Images of Tyler and me playing together in the studio downstairs fill my mind. Matching Christmas PJs, supervising Ty as he cooks dinner to make sure it won’t kill us. Packing the car with Kay’s stuff as she goes off to college.
“Dad?”
Kay’s voice pulls me away from my thoughts.
“What’s up, honey?”
“Nothing…I just wanted to ask you…this thing with you and Mr…with Tyler. Is it serious?”
I pull her to me, loving when she comes easily. These days I can never tell, so I take the ones I can get.
“Yes, honey. I’m in love with him.”
“Okay.”
“How do you feel about that? I’m sorry everything’s been a real mess.”
“It’s okay. I like Tyler.”
“I think Tyler likes you too.”
She holds me tighter.
“You sure everything’s okay?”
She nods but doesn’t let go.
“How about you help me pick dinner, and then we can all do a jam session downstairs before bed?”
“I’d like that, Dad.”
I’ve done many wrong things in my life, but at this moment, I know I’ve done something right. I just hope the next right thing I want also wants me back.
30
TYLER
NOW
When I driveup to my parking space, the light inside the house is on. I’d hoped to have some time to myself before Seymour arrived.
“Come on, buddy, let’s go see your uncle.”
Stan follows me out of the car. I stop for a moment as I realize what I just said. He’s been my shadow throughout all of this. It’s so easy to forget about his memory condition, which is ironic in itself, but for the first time in years, there’s someone there all the time. Someone who needs me but is always ready to comfort me or bring me out of my moods.
He’s even accepted Mik’s presence in my life. Maybe not so much when he’s locked out of the bedroom for one of our many sex rounds, but the weight of his body on my feet at the end of the bed each night is something I never knew I needed until I got it.
It’s clear now that I’ll never be able to give Stan up, so I’m going to need Seymour to help me with the paperwork I’ll need to fill in to formally adopt Stan. Not to mention a donation to the animal sanctuary.
The door is open when I get to it, probably because Stan was whining to be let out of the cold.
The first thing I see is Seymour on the floor wrestling Stan for a sock. I close the door and lean against the wall, watching them.
“I’ve saved some laundry for him and bought new socks. That should keep my toes safe from frostbite for at least four weeks.”
“You underestimate Stan’s fetish for your smelly socks.”
He raises a brow. “My socks aren’t smelly. Stan’s just a pervert.”
