“Me, too.” I bring a spoonful of soup to my lips, gently blowing the steam from the broth. “But he is welcome,” I tell Jackson while looking at Jim. “Anytime he’s not working or doesn’t have plans, our door is always open.”
The look Jim sends me from across the table could disintegrate my panties.
“I wish the weekend wasn’t over. I don’t wanna go back to school.” Jackson’s comment has both Jim and I giving him our full attention.
“Why’s that?” I reach a hand over to lay across his forehead, checking for warmth before moving down to rest the back of my hand against his cheek. “Are you feeling okay? Does your stomach hurt?”
He dips his spoon in the bowl, spinning it slowly. His other hand comes up, resting his chin in his palm.
“What’s wrong, buddy?” Jim adjusts his position so he’s facing Jackson’s side, giving him his full attention.
“Nothing.”
“Are you worried the kids are going to tease you for getting sick?”
I suck in a breath at his boldness. I had meant to bring it up to Jackson at some point this weekend, or in the coming week. But truthfully, with the chaos of both of them being sick, I had completely forgotten.
After a solid twenty seconds of silence, Jackson gives the faintest little nod, and my heart breaks.
If he asked me to, I’d march into school Monday morning, sit in the back of his classroom and give the stink eye to any little fucker that tries to tease him.
“You know that only happened because you were really sick, there’s nothing you could have done to stop it.”
Jackson nods, but his eyes are still glued to his bowl of soup.
Jim sets his utensil down, reaches a finger over to tap underneath Jackson’s chin, urging him to look up at him. When Jackson’s wide eyes meet his own, he smiles. “Wanna know a secret?
Jackson nods.
Jim leans over, raising a palm to cover his mouth in secret, but raises his voice so I can hear as well. “I pooped in my pants, too.”
Jackson slaps a hand over his mouth to stifle his instant giggle. “You pooped your pants?”
He says it once more, his giggle infectious. Soon all three of us are laughing.
“Hey!” Jim fakes hurt. “I told you that in solidarity! Not so you could laugh at me.”
Jackson’s giggles eventually fade out, his face flushed and pink. He smirks again as he takes his spoon, digging it into his dinner.
“So if it can happen to a cool guy like Jim”—I point out—“it’s okay that it happened to a cool little dude like you, right?
He nods. “Right.”
~
I take another slow sip of my tea, snuggling further into my blanket. Jackson whooped us both at another game of Sorry!, and when I prompted him to get his pajamas on and brush his teeth for bed, he quietly asked if Jim could read to him instead of me. I took that opportunity to bask in a hot cup of tea and catch up on trashy reality TV.
“He’s out.” Jim’s groggy voice cuts through the scripted argument on the screen. He shuffles into the living room to sit next to me, hair disheveled like he fell victim to the trap of a warm bed and cuddly toddler.
“Did he make you readDragons Love Popsicles?” We have read it so many times in the last month I have it memorized.
“I suggested it, but he wanted to go withDragons Love Farts.”
“He has quite the sophisticated taste in books for a five-year-old.”
Jim plops on the other end of the sofa, extending his long limbs to rest his feet on the coffee table, crossing an ankle over the other. He’s quiet for a minute before chuckling. “Dragons Love Fartsis pretty funny, though.”
“Are you a tea drinker? I could make you a medicine ball, the peppermint would settle your stomach.”
