“Well, if you don’t go to sleep, how are we going to be rested enough for our trip to the park tomorrow?”
Camden furrows his brow and holds his arms out for me. I take him, hugging him close. “Sloane’s right,” I tell him. “It’s almost bedtime.”
“How about I give him a bath while you eat, and then you can read him a story?” she suggests.
“Let him play a little longer. Sit with me while I eat.” Something about coming home to a house filled with laughter, seeing her smile at me and my boy, makes me want to ask her more about their day together.
“Are you sure? I can go to my room and give the two of you some time.”
“I’m sure. Keep me company. Tell me more about your day.”
While I start the microwave, she slides into a chair at the island and gives me a rundown of their day together. Once she’s finished, she asks me about day one at camp, and that’s how we spend the next twenty minutes. I could have finished my plate in no time, because I’m starving and it was delicious, but I find myself eating slower to prolong this.
I know Camden needs to get into bed, but it’s so damn nice to have someone here at the end of the day. Mrs. Ward was very much a "you're home, I’m leaving or going to my own space" kind of woman. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but some adult conversation at the end of a long day is nice.
“Swoan, up.” Camden stands next to her with his arms raised in the air. She lifts him to her lap and smooths his hair back out of his eyes.
“He needs a haircut,” I comment, smiling at my son.
“I can take him if you want? I don’t mind.”
“Really?”
“Of course. Is there a specific place you like to go?”
“There’s a barber not far from the stadium. I’ll text him and get an appointment. Thank you.”
“Did Mrs. Ward not do that for you?”
“No, but I never asked her either. He’s my son. I should be doing those things for him.”
“Baker,” she says softly. “You’re a dad with a busy career. This little man knows how much you love him. Mrs. Ward was here to help you. Now it’s my job. I’m here to help ease your burden. Let me do that for you. Ask me for help. I want to help you.” She smiles down at my son, who has his head resting on her shoulder as he plays with her hair. “Both of you.”
I nod as I finish my dinner. “Thank you,” I finally say. “Haircuts are not a part of your job, but it would be nice if we could get him a trim before the services.”
“Do you know when that will be?”
“No, but I’m guessing next week sometime, from what Levi’s family has told me.”
“Well, we’ll get this little guy all spiffed up with a fresh haircut, and he’ll be ready.”
“All right, bud, are you ready for a bath?” I ask my son.
“Swoan, baf,” he says, sleepily.
“Come on, you. Let’s get you clean and into some jammies.” Sloane stands, offers me a smile, and moves to carry him upstairs.
“I’ll take him,” I say, rushing to stand, and take him from her arms.
“Swoan,” Camden whimpers.
“I’m right here, sweetie,” she says, reaching out and offering him her hand.
That’s how we climb the stairs, the three of us linked together. In the bathroom, Sloane helps with his bath, at Camden’s insistence, and helps him into his pajamas.
“Do you want to pick out a book?” I ask my son.
He nods, rushes to the bookshelf in his room, and grabs a book before handing it to me and climbing into bed.
