Chapter 4 #2
“No, we’re going to the zoo. I have to return this wild monkey I found.” I tickle his side, and he erupts in contagious laughter that soothes my soul. “And then, when we come home, we’re going to eat all of Momma’s cupcakes!”
Ezekiel’s eyes light up, and he hums his delight.
Haven’s lifelong dream has always been to own a bakery.
She’s mastered all of our grandmother’s recipes, which she takes pride in.
Until she can afford to open a shop in town, she sells her desserts at The Village Diner as well as offering custom-made cakes for weddings, events, and parties.
Our cousin Luke offered to front the start-up costs, but Haven refused.
Momma always taught us to stand on our own two feet.
If we can’t do it on our own, we work toward our goal until it’s achieved.
Today she’s setting up for a bridal shower.
“I should be home around four, if that’s okay,” Haven confirms, handing me Ezekiel’s backpack. I take Ezekiel’s hand in mine and attempt to lead him out the front door, but his steps are eager little hops because his excitement can’t be contained.
“Take your time, sis.” I lean in and give my baby sister a hug.
She ruffles Ezekiel’s hair and says, “Love you, little man. Be good for Auntie today.”
Ezekiel tugs on my hand impatiently, so I throw a wave to Haven over my shoulder and hurry down the steps and to the car.
Once Ezekiel is buckled in, we head into town to the city park–better known as the zoo to Ezekiel.
It's where he can cut loose and be as wild as his little heart desires.
Outside voices are appropriate here. Dirt is to be played in and not avoided.
And a trip to the zoo always brings the promise of ice cream after.
Yes, I already promised him cupcakes, but what kind of auntie would I be if I didn't spoil his dinner?
“I can push myself on the swing now, Auntie. I go super high. I can almost touch the clouds,” he boasts, watching me through the rearview mirror.
“Can you push me on the swing, Ezekiel?”
“Nooooo, Auntie. You’s too big for me to push.” He laughs. “You’s so silly, Auntie.”
I pull into a parking space and shut off the ignition. Ezekiel leans forward in his seat, fussing to get out. If he’s anything, it’s impatient.
“Hurry, Auntie. I wanna go.” He rocks the car seat, trying to unsnap the harness. I get out of the car and gather Ezekiel’s backpack onto my shoulder before freeing him from the car seat.
“Remember, you have to hold Auntie’s hand until you’re inside the gate, okay?”
He nods, bouncing excitedly. I open the gate, and Ezekiel’s hand breaks free from mine.
His little feet carry him right to the swings, where he attempts to climb into the seat with no help from me.
He’s growing up too quickly, every little milestone he accomplishes is just another reminder that time can’t return.
“Hold on tight, little man,” I encourage.
“I do it, Auntie. I’m a big boy,” he promises as he works his little legs to gain momentum.
Ezekiel giggles every time I nudge the swing higher, and I snap a few pictures with my phone.
Even as a child I never knew this kind of joy.
Convicted at birth to serve a life sentence of injustice, I fought a battle for happiness that I couldn’t afford.
These stolen moments with Ezekiel are always a gentle reminder of why I’ve sold my soul to gain our freedom.
To bring my family together, with no distance keeping us apart.
Ezekiel runs and plays without a care in the world, and I’m thankful he’s never known anything but love.
The blue sky dims to gray as storm clouds cover the sun, and light rain drizzles. “Hurry, Zeke, it’s going to storm!” I tell him as I take his hand.
“It’s just rain,” he says as he splashes in a puddle of mud. I giggle with him, then pick him up and carry him to the car.
“We’ll have ice cream after you eat your lunch, but it’s not safe to play in the storm,” I tell him as I buckle him in his car seat.
He doesn’t argue, and his energy must be zapped because he’s asleep before we even pull onto the road.
I drive home cautiously as the clouds open up to an angry storm.
Ten minutes later, I unbuckle Zeke’s harness and he blinks the sleep from his eyes on a yawn as he wiggles out of the seat.
“Auntie,” he mumbles as leans into my chest, and I wrap my arms around him and carry him inside.
I set him on the couch and pull his shoes off, then flip the TV onto his favorite cartoon, Paw Patrol.
He giggles as he snuggles against a pillow, still sleepy from his short nap.
I go into the kitchen and make Ezekiel’s favorite lunch, cutting the peanut butter and jelly sandwich into triangles.
He swears they taste better that way, and I have to agree.
I learned early on that Ezekiel likes to eat with the adults, so I stack the triangles on a plate to share, then pour a half glass of chocolate milk.