I know, but hon?—”
“See? I can do it! I got one already!”
He’d got the wrong one again, and I shot Blake a black look. This was exactly what I’d tried to tell him, what I would have told him if he’d bothered to ask. Oli was already cranked up to eleven, wired like he’d just downed a bag of pure sugar. Add pizza to that, and the aquarium, and Playland, and by his nap time, he’d be running wild. He’d refuse to go down and he’d cry or he’d fidget, and then he’d be cranky the rest of the night. I’d be lucky to avoid a full-scale tantrum, either tonight or tomorrow when he had to get up. He’d be off-schedule for days , all thanks to Blake.
“It’s okay,” said Blake. “It’s on me, my treat. I got vouchers for Playland, so?—”
“ Playland!? ” Oli let out an express train shriek. It was starting already, and Blake didn’t get it. He had no idea what he’d just done.
“You’ll love it,” he said. “We’ll say hi to the penguins while our pizza digests, then we can go and we’ll play all you want.”
I did a literal facepalm. Oli grinned up at Blake.
“Did you go to Playland with your mom and dad?”
Blake’s smile was strained. “Never quite got that chance. Oh, hey, look out.” He dropped down to shield Oli from a dog-kiss attack. Not to be thwarted, Buster slurped him instead. Blake laughed and I softened. He was trying, I guessed. He’d got it all wrong, but who didn’t at first? It wasn’t like children came with a guidebook.
“Okay,” I said, trying to restore order. “Buster, back off. You know better than that. Oli, come let me do up your shirt. Blake, uh… okay. We’ll start with Pie Palace. But you can throw out that schedule, because… watch and learn.”
Blake frowned, confused, and I got started. I did up Oli’s buttons with his eager “help,” then convinced him to fix up his inside-out sock. Halfway through doing that, he started playing sock-puppets, introducing his dad to Jake the Sock Frog. Then he had to show Blake he could tie his own shoes — which, to his credit, he did pretty well. But he had to redo them till the loops were all even, and then he wanted to zip his own jacket.
“It’s warm out,” said Blake, on his fifth attempt. “I’m not sure you need?—”
“ No! I can do it!”
Blake held his hands up. “I believe you. But mine’s not zipped. You could just?—”
“I’ve got it!”
Oli didn’t have it. Blake glanced at his watch. His smile turned wry, and I tried not to laugh. He was starting to see what I’d learned the hard way: the more desperately you needed that kid out the door, the more ways they’d find to draw out getting ready. Any schedule with kids involved had to be padded, with plenty of room built in for changes of plans.
We made it to lunch around half past noon, and to the aquarium an hour after that. Oli’s eyes went round one step in the door. He stared up at the arrows stenciled on the walls, and the bright-colored decals arrayed all around them.
“What’s a… bel-loo-ga?”
“It’s a little white whale,” I said.
“Littler than me?”
Blake laughed. “Not that little.”
Oli squinted up at him. “Littler than you?”
“Uh, I’m not sure. No. I don’t think so.”
I checked the info sheet I’d picked up at the door. “It says they can weigh over three thousand pounds.”
Oli looked betrayed. “That isn’t little!”
“Guess not,” said Blake. “But they are pretty cute. They’ve got these long noses… why don’t we go see?”
Oli skipped ahead of us to go see the whales. He squealed when he saw them and ran up to the glass, then pulled up short as he spotted the sign — DO NOT TOUCH GLASS. He mouthed the words as he read them, then took a step back.
“He’s so smart,” said Blake. “He’s really amazing.”
I glowed at that, though I couldn’t take all the credit. Oli’s smarts were all his, and his sweetness as well. I’d struck it lucky with him, and I knew it.
Blake tensed as the whales came paddling over, then he relaxed as they dipped their big heads. Oli waved and said hi. They smiled, or seemed to, opening their mouths to show their blunt teeth.
“He ties his own shoes,” said Blake, and frowned at his feet. “I was in Velcro well into third grade.”
“I wish he’d slow down sometimes,” I said without thinking. Blake looked surprised.
“What do you mean?”
“I go to work some days and he’ll hit some milestone — like, a few months ago, I worked a double. I left in the morning, and Oli was singing, sitting there singing the alphabet song. I thought to myself, soon he’ll be reading . The next day I walked in and he read FOOD on my bag. Mom had been teaching him, working for weeks, but it felt like I missed a day and everything changed. One day, I could do that trick where you spell out a word, uh-oh, looks like someone needs a B-A-T-H. The next day I wasn’t sure it would still work.”
“All those firsts,” said Blake. “What’s the first word he said?”
I laughed. “It was ‘rat.’”
“How’d that happen?”
“His stuffed Ratatouille. He loved it so much.”
“What’s his favorite food?”
“Hot dogs, hands down.”
“His favorite color? Wait, don’t tell me. It’s red?” Blake nodded at Oli’s red jacket and shoes, and I couldn’t help smiling.
“That’s right. It’s red. But it can’t be just any red. It’s got to be bright red. He loves a good STOP sign, or a field full of poppies. Or cherry tomatoes, but not actual cherries.”
“The color or the taste?”
“He says they taste purple. He doesn’t like purple food.”
Blake watched as the belugas spun in the water, and Oli tried to copy them, twirling alongside. “He’s just like you, you know.”
I raised a brow. “In what way?”
“Well, look at his shoes.” Blake gestured at my shoes, and then at Oli’s. “He retied his laces until they were perfect, the loops the same size, just like on yours. And they’re cleaner than any kid’s shoes ought to be. And his outfit all matches, and his clothes are so neat, and he notices everything, like the DO NOT TOUCH sign. He’s like mini-you.”
I chuckled. “Well, I did pick his outfit.”
“But he tied his shoes, and he zipped up his jacket. And he had to do up his shirt by himself. He’s, I don’t know. He’s independent. He knows what he wants, and he goes for it. That’s something I always admired about you.”
I knew I should shut this down right here, right now. Change the subject, move on. Keep the focus on Oli. But it had been a while since I’d felt independent, since I’d felt like I had any life of my own. It felt good to hear Blake still saw me that way.
“He’s a lot like you too,” I said.
“He has my nose.”
“Yeah, he does, but I didn’t mean that. I meant he loves books like you, and he’s athletic. He’s friendly with everyone, hardly ever gets mad. And he’s fearless, adventurous — he scares me sometimes.”
Blake watched Oli pretending to be a beluga, waving his arms as they waved their fins. He was still smiling, but his gaze had gone distant, like he was seeing Oli, but also not.
“I’m not fearless,” he said. “A lot of things scare me.”
“Like what?”
Blake cleared his throat. “Uh, grizzly bears?”
I laughed, but I felt like something had shifted, like a door had cracked open and then slammed shut. Blake’s smile had been thoughtful, but now it was impish, the smile I remembered from when he would tease.
“There’s a touch tank,” he said, and pointed past the whales. “You still scared of slimy things?”
I shuddered. “I’m not scared .”
“So you’ll touch a sea cucumber, and those tentacle things?”
Oli bounced up to us. “I want to touch!”
I groaned. “Didn’t you want to go see the penguins?”
“Yeah, but I want to touch the fish first.”
“Okay, go ahead. We’ll be right behind you.” I waited till Oli got out of earshot, then I nudged Blake hard in his ribs.
“I’ll get you for that.”
“ Ow! You just did.” He jostled me back, and that door cracked again. I giggled in a way I’d forgotten I could, and we bumped elbows, and the years fell away. We were us for that instant, like no time had passed, then Oli yelled out for me, and I remembered it had.
“Coming,” I called, and I chided myself. Oli was my world now. The past was the past. Blake was my past, and I couldn’t forget that.