Chapter 19 #2
“I’m here…I’m…just…wow. That’s amazing, Adair.”
“I wanted to do something different. You’ve carried this for years. I figured it was time I pulled more weight, not just throw a check at it. I know you’ve been busy lately and I know mom has been helping but this is my responsibility too.”
Silence stretched but not tense. More like…surprise softening into acknowledgment.
Exhaling, slowly, she responded, “you didn’t have to ask me, Adair, he’s yours just as much as mine and if this is what you wanted for his party it’s perfectly fine with me. I appreciate you for taking it over honestly, I’ve been kinda spreading myself thin.”
“I know but I still wanted to make sure. I didn’t want you to feel like I was stepping on your plans or anything.”
“Well, I appreciate you for that.”
“Yea,” Adair nodded. “I know I didn’t make space for this before,” he added. “You just handled it, and I got used to that.”
“I let you,” she admitted. “I didn’t ask. I didn’t delegate. I just…did and then resented it later.”
“That’s fair.”
“It’s not blame,” she said gently. “It’s just what happened.”
They sat in that soft space for a beat.
Not a reconciliation.
Not a beginning.
Just clarity.
“I also recorded a message,” he added. “For the dome intro.”
“Like a birthday message?”
“Yeah. They offered, so I did it.”
Sabine was quiet again. Then, “he’s gonna love that.”
“I hope so.”
There was a warmth in her voice when she said, “Thank you, Adair seriously.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Bean. I always got you and look, if you need more money, too, I know you’ve been swamped with work lately, I’ll take care of whatever’s left.”
Adair never slacked when it came to financial responsibility.
He made sure their son was taken care of, always but Sabine never asked him for more, even when she probably needed it.
And if she was struggling beyond what he could see, he wouldn’t have know because she stopped bringing her needs to him a long time ago.
“I won’t say no,” she said, with a soft giggle that warmed him from his head to below. He could feel her smile through the phone and it did something to him. “Ummm…this weekend we’re ummm…doing gift bags at Pam’s…and…if…” she was stammering badly. “If you wanted to come by and help—”
“I’m there,” Adair responded without question.
That Saturday, Adair pulled up to Pam’s house with the trunk packed like he actually knew what he was doing. Space-themed flashlights. Glow-in-the-dark stars. Little astronaut keychains.
He’d driven across town twice the day before just to find the exact drawstring bags Sabine had mentioned on the phone. Not because she asked. Just because it mattered now.
The screen door gave its usual screech. The house smelled like lemon cleaner, fabric softener, and his mother’s pot roast in the oven. He paused for a second at the threshold, watching it all.
Sabine was at the kitchen table, legs tucked under her, scooping silver star confetti into clear plastic bags. Her hair was in a puff, no makeup, sleeves scrunched to her elbows. She was in her zone. That kind of focus she always had when she was doing something for Ade.
Adair used to see her like this all the time—on the floor wrapping Christmas gifts or labeling preschool folders. It hit him that he hadn’t seen this version of her in person in a while.
“Look who finally decided to be useful.” Pam glanced up from the stove.
“Don’t start.” Adair smirked. He came in and dropped the box on the table with a soft thud. Sabine looked up, surprised at how much he brought.
“You didn’t have to do all that.”
“I wanted to,” he said simply and he meant it.
Ade came running in from the living room, tablet in one hand and a plastic moon rover in the other. “Daddy!” he knew he was having a party but not what was actually in store, so Sabine didn’t care that he saw his party favors.
Adair barely had time to brace before Ade launched himself into his arms.
“What up, champ?” He scooped him up and spun him once, just enough to get that belly laugh he lived for. “You ready to turn six?”
“I been ready!” Ade shouted, and Adair could feel him vibrating with excitement. He set him down gently, then slid into the chair next to Sabine. Pam smirked then strutted back to the kitchen.
“What are we stuffing?” he asked.
“Stickers, stars, freeze-dried fruit snacks. Moon rocks—well, rock candy that looks like them,” she said, pointing to the lineup of supplies. “Then all of this cool stuff you brought,” she said taking things out of the box.
“Copy.”
And he got to work.
No phone.
No emails.
No disappearing to take a call or respond to a text. Just hands, party bags, laughter, and little boy joy. Ade bounced between the table and the living room, checking their progress like he was supervising.
Pam passed behind them every so often, throwing comments over her shoulder about how “some people had to learn what parenting looked like in daylight.” Adair didn’t even flinch. He earned that.
What struck him most was how easy it felt.
Sitting next to Sabine. Filling bags. Their arms bumping every now and then.
Falling into a rhythm without needing to talk too much.
Every now and then she’d pass him more ribbon or slide a finished bag his way without looking.
He hadn’t realized how much he missed it.
Not the relationship.
But the doing. The being.
Adair caught himself watching her at one point.
The way she inspected each bag after she tied it, making sure none of them were missing anything.
The way she squinted when she read labels.
The way she smiled without realizing it when Ade skipped past singing the words to “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” with his own made-up lyrics.
She was still her.
He was still him.
But something had shifted.
There wasn’t heat between them anymore but there was warmth. A kind of earned peace. When they reached the last bag, Adair held it open while Sabine finished tying the ribbon. Their fingers brushed and neither of them flinched. He sat back and looked at the full pile.
“How many kids did you invite?” he asked, realizing just how many party bags there was.
Laughing, Sabine responded, “his whole class and let’s not act like his daddy side ain’t full of cousins,” she jabbed and they shared a laugh.
“True,” Adair agreed. “Farah,” he spoke of one of his cousins. “Just told me he got another one on the way.”
“I know not wit that stank hoe La’Wacka Flacka, or whatever the hell her name is!” Pam shouted from the kitchen making them holler.
“Yea mama,” Adair laughed. “La’Wacka Flacka,” he confirmed, not remembering the girl’s name either.
“It’s La’Wanna,” Sabine shook her head smiling, at the both of them and Adair simply stared at her. She even remembered his cousins’ millions of baby mamas—that’s how much she valued his family.
He turned toward her, just slightly. She didn’t meet his eyes at first. She was busy straightening the pile but then she glanced up, and whatever passed between them in that moment wasn’t heavy or sad.
It was recognition.
Of everything that had been broken.
And everything they were still strong enough to do together.
Even if it was just this.
Pam passed by again, muttering, “about time,” before disappearing into the hallway. Sabine laughed softly under her breath, the sound curling into his chest.
Ade returned just as they finished, throwing himself across both their laps like a little comet. “Did y’all finish my space bags?!”
“All forty-five,” Sabine said.
“Then I love y’all both infinity!” Ade beamed.
Adair kissed the top of his head. “Infinity and back, kid.”
Ade grinned and jumped up. As he bounded off, Adair looked over at Sabine again. She was watching their son with that same soft expression she’d always had—like he was her heart with legs.
“You really been doing all this by yourself,” Adair said quietly. “For years.”
She didn’t respond right away. Then: “Yeah. But I never wanted to.”
That landed like a brick and he gave a slow nod. “I’m here now.”
Sabine didn’t offer forgiveness. Or reassurance. She just nodded once. “That’s good,” she said. “Because he’s gonna remember this year. Not just the astronaut or the stars…but that you helped.”
Adair swallowed around the lump forming in his throat.
“I want him to remember that I was in it. Not just standing off to the side. I want to be in it.”
“You will be.”
He stayed long after they finished and Sabine looked at him—not with bitterness, not with nostalgia but maybe, just maybe, with the smallest sliver of new respect.