This is just one night. For Austin to unwind and be Little for a while. I shouldn’t be thinking of buying him things like that.
“I think it’s delicious,” Austin finally says. I slump my shoulders and let out a puff of air. “Better than what I can make. My noodles never turn out right.”
“You know, your Daddy was the one that taught me to cook,” I say. “I was a broke, college student when we met. He taught me spaghetti first, then we moved to chicken alfredo. I can make great burgers on the grill, too. And tacos. I love tacos.”
“I love tacos, too!” Austin says excitedly. “Daddy used to do taco nights and I would help him put all the stuff on and roll them up. They were so yummy.”
“Can I tell you a secret?” I lean forward slightly, like I’m about to reveal something serious. Austin does the same and we’re only inches away from each other. Austin’s eyes are trained on me. “Your Daddy once told me the secret recipe he uses for the meat in his tacos.”
“No!” Austin seems genuinely surprised about that. It is the truth. Paul liked to keep his secrets, but he did share a few with me when he was teaching me how to cook different things. And unlike him, I wrote them down so I wouldn’t forget. He always loved that people came to him to ask for things. He was definitely meant to be a Daddy, through and through.
“Cross my heart,” I say, omitting the last half of that saying. It’s not needed for Austin to know I’m being serious. “Maybe we can make them one day? I bet you make the best tacos. What are you favorite things to put on them?”
Just like that, Austin talks and talks. Between bites, he tells me about his favorite taco toppings, introduces me— or reintroduces me— to his stuffies. He brought home the koala and it’s tucked in beside the panda. Pam-da, Austin calls her. Once Austin is done with his food and I wipe his face clean of sauce, I settle in to eat my own as we continue watching the show. As expected, after hearing the song once, I sing along the next time. I can hear Austin mumbling the words too.
It’s close to ten when Austin starts yawning for real and I decide that it’s bedtime. “Alright, Mister Sleepy Pants. It’s bedtime. Do you you want to get your stuffies back in your room and then we’ll get your teeth brushed and go to bed?"
“Do you need-”
I interrupt him immediately, not wanting him to pull out of his Little space so quick. “I want you to go pick out two books and we’ll read them before you go to sleep. Don’t worry about anything else.”
Austin doesn’t argue. He gathers the stuffies and heads across the space to his bedroom. It’s the last door on that wall. I vaguely wonder how he has the extra bedroom set up, but I’m not going to pry tonight. I would like to do this with him again. If he wants.
When he comes back out, he’s yawning again. But he has two books in hand. He gives them to me before motioning that he’s going to go to the bathroom. I nod and flip through the books. They’re simple. One is The Ugly Duckling, which is always a story that makes me sad. Then the other is a more upbeat one, with shapes and colors decorating the pages and every other line rhyming.
“All fresh,” Austin announces when he comes out of the bathroom. It’s an adorable sight the way he bares his teeth to show me that they’re clean. I purse my lips playfully.
“I don’t know.” I draw out the words and tap a finger against my chin. “I think I need a smell test.”
Austin rolls his eyes but giggles. The smell test was something else that Paul did with him as well. It was a running joke between the two. Usually ended up with a kiss or two but even tonight, Austin knows that I’m just playing with him.
“How about you grab one of the blankets on the back of the couch and we’ll get to reading? I can’t promise my voices are all that great, but I’m going to try.”
I wait until Austin is snuggled up on the couch. His head is resting on the other armrest and his feet are curled up next tomy hip. I move them so he’s stretched out with his feet on my lap. “You’re fine, Austin. Now, which are we reading first?”
I really give my best with the voices. I’ve only heard Paul’s reading time once in my life. It was usually reserved for the two of them, but there was a time when he was stuck late on a job and I had been with Austin. He read him a book from memory over the phone.
By the time I’m done with The Ugly Duckling, I look over and see that Austin’s eyes are closed. I wait a few moments to make sure he’s really asleep before I set the books aside and slowly move myself out from under his feet. It isn’t the easiest of feats, but I manage.
Austin is the same length of the couch and I know he’s probably going to wake up with a least a crick in his neck if he stays there. So, like any good pseudo-Daddy, I brace myself and scoop him up toward my chest. He stirs a bit, but doesn’t wake.
I maneuver my way into his bedroom, taking care to not trip over anything. This is definitely the most-used room in his house. I smile when I realize that there are pajama sets in the floor and on the bed. He must have tried out at least six different ones before settling on what he is wearing now. The others are plain colors and way too boring for slipping into Little space. I'm glad he went with the giraffe.
Austin lets out a small noise in the back of his throat when I set him down on the bed. He sniffles, then rolls over and is out cold again. I fight the urge to brush the hair back from his face.
The room is warm enough and with the footie pajamas, he isn’t going to need the blanket tonight. I fiddle with the clock on his bedside table and smile when I see he already has analarm set for six AM. Hopefully that’s the time he needs to be up. I make sure it’s turned on before cutting off the main light and leaving the door cracked just a bit.
As promised, I clean up. I go slow to keep the noise down. It takes me about twenty minutes to wash the dishes and fold up the blanket that Austin used. I find a notepad next to Austin’s phone and write a short message. Austin has my number, but I leave it again with a message to call me any time. I also promise to share the secret recipes I know at our next hangout.
I’m hoping there’s a next.
Chapter Three
Iwakeupinmy adult headspace. The night before comes back to me in snippets, like one of those old timey films that go slide-by-slide.
Breaking down.
Driving home.
