14. Noa
fourteen
The Next Morning
I wake at six-forty in the pale-gray light of my bedroom in the pool house.
My phone rests by my head. I pick it up.
Lake: Good morning, baby. I love you. Thank you for trusting me. Tell my little man I’ll see him soon.
Lake sent it at two-nineteen, long after I’d crashed from exhaustion from confessing the worst parts of my life. A wave of relief floods my soul. He probably realized how vulnerable I’d feel when he left and went out of his way to reassure me of his commitment.
No man I’ve had sex with has ever done that for me.
I can’t help but wonder if he’ll feel the same way in the light of the day. The thought stays with me while I throw on my clothes and pad down the hall.
Levi sits up in bed, one finger points proudly to the bandage above his eyebrow. “Owie.”
“I know, bubba.” He lifts both arms and I bury my face in his sleep-warm curls before carrying him into the bathroom.
When the pull-up comes off, it’s dry.
His whole face lights up. He claps for himself. “Dwy!”
“It is.” I clap, too.
We’ve been working toward this for months, celebrating every small victory from remembering to tell me when he has to go to doing his business in his little potty. Overnight is huge. He’s so close now, I can almost see the finish line.
I smile to myself, thinking maybe I’ll let Lake take the next lesson. Little boys eventually have to learn how to aim. Despite the emergency room visit yesterday, he and I were already planning to tell Levi today.
By the time we drive home later, our little boy will know the man who’s been quietly earning his trust all these months isn’t just Lake anymore.
He’s his dad.
Twenty minutes later, while he watches a show on my iPad, I pour my coffee into a travel mug and go on autopilot, packing his necessities bag. Wipes. Snacks. Extra clothes. Truck. Book. Halfway through, I realize Lake will probably have all of this at his place.
Maybe he won’t, though. We haven’t actually talked about specifics, other than he’s making us breakfast. As far as his setup is concerned, Hannah told me Lake passed the home inspection, which was all I needed to know.
It resisted asking what it looked like because some things deserve to be discovered instead of described.
Today will be the first day we see the place where Lake has been quietly building a life for our son.
On the way out the door, I almost go back and change until I stop myself. Lake has seen me exhausted, sticky from playgrounds, wearing the same leggings three days in a row and my hair in whatever knot survived the night. He’s also seen me showered, with a little makeup and put together.
None of it has ever seemed to matter to him. Why, then, does it suddenly matter to me?
You want him to want you.
Ugh. Old thoughts.
Still, I trade the ratty sweatshirt for a striped Henley, glance once in the mirror, then let it go. Enough.
I’m enough.
When we visit Lake’s home this morning, I want to do it as my most authentic version. “Ready, bubba?”
“Rweady.” Levi follows me to the car.
We play his favorite YouTube song playlist on the way over. Levi babbles behind me, occasionally reminding me his forehead still has an owie, as though I might have forgotten in the last forty-five seconds. Traffic is light and we arrive twenty minutes later.
Lake waits outside in a hoodie and jeans, with two coffees balanced in one hand and a white paper bag beneath his arm. He must have been tracking us.
I release Levi from his car seat and he runs over to Lake, who crouches to his level. “Hey, buddy.”
“Wake, I have owie.” Levi leans against his knee while Lake studies the bandage without touching it.
Lake taps his nose gently. “Big brave guy.”
Levi nods solemnly, accepting the report. Lake looks up at me and I swear he’s smoldering.
I feel myself blush as he hands me my coffee. “Should we go up and have breakfast?”
“Up.” Levi catches my free hand with one fist and reaches for Lake with the other.
Lake shifts the bag and takes his hand without hesitation. Our son swings happily between us as he leads us toward the front doors, completely unaware the two adults following him are trying very hard to act as though this feels ordinary.
I don’t know what waits upstairs, but I’m excited to find out.
The elevator carries us to the third floor with Levi buzzing between us, his sneakers knocking lightly against the metal wall every time he shifts his weight. Lake unlocks the door, steps aside, and lets us go in first.
I pause just inside the entry.
Morning light spills through a wall of windows overlooking the lake, turning the hardwood silver beneath the clouds.
The condo is beautiful, clearly a professional helped him, though not in the polished way I’d imagined.
It feels lived in. Lake’s hoodie hangs over the back of a chair.
His lyric notebook rests open on the coffee table.
The ordinary clutter makes the whole place warmer than any designer could possibly stage.
We follow Lake into the kitchen where he sets his coffee on the island and takes out bagels and donuts from the bag. A bowl of strawberries, blueberries, and bananas sits beside the stove. He opens the refrigerator, and takes out fixings for a quick scramble.
Breakfast doesn’t take long. Lake makes the two of us omelets and a small scramble for our son. Levi eats most of his sausage and eggs, followed by half a donut.
The second he’s finished, his eye catches something in the adjacent living area, and he slides off his chair and kneels in front of it.
“Open it, buddy,” Lake encourages.
Inside are rocks, each one more beautiful than the last. Split geodes glitter with crystals. Bands of agate glow in the morning light. Smooth river stones sit beside quartz clusters and an amethyst almost too large for his hands.
I stare at the collection before I look at Lake. “You did this?”
“It’s no big thing. I’ve been collecting them here and there.” His attention never leaves our little boy. “Every time I saw one I thought he’d like.”
I’m speechless. On the brink of tears. I knew Lake has been preparing for today, but I had no idea he’d go all in to support Levi’s greatest joy in life.
My God, when I think about it, this entire paternity situation could have gone in so many bad directions.
How did I get so lucky to have chosen Lake on the night of my relapse?
The man could have handled this in so many negative ways.
Ignore his son. Fight me for custody. Or worse, pretend like he wanted to be involved and then disappear.
It’s been the exact opposite. Not only has he become the best father a child could hope for, but he’s a supportive partner in our parenting relationship. Even if he and I don’t work out, I have every faith it won’t affect how strong his bond with Levi will be.
Levi whirls around and screams, “Rwocks!”
“You can take them out.” He kneels beside him, close enough for their shoulders to touch. “Here, let me help you.”
Lake helps Levi lift each rock out one by one and arrange them on the rug. Levi studies a black stone veined with gold, turning it beneath the window until it catches the light. Then he picks up a clear crystal, holding it up toward Lake.
“Dada. Rwock.” He beams.
At first, Lake doesn’t move. With a small shake of his head, he refocuses on the stone for a moment, then back at the little boy who trusted him enough to share it.
“It is,” he agrees quietly. “It sure is.”
Levi nods, satisfied, and turns back to his treasures.
Lake stays put, fully immersed in watching Levi sort rocks he collected for him, even if his son didn’t realize why. For the second time in the span of an hour, I’m close to tears. What a miraculously special moment to witness. All these months of preparation, and it looks like it was all worth it.
At some point, Lake turns to catch my eye. I make the heart symbol with my fingers and he pretends to catch it by tapping his chest. I nod toward the hallway and he smiles.
“Little man.” Lake ruffles Levi’s hair. “How do you feel about leaving these here for a minute? Your mom and I have something we want to show you.”
Levi glances up at me, resting one small hand on an amethyst while he thinks it over.
After a moment he looks at me. I smile. “Let’s go see.”
He slips his hand into Lake’s, and together they meander down the hallway, one taking easy strides, the other hurrying to keep up. I follow behind them, watching my son’s fingers wrapped around his father’s and feeling the warmest and fuzziest I can remember.
Lake stops outside the bedroom and opens the door. “This is your very own room when you visit me here, buddy.”
Levi stands in the doorway, quietly taking it all in. His eyes travel across the bed beneath the window, the shelves lined with books with baskets tucked neatly underneath and a little moon glowing on the dresser before settling on the wooden truck track stretched across the rug.
“Twuck.” He points with his free hand.
Lake laughs. “Yeah.”
Levi lets go of his hand and bolts straight for it, dropping onto his stomach and sending the blue truck around the first curve. A lap later he climbs to his feet again, wanders over to the bed, presses both hands into the space-themed quilt, and gives the mattress an experimental bounce.
Both Lake and I know it will be some time before he’d be comfortable staying here without me, but given what happened last night it’s possible we’ll integrate our little family earlier.
A girl can only hope.
I walk over and crouch beside him. “This will be your bed when you’re here with Dada.”
His eyes stay on mine for a second before drifting toward Lake. “Dada.”
“Yeah, bubba.” I smooth my hand over the quilt. “This is your bed.”
He pats it twice. “Levi bed.”
“Yeah.” Lake joins us.
The answer doesn’t faze him. He slides off the mattress, rescues the truck from the floor, and disappears back into his own world, making engine noises before he’s even reached the track.
Lake sits next to me and my eyes travel slowly around the room.
Every choice has a purpose.
The bookshelf sits low enough for little hands to reach without asking for help. The truck track leaves room to race around the bed without crashing into furniture. Through the door is an en suite, where a step stool waits beneath the bathroom sink beside a toothbrush already standing in its cup.
Nothing here feels temporary.
“You thought of everything.” I lean against him, almost shyly.
Lake never takes his eyes off Levi. “I tried.”
“You did amazing.”
For months I’ve watched Lake become a father in borrowed spaces. Parks. Playrooms. Conference rooms. Places where someone else decided when our time started and when it ended.
Today is monumental.
We watch Levi play with the trucks for nearly an hour. By the time the blue one has crossed the crystal mountain six different ways, and survived more spectacular crashes more than any vehicle should, his engine noises have grown softer. The spaces between them stretch longer.
Levi rubs one eye with the back of his hand, drives another slow lap around the track, then climbs onto the bed without a word, truck still gripped tightly in his fist. I pull the quilt over him while Lake turns on the baby monitor and kisses his cheek.
Within minutes his breathing settles into the slow, even rhythm every parent learns to recognize.
Neither of us speaks until we’ve eased the door almost closed.
We linger in the hallway for a moment, listening. “He loves it.”
“Are you sure?” Lake glances toward the door.
“He does.” I find his hand before we start walking toward the living room. “I realize this is an abrupt subject change, but will you consider coming to counseling with me?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”
“I don’t want to wait until we need it.” I squeeze his fingers. “I want us to build us the same way we’ve built everything with Levi.”
His fingers tighten around mine. “Together.”
“Together.” We walk back toward the living room without letting go.
Levi’s rocks are scattered across the rug exactly where he left them. We get to work putting them away.
“So…” I pick up the amethyst. “How many rock shops did you terrorize?”
He laughs. “You’d be surprised how many people collect rocks around the country.”
“You’re an incredible father.” I beam at him as I put the last crystal on the shelf and shut the cabinet door.
Lake shrugs, almost embarrassed. He moves closer and wraps his arms around me as we look out across the lake.
His condo is quiet now. For the first time since I introduced him to Levi, there isn’t a schedule waiting for us. No supervisor. No countdown clock. No goodbye hanging over the visit.
The man beside me traces slow circles across my back with his thumb.
I rest my head against his shoulder.
Neither of us says another word.
We don’t need to.