I shake my head.
“She listed my dad’s name.” I wipe away more tears. “It surprised me at first.”
“But it doesn’t surprise you now?”
“I know my dad. He would’ve insisted she put his name on the birth certificate to ensure I was taken care of.”
A line forms between his brows. “Then how…?”
“She had a Polaroid of you in the file she kept for me. It had your name on the back. But I found out that’s not the name on your birth certificate either.”
Hopper’s eyes lose focus. “Please don’t say that name.”
The flat request sits heavy on my heart.
“I’ve already forgotten it.”
Nodding, his fingers go back to the air, crafting the story I’m telling him.
“By that point, you’d sold your first gallery show,” I explain, “and it didn’t take me long after that to find the camp you co-sponsored.”
“So it wasn’t a coincidence that you volunteered for the camp?”
“No.”
Hopper takes a moment to absorb this. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I wanted to meet you first.” I send him a sheepish smile. “Make sure you were a good guy.”
“And?”
“You were better than I could’ve hoped for.”
Every emotion seems to cross Hopper’s face. Finally, a tear tracks down his cheek.
“Do you remember that Liam and I tried for a child, but lost the baby?”
“Yes. You said something about it the night you drove me home.”
He shoves his hands in the pockets of his heavy apron.
“I couldn’t handle the loss. It drove me crazy. Liam said we could try again when we felt better, but I wasn’t ever going to feel better. And I gave up on the dream of having a child.” He shakes his head. “But I had a child. A son. I have a son.”
He rocks back and forth, patting his chest, more tears spilling down his face.
I nod, the tears really going now. “You have a son.”
He sniffs, wiping his face. “Can I hug you?” He shrinks in on himself, his shoulders turning inward. “Or would that be weird?”
“Who cares if it’s weird?” I open my arms. “I love hugs.”
His chest hitches with a combination laugh-sob, and he stumbles into my arms.
“Oh my God.I have a son,” he cries, rocking us back and forth with surprisingly strong arms. “I have ason.”
We hold each other for a while. Snuffling loudly against my shoulder, he asks, “Can I call my husband?”
I’m conflicted about bringing in someone else—someone I don’t even know—before I’ve told my parents, but it’s clear Hopper needs his person to ground him. I nod.
