“Hey, Billy,” I greeted him when he picked up. “Henry and I are headed to the park. Would you like to join us?”
There was a pause on the other end, and for a moment, I thought he might decline. But then he laughed and said, “Sure, I’d love to. Just give me a few to wrap up some things here, and I’ll meet you guys there.”
I sighed in relief, thanking him before hanging up. As I turned off the basement lights and closed the door behind me, I couldn't help but glance back at the box, its contents a harsh reminder of a past that still held a piece of my heart. I had no idea what I was going to do with that damned picture. Throwing it away felt wrong, but holding onto it was a special form of torture.
By the time I reached the kitchen, Henry had washed his hands and was rummaging through the pantry for something to eat. He knew which shelves were the free-grabs, and pulled out two snacks.
As we walked hand in hand down the street toward the park, Henry talked excitedly about all his plans for spending the entire rest of the day at the park—what equipment he wanted to play on, whether or not we’d catch lightning bugs, how many kinds of ice cream Uncle Billy would buy him for dessert later that night, the list went on. Listening to him, you’d think it was morning and we’d be there until dark with as much as he wanted to do.
The simple joy of an almost-five-year-old’s world was infectious, and I was grateful for his ability to bring me out of my head and back into the present moment. As his chatter filled the warm afternoon air, I smiled despite the heaviness in my heart. It didn't make sense that seeing a picture of Danny and me had the power to knock me down even though I still saw him around town a few times a month.
“Did you call him, Daddy?” Henry handed me a packet of fruit snacks. The kid knew exactly what he was doing; by grabbing a snack out of the pantry, we could eat on our way to the park.
“Yeah, I called him. He said he’d meet us there.” I ruffled his hair, which was already sticky with sweat from the late spring heat.
Henry’s face broke out into a wide, toothy grin. “Good! Uncle Billy is the best, right, Daddy?”
I chuckled, squeezing his hand. “Yes, he is.”
There were days I wasn't sure what I'd do without Billy. He’d stood by me after the breakup, even when the rest of his family probably wanted a pound of my flesh. And after Henry was born, he’d been the bridge to healing relationships I’d broken. Billy’s family had every reason to hate me but that wasn’t who they were.
By the time we reached the park, Henry was practically vibrating with excitement. He dashed off toward the swing set, leaving me to set up our spot at one of the picnic tables with more snacks and our water bottles.
I watched as Henry clambered onto the swings, his little legs pumping as he tried to get himself moving. My heart swelled with pride and love, watching him. He had no clue about the chaos surrounding the earliest moments of his life, and I hoped it would stay that way, and he’d always manage to find joy in the simplest things. Some days, I envied him.
After a few minutes of struggling, he looked over at me, his face a mix of frustration and determination. “Daddy, can you push me?”
“Of course, buddy.” I stood, walking over to him. I knew it wouldn't be long until he started complaining that he wanted Billy to hurry because he pushed better, but I wanted to enjoy this moment as long as it lasted. As I gently pushed him on the swing, I couldn’t help but think about the future. What would he be like when he was older? Would he still want to go to the park with his old man? Would he still look at the world with such wonder and curiosity? Was there any way to shield him from the harsh realities of the world we lived in?
“Higher, Daddy!” Henry squealed, interrupting my thoughts. I obliged, pushing him a bit harder. His giggles filled the air, a sweet reminder of the joy of childhood.
As we waited for Billy to join us, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia. There were moments, like these, when I wished things could be different. My mind drifted to thinking about what my life would look like if only I’d been honest with Danny from the moment my sister called to tell me she was in trouble.
Maybe he wouldn’t have been scared off and we could have built a life together, the two of us being father figures to Henry. It sure as hell would have saved a lot of people the pain I’d caused.
“Billy! You’re here!” My heart caught in my chest when Henry jumped off the swing, face-planting in the sand. He brushed himself off and sprinted toward Billy, nearly knocking him over in his excitement. Billy scooped him up, spinning him around in a big bear hug.
I stood back, watching them with a mix of emotions. Happiness for Henry, envy for the relationship they shared, and a twinge of sadness for the one I'd lost. From a distance, it was easy to see the resemblance between Billy and his youngest brother.
Billy turned to me, giving me a warm smile. “Ready for a fun afternoon?”
I forced a smile back, nodding. “Absolutely.”
We spent the rest of the day playing and laughing, the memories of that damned box temporarily forgotten. Henry was right. Days like these were the best. Even if they sometimes brought up a past that was hard to face. And as I watched Henry and Billy chase each other around the playground, I realized something.
Despite the heartbreak and loss, despite the guilt that sometimes threatened to consume me, I wouldn’t change a thing. Because all of it—the good, the bad, the painful—had led me here. To this moment. To my son, and a life that, while far from perfect, was mine. And for that, I was grateful.
* * *
The following Monday,the scent of century-old wood and books greeted me as I pushed open the door to the second floor of City Hall. As the city manager of Harmony Grove, my days were typically filled with budget meetings, community outreach, and a fair bit of bureaucracy. It wasn’t the most glamorous job, but I loved the sense of purpose it gave me. I’d been in the position for over a decade, since Stan Jenkins was in office. It had been a sad day when he’d announced his retirement, and sometimes I wondered if he regretted his decision given the power-hungry ogre who seemed determined to undo all the good Mayor Jenkins had accomplished.
I'd just settled into my office when there was a knock on the door. Mayor Thompson, a tall and imposing man in his fifties with slicked-back graying hair and a stern face, walked in without waiting for an invitation. His face was pinched in an expression halfway between a scowl and a grimace.
“Michael,” he barked, tossing a piece of paper onto my desk. “What’s this nonsense?”
I looked down at the paper. It was the city's proclamation for Pride month, a document I'd painstakingly drafted over the past week. I was familiar with the mayor's feelings about the local LGBTQ+ community. I’d had to put up with this same outburst the past two years as well.
“That’s the proclamation for Pride month, Mayor Thompson,” I replied evenly, meeting his glare with a calm expression. “It’s important to show our support and inclusivity.”
