Chapter 19
ADAIR
Adair didn’t even know where they were going until Pam said, “turn here,” like it was obvious. The bakery sat on a tucked-away corner of West Boulevard, wedged between a soul food spot and a wig shop. Bright colors in the window, a chalkboard easel out front displaying the day’s special.
Adair parked and said “I didn’t know there was a cake meeting or whatever y’all call this.”
“You didn’t need to know. Sabine’s been busy, so I stepped in. And you’re the one who said you’d drive me.”
Adair shut the door and followed her inside. The bakery smelled like sugar and almond extract. A young girl behind the counter greeted Pam like they were cousins, and they instantly began going over the ideas for Ade’s cake.
“Rocket theme,” Pam reminded, pulling out her phone to show off a few saved inspiration pics.
“Blue and silver, none of that cartoon mess. He’s a big boy now, he want a real rocket,” she said, and they shared a laugh.
The bakery was known for its realism with cake art, so the girl already knew where she was coming from.
Adair stood off to the side, hands in his pockets. He only halfway listened as Pam and the baker went back and forth about fondant versus buttercream, edible stars, chocolate moons, gluten sensitivity for some kids. He didn’t know any of this had already been planned.
Not the theme.
Not the venue.
Not the cake.
Apparently, today was also the day the final deposit was due for the space-themed play museum downtown, which he learned when Pam handed him a paper with a balance and said, “pay that,” after the girl disappeared to the back for some cake samples.
Adair blinked at the number.
“Wait, when was this booked?”
Pam didn’t even look up from her phone. “A month ago.”
“And no one thought to tell me?”
“Well,” Pam finally met his eyes. “Excuse us for doing what’s been done for the last six years of his life.”
Adair clenched his jaw.
“You want honesty?” she continued. “Sabine’s always planned his parties. Every single one. You just be there smiling for the pictures. And I love you, baby but let’s not act brand new now.”
Adair said nothing. Not because she was wrong but because she wasn’t.
He wasn’t a bad father. He showed up. He paid for things.
He made Ade’s lunches on his weeks, read the bedtime books, played Legos on the floor until his back cracked, however, when it came to stuff like this—the details, the coordination, the RSVPs, the cake flavors—he’d never had to do it.
Sabine handled it.
Then Pam.
Now both.
Adair exhaled and looked down at the invoice again. He’d pay it with no hesitation, something just felt…wrong about the role he played, or just now realizing he played.
“I’m not trying to be a ghost in my kid’s life,” he said quietly.
“Nobody said you were,” Pam softened just a little.
She could be really hard on Adair. Once he decided he wanted to be a man and start a family so young, she didn’t lift her foot off his neck.
Her daughter in law and grandson deserved his best and she would ensure they got it, however, sometimes she had to remind herself that this was also her baby too.
“But showing up ain’t the same as holding it down, son.
You know how many times Sabine been up till two in the morning figuring out favors or allergy-safe snacks?
You think that bounce house booked itself last year? ”
He didn’t.
He just never thought about it.
And now that she was working more, pitching to major clients, building out her software, missing a few pickups—now he was noticing the parts she used to carry without complaint.
Now they were just...being carried by someone else.
Adair went to the site provided on the form and paid the deposit for the venue right then and there. Then stepped outside to get some air. The sky was gray, but bright. That kind of early spring weather where everything felt almost new.
He didn’t feel like a bad father.
But for the first time in a long time?
He understood why it might feel that way to someone else.
Pam followed him out a minute later. He was leaning against the passenger side of his car, arms folded across his chest, jaw tight, eyes on nothing. She didn’t say anything right away. Just stood next to him for a few quiet minutes.
“I wasn’t tryna make you feel bad, son,” she said finally. Adair gave a small nod but didn’t speak. “You feel like I said you a bad father.”
He didn’t deny it. “Yea.”
“Well,” she said gently, “then maybe that’s what you needed to feel.”
That made him look at her. Not angry—just wounded.
“I know you love that boy,” Pam went on. “Ain’t never been a question about that but loving your child and showing up for the full load of what they need? That’s not the same.”
Adair rubbed a hand over his jaw, exhaling. “I didn’t know there was so much I didn’t see.”
“Because you didn’t have to,” she said. “Sabine handled it. You didn’t even realize you married the kind of woman who don’t ask twice. And when she stopped having the time, I stepped in. Not because you couldn’t but because you didn’t son.”
Adair closed his eyes for a second. “Damn.”
“You ain’t the first man I’ve said this to. Probably won’t be the last but you my son and I’d rather make you uncomfortable now than have Ade resent you later.”
That hit him different. He couldn’t fathom resentment from his son. Pam stepped closer, her voice softening.
“He loves you, Adair. Deep. You his hero but one day he’s gonna remember who packed the party bags. Who remembered his teacher’s name. Who actually asked him what kind of cake he wanted instead of just showin’ up to eat it.”
“I’m not tryin’ to let him down.” Adair’s throat tightened.
“Then don’t,” she said. “Not just by showing up when the decorations already hung but by being there when it’s time to tie string to balloons. Pick out napkins. Call the astronaut.”
“We got a astronaut?”
“Not yet,” Pam grinned, knowing she was throwing him a bone. “But…I’ll let you handle that.”
“Alright.” He finally cracked a small smile.
Pam patted his chest twice, then turned to go back inside. “Come on. They got little samples we can try and I’m sure you know your son’s favorite flavor.”
“Vanilla or strawberry.”
“See, you know him, you just have to show him.”
Adair stayed still for another moment, watching the reflection of the sky in the window. “Astronaut,” he muttered to himself, then pushed off the car and followed her back inside.
The bakery meeting sat with Adair long after he dropped Pam off. It didn’t play in his mind like a lecture. It felt more like something fundamental—like gravity. Something he could no longer ignore. Pam hadn’t yelled. She hadn’t shamed him. She just told the truth, and the truth stung.
He wasn’t a bad father but when it came to the details, the little things that made birthdays feel like magic, he’d fallen short. Ade was turning six and this year, Adair decided he wouldn’t just show up. He would build something.
After Ade went to sleep on FaceTime that night, still talking about “moon boots” and “zero gravity snacks,” Adair grabbed a legal pad, sat down at the counter, and made a list. He and his mother came to an agreement, and he was ready to take the lead this year.
It started basic but then he paused. He flipped the page and wrote something new:
Make him feel like he’s in space.
The next morning, Adair skipped the gym and instead parked himself at a coworking cafe.
He opened his laptop and started searching.
Space rentals, themed decor, indoor exhibits.
The usual “Space Birthday” Pinterest boards weren’t cutting it.
Everything looked cheap, cheesy, mass-produced.
He wanted something that would knock Ade’s socks off. Something he'd remember.
Then he found it.
A company that specialized in immersive education setups—traveling dome theaters, full-size inflatable space labs, and yes—real astronauts for hire. Trained performers who knew how to speak to kids and answer space questions like they were from NASA themselves.
Immediately he clicked “request a quote.”
That Friday, Adair took an early lunch to visit the warehouse where they stored the dome.
The rep walked him through the specs: twenty-five feet wide, full HD projection, surround sound.
A professional actor would walk the kids through their “first mission,” teach them about constellations, guide them on a pretend but very closely simulated rocket launch.
A full immersive projection of the galaxy, complete with constellations, fake moon dust, and a guide to take the kids on a “trip through the stars.”
Ade would lose his mind.
But what stuck with Adair most was when the company asked, “do you have a photo or voice clip you want to include for the intro? A parent message or birthday dedication?”
He hadn’t done that before. He’d always been there, front row, holding the camera, hugging his son but never in the memory. Not like this. He recorded it in his car then sent it to the coordinator of Ade’s party.
“Hey, buddy. Happy birthday. I hope this trip to the stars is everything you imagined. Just know, no matter how far you fly, how big stars get or how wide the sky, you’re always the center of mine.”
Adair played it back three times before sending it.
The next morning, Adair stood in front of the mirror buttoning his shirt when he caught himself hesitating. There was one more thing to do. Something harder. He picked up the phone and dialed. Sabine answered on the third ring.
“Hey,” she answered with a bit of surprise. They hadn’t truly talked since that night. “Everything okay?”
“Yea…ummm…I wanted to run something by you.”
A pause.
“Uh…okay, shoot.”
“I booked something a little different for Ade’s party.”
“Something…different?”
“Yeah. A mobile planetarium. Whole dome setup. Space visuals. Astronauts. Interactive guide, a voice-guided mission, it’s a whole thing.”
Another pause.
“Sabine?”