“Please, Mom? I haven’t gone in forever!”
My stomach drops. He hasn’t been since before he collapsed on that soccer field, and the thought of him running around in the heat squeezes the air from my lungs. The doctor said to take it easy while his body adjusts to the medication. It hasn’t even been a month.
“How about somewhere else today?” I say, forcing lightness into my voice. “I’ve got something even better in mind.”
He narrows his eyes at me with theatrical suspicion. “Where?”
My mind races, trying to think of something he’ll love enough to forget about the park. There are plenty of places he’s always wanted to go that I’ve had to say no to because of money. But now... now I’m making decent tips at the club. I’m not going to get rich stripping, but maybe I can finally afford to say yes to some of the things I’ve been putting off.
“Well, there’s this place with sharks...”
His eyes go wide. “The aquarium?”
“The very one.”
He launches himself at me for a hug that nearly knocks me off my chair, and just like that, the park is forgotten. God, it feels good to finally be able to say yes to something.
The Shark Reef Aquarium is packed with families, the perfect place to get lost in for a few hours. Austin makes it three steps inside before he’s pulling me toward the 3D theater experience. The underwater simulation makes me slightly nauseous, but Austin’s squeals of delight as virtual sharks swim around us make it worth the queasiness.
After that, we wander through the exhibits. Austin rattles off random facts he’s absorbed from nature documentaries, and I find myself pulling out the small sketchpad I always carry. While he’s mesmerized by a tank of jellies, I start sketching their graceful movements, the way the light filters through the water and illuminates their translucent bodies.
I love this part. Capturing moments, finding beauty in unexpected places. Someday, when Austin doesn’t need everypenny I earn for medical bills, maybe I’ll go back to school for graphic design. Maybe I’ll do something with these sketches that fill notebook after notebook in my bedroom.
“Mom, did you know that seahorses don’t have stomachs?” Austin says, pressing his hand against a nearby tank. “So they have to eat all the time to stay alive.”
I look up from my sketch. “How do you know that?”
“Aunt Keshia told me. She said I eat so much that I’m like a seahorse.”
I roll my eyes. “Leave it to Keshia to know random facts like that. But she’s not wrong about your appetite.”
We move through an underwater tunnel next, glass arching over our heads and under our feet. Some of the other kids are nervous about walking on it, but Austin is fascinated by the fish swimming beneath us.
“Mom, when I grow up, I want to live in an aquarium,” he says, watching a group of angelfish glide past.
“Oh yeah?” I ask, amused. “Sounds expensive. But whatever makes you happy.”
He reaches out and takes my hand, and my heart swells with love for this little boy who gives affection so easily.
“And you can live there too,” he adds seriously. “Then you can always make me grilled cheese.”
I laugh. “Your honesty is refreshing, kid.”
A laugh nearby makes me turn. There’s a woman with a stroller, auburn hair braided to the side and kind eyes that crinkle when she smiles.
“Sorry to intrude,” she says. “I couldn’t help but overhear.”
Austin, never one to turn down meeting a stranger, bounces over to her. “Hi, I’m Austin.”
“Hello, Austin. My name is Quinn.” She shakes his offered hand with the seriousness it deserves, and I instantly like her for it.
I close my sketchpad and move closer. “I’m Nina. And who’s this little one?”
“Isabelle,” Quinn says, and the baby in the stroller coos as if she knows we’re talking about her.
A man approaches from behind Quinn, and my stomach does a little flip. He’s handsome enough, but there’s something about him that screams ‘don’t mess with me.’ The kind of guy you cross the street to avoid on a dark night.
But when Quinn sees him coming, her whole face lights up, and when their eyes meet, his face does too. Suddenly he doesn't look dangerous at all. He looks like a man completely gone for his wife.
