Chapter 23 #2
“When it’s a girl, you always walk her to the car and make sure she leaves safely,” I say. “And you always open the door for her.”
“Do girls walk you to your car?” he asks, and I shake my head.
“It’s a guy thing,” I point out to him. “It makes them know you like them.”
“But what if I don’t like the girl?” he says and then leaves the plate in the sink.
“You still walk her to her car and make sure she leaves,” I say.
“You always, always take care of the girls.”
He shrugs at me. “Can I go play?”
“Wash your hands with soap and then fold the covers,” I say. He walks back to the sink and washes his hands with more soap.
“We can’t leave the food out,” he says. “Or else the bugs come, and once they come, they never leave.”
“What?” I ask him.
“Once, I left a plate in the sink, and I didn’t rinse it off.
The cockroaches came, and it took forever for them to leave.
They were everywhere.” I look at him. “She said it wasn’t my fault, but I knew it was,” he says quietly.
“She used to be up all night sometimes cleaning and doing these homemade tricks.”
“Your mom is great at taking care of stuff,” I say, trying not to think about her running herself at both ends. “How about you go fold the covers, and then we can hit the gym a bit before we work on the video game?”
He skips to the back room, and I finish eating, and then I put the leftover food on the stove with plastic wrap over it. “I’m done!” Dylan yells and comes back into the kitchen. “Can I have a snack?”
“You can have a banana or some peanut butter,” I say, going to the bedroom and grabbing my sneakers.
“Ready?” I ask him when I come back and see him finishing off a banana.
He nods and follows me out to the next apartment that I have.
An apartment I didn’t tell Caroline about.
It holds my home gym, and it also has extra bedrooms for when my family visits.
I run on the treadmill while I set Dylan up with two-pound weights, and for the next hour, we work out side by side.
“You did good, buddy,” I say while he drinks water.
I look at my phone and see that she hasn’t called yet.
“Let’s go back and take a shower, and then we can get started on the game,” I say. When he gets into his shower, I call the number, but she doesn’t answer. I don’t want to worry, but I do anyway, and when I’m about to dial her again, I get a text.
Caroline: I’m fine. I got to work five minutes ago, and I’m late. I’ll explain later. Is everything okay?
Me: Everything is fine. Just worried.
She doesn’t answer me, and when I finally shower and get out, Dylan is waiting for me in the kitchen. “I had a snack,” he says. I laugh and make a protein shake, then I make him a fruit smoothie.
We spend the afternoon playing the game, and at the end of three hours, he has schooled me in seven games. “Okay, buddy,” I say, turning it off. “Let’s go.”
“Where are we going?” he asks, getting up and placing the remote next to mine.
“We are going to go pick up things for dinner and then get your mom some flowers,” I say. He holds my hand as we go downstairs, and I take out the BMW.
“What are we going to eat?” he asks, and I look at him in the back seat.
“Your mom said she likes Italian, so let’s get stuff to make spaghetti,” I say, and he nods eagerly.
We make it to the grocery store, and I’ve already googled a recipe, so we walk in and grab a cart.
He walks next to me as I tell him what we need, and he picks up the items and puts them in the basket.
He holds back at first, and when I tell him to go pick out dessert, I see him looking at the prices.
“Whatcha doing?” I ask, standing next to him.
“That’s ten dollars,” he says, pointing at the fruit pie. “That’s a lot of money for a pie.”
I try not to grab all the pies and show him that he doesn’t have to worry about it. “It is,” I tell him, “but I’m lucky I have a really good job, and it’s not that much money for me.”
“Really?” he asks, almost shocked. “I want to do that job then.” He picks up the pie and puts it in the basket. By the time we leave, we have enough food for three weeks. I get him in the car and then look over at him. “Where are we going now?”
“To get flowers,” I say.
“For Mom?” he asks. “Because you like her?” I nod. “But it’s not her birthday.”
“That makes it even more special,” I say. “You always give them flowers just because.”
“But why?” he asks.
“So they know you are thinking about them,” I say. “So they know how special they are to you.”
“I want to buy Mom flowers,” he says. “Will you lend me the money?”
I want to laugh out loud. “You got it,” I say. When we enter the flower shop twenty minutes later, he walks straight to the woman. “I want some flowers for my mom,” he tells the lady, who smiles at him and looks at me. “Her favorite color is purple.”
“Is this for a special occasion?” the lady asks.
“No, it’s just to tell her that I love her,” he says, and I could swear I hear her swoon.
“Why, aren’t you the cutest?” she says and then looks at me. “You got yourself a special little boy there,” she says, and I suddenly beam with pride.
“He’s one of a kind,” I say, putting my hands on his shoulders and squeezing them.