12. Kiara #2
“The tall man,” he says.
Jensen crouches down immediately, lowering himself to Kieran’s eye level. The movement is slow, careful.
“Hi, Kieran. Do you remember me? From the hotel?”
Kieran tilts his head, studying Jensen with the intense focus he usually reserves for his dinosaur books.
“You asked about my favorite dinosaur.”
“I did.”
Kieran takes a step closer. His eyes haven’t left Jensen’s face.
“I remember everything you told me.” Jensen holds out the stuffed velociraptor. “I brought you something. I hope you don’t already have one.”
Kieran reaches out slowly, almost reverently. He takes the velociraptor and cradles it against his chest. For a long moment he just holds it, not speaking, his small fingers running over the stitched scales.
“He’s perfect,” he whispers finally. “Look at his claws, Mama.” He holds the toy up for me to see. “They’re the right shape. So many toy dinosaurs get that wrong. They make them too straight.”
“I see,” I say. My voice comes out thick.
“The lady at the store helped me find the most accurate one,” Jensen says. “I told her it was very important.”
Kieran looks at Jensen again. His expression has shifted into something I can’t quite read.
Kieran hugs the velociraptor tighter. Then he holds it up again, examining it from every angle. The teeth. The tail. The positioning of the arms.
“What’s his name?” he asks.
“I thought you could decide that. You know more about velociraptors than I do.”
Kieran considers this. His face scrunches up in concentration, the way it does when he’s solving a difficult problem.
“Victor,” he says finally.
“Victor?”
“Victor the Velociraptor.” He looks up at Jensen. “They survived for millions of years. That’s longer than humans have existed.”
Jensen smiles. A real smile, the kind that crinkles the corners of his eyes.
“Victor is a perfect name.”
Kieran clutches Victor against his chest. Then he looks at me. “Mama. Can the tall man see my dinosaur collection?”
I glance at Jensen. His eyes are bright, hopeful, terrified. “If he wants to.”
“Do you want to?” Kieran asks Jensen directly. “I have forty-seven dinosaurs. Forty-eight now.” He holds up Victor.
“I’d like that very much,” Jensen says. “Will you show me?”
Kieran grabs Jensen’s hand. His small fingers wrap around two of Jensen’s larger ones. He tugs. “Come on. They’re in my room. I have them organized by period. Triassic, Jurassic, and Cretaceous.”
He drags Jensen down the short hallway. Jensen follows, letting himself be led, glancing back at me over his shoulder. I nod once. It’s okay. Go.
I follow them to Kieran’s bedroom and stop in the doorway, leaning against the frame.
The room is small. A twin bed with dinosaur sheets. A bookshelf overflowing with library books. And covering every other available surface, dozens of plastic dinosaurs in various sizes and states of disrepair.
Kieran has released Jensen’s hand and is standing in the middle of the room, arms spread wide.
“This is the Triassic section,” he says, pointing to a cluster of dinosaurs on his desk. “Triassic was the oldest period. The dinosaurs were smaller then. Less diverse.”
Jensen crouches down to examine the desk, bringing his face level with the plastic figures.
Then he leads Jensen to a low shelf by the window. The Jurassic dinosaurs are larger, more colorful. Kieran picks them up one by one, explaining each.
“This is Allosaurus. He was the top predator before T. rex. See his three fingers? T. rex only had two.”
“Is that why you like velociraptors better? Because they had more fingers?”
“No.” Kieran shakes his head seriously. “I like velociraptors because they were smart. And because they hunted in packs. Working together is important.”
He hands Jensen a stegosaurus with one missing plate.
“This one is broken. But I keep him because Auntie Nadia gave him to me when I was two. His name is Steven.”
“Steven the Stegosaurus?” Jensen laughs. “I think Steven is a fine name.”
They move to the bed, where a battalion of dinosaurs is arranged on the rumpled sheets. Kieran picks up a large T. rex with faded paint and a chipped tooth.
“This is Rex. He’s my oldest dinosaur. Mama gave him to me when I was a baby.”
Jensen looks at me, then back at Kieran. “He looks well-loved.”
Kieran hugs Rex against his chest alongside Victor. “Sometimes I sleep with him. Not because I’m scared. Just because he gets lonely.”
“Dinosaurs can get lonely?”
“Everything can get lonely.” Kieran sets Rex down carefully.
He continues the tour, showing Jensen each dinosaur, explaining its name and species and which period it came from. Jensen asks questions. Real questions, not the condescending kind adults usually ask children. What did it eat? How fast could it run? Why did it go extinct?
Kieran answers every question with increasing enthusiasm. His small hands gesture wildly as he explains the difference between herbivores and carnivores. He demonstrates how a triceratops would have used its horns for defense.
When the tour is complete, they sit on the floor together, surrounded by plastic dinosaurs.
I watch from the doorway. My chest is tight. My eyes are burning. Jensen looks up and catches me watching. His eyes are wet too.
He turns back to Kieran. And Kieran yawns suddenly, hugely, his whole face stretching.
“I’m not tired,” he announces.
“Of course not.”
“I’m just resting my eyes.”
He lies down on the floor, right there among the dinosaurs, Victor clutched against his chest. His eyes flutter closed. Within seconds, his breathing has slowed.
I look at Jensen. He’s staring at Kieran with an expression I can’t describe. Awe and grief and love all tangled together.
“He does this sometimes,” I whisper. “Plays until he crashes.”
Jensen nods. He doesn’t speak. I’m not sure he can.
“We should get him to bed,” I say. “He’ll be sore if he sleeps on the floor all night.”
“I’ll carry him,” Jensen offers. “If that’s okay.”
I nod.
He bends down and scoops Kieran up, cradling him against his chest. Kieran stirs but doesn’t wake. His head lolls against Jensen’s shoulder.
I pull back the dinosaur sheets. Jensen lays Kieran down gently, so gently, like he’s handling something precious. I pull the covers up and tuck Victor under Kieran’s arm.
“Goodnight, buddy,” Jensen whispers.
We leave the room together. I pull the door almost closed, leaving it open a crack the way Kieran likes.
Jensen leans against the counter, watching me. His arms are crossed over his chest. His shoulders are tight. He’s trying to look casual but his whole body is rigid with tension.
“I missed all of it.” His voice cracks. I turn around.
He’s standing in the middle of my small kitchen, his hands hanging at his sides, his face twisted with grief.
“I missed four years of watching him become this person. Four years of dinosaur battles and bedtime stories and teaching him how to tie his shoes.”
“He still can’t tie his shoes. We’re working on it.”
“I could have helped. I could have been there.” He presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. His shoulders are shaking. “I should have been there to figure it out with you.”
“Yes. You should have.”
“I want to know him.” He takes a step toward me. Then another. He stops when he’s close enough that I could touch him if I reached out. “More than I have ever wanted anything. But I don’t want to mess this up. I don’t want to do anything that hurts him.”
“Then we need to establish some ground rules.”
“Anything.” He says it immediately. Without hesitation. “Whatever you need. I’ll do it.”
I push off from the counter. I need to move. I walk to the window, looking out at the fire escape, the brick wall of the building next door. I can see his reflection in the glass. He hasn’t moved. He’s watching me, waiting.
“We go slow,” I say. “Kieran’s pace, not ours. If he seems overwhelmed or confused, we pull back. No questions asked.”
“Agreed.”
“You’re my friend. That’s how I introduce you to anyone who asks. A friend from work who likes dinosaurs and comes over to play sometimes.”
I see his reflection swallow. His jaw tightens. But he nods.
“Agreed.”
“No telling him you’re his father.” I turn to face him. “Not until we both decide he’s ready. And I mean both of us, Jensen. Not just you deciding the moment feels right.”
“How will we know when he’s ready?”
“I don’t know.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Maybe he’ll ask questions. Maybe he’ll notice that you look alike. Maybe it’ll take years. But we’ll figure it out together, and we’ll both agree before anything is said.”
“Agreed.”
“No lawyers.” I hold his gaze. “No custody papers. No legal threats. Not now. Not ever. Not even if you get frustrated with how slowly this is moving. Not even if we fight. Not even if things fall apart between us.”
He crosses the distance between us in two strides. He’s right in front of me now, close enough that I can see the pulse jumping in his throat.