“Buttercup is the sister,” the toddler said, his legs curled under him where he sat on the rug in a pair of indigo tie-dye pajamas. His little hands gripped two hand-knit cats–one white and the other orange. “And Poncho is the brother.”
Cradling his now-cold cup of tea in his hands, Tyler Raymond lowered himself to the floor beside his son, Rowan. “What are they up to today?”
Rowan hummed, seeming to consider the question. His brown curls bounced out from his head, tangled and untamed. At three, his imagination was starting to run wild, and Tyler was barely able to keep up with the stories he came up with. “Fishing,” he finally said.
“Awesome, kiddo.” Tyler snagged a blue bandana from the floor with a heavily tattooed hand, and then flattened it out on the rug. “Check out this pond. Do you think there might be some fish in here?”
“This pond has fishes and whales.”
“Whales? Really?”
“Mmhm,” Rowan’s big blue eyes were wide. “They can be shy, so we have to be quiet.”
Tyler nodded, shifting to lean against the end of his queen mattress. The room he and Rowan shared was small, but they’d managed to fit a crib in one corner, as well as a chest of drawers and a few baskets of Rowan’s toys.
The last time Tyler had lived in this boarding house, he’d been a senior at the University of Wisconsin, partying away the final days of his college career in Madison. The nine other people who lived in the house had been his family–they’d shared classes and spent weekends seeing DJs in warehouses and camping out at music festivals around the Midwest. There’d always been someone willing to share a joint on the back stoop and dirty dishes piled in the sink. It had been chaos, and Tyler had loved it.
Now he was back, and everything was different.
This is what you wanted, Tyler reminded himself.
He’d recently left his parents’ house in Vermont, along with the free childcare and homemade meals that had come with living there. He’d tried to explain how he felt to his mom: how he needed to prove to himself, needed to prove to Rowan that he hadn’t made a mistake when he committed to raising his son as a single parent.
So there they were, living in student housing, trying to figure out how to sleep in a house where there was always someone playing music or having loud, bedframe-bouncing-off-the-wall sex.
It was all they could afford at the moment. Tyler had a part-time job at a coffee shop and, when he wasn’t working there, delivered groceries. The latter he could do with Rowan strapped into his carseat, and a friend in the house watched Rowan while Tyler worked at the coffee shop.
Between the meager funds and food stamps, they were trying to make it all work. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. As long as he had Rowan, it was enough.
“Flat white with oat milk for Bailey!”
Tyler slid the paper cup across the counter, and then turned back to the espresso machine.Next: dark chocolate mocha, two shots, hemp milk, add cinnamon. His hands moved instinctively as he checked out the morning crowd.
The Daily Grind was always busy. It was the kind of coffee shop that had waves of patrons throughout the morning: the early-morning exercise crowd became office workers, and then students and remote workers. The buzz of voices and sound of the espresso machine were a familiar soundtrack by this point.
Annabeth, who lived in the same boarding house, agreed to watch Rowan in exchange for cash on the days Tyler worked. He knew her from school–she was sweet, and was working as a freelance artist around Madison, so her schedule allowed her some flexibility.
Tyler frowned down at what he was wearing. His favorite colorful knit cardigan had an egg yolk stain across the front, thanks to Rowan deciding he was a street sweeper in the middle of breakfast that morning. At least the lace-edged camisole he wore underneath had escaped the mess. His hair, which he’d impulsively cut into a mullet a few months ago, was growing out, and he’d clipped his brown curls back from his face with sparkling butterfly clips he’d found in the break room.
“Ty! What’s happening, brother?”
Tyler turned toward the familiar voice. He hadn’t seen Corey in…Well, it’d been at least four years. Corey still looked like Tyler remembered him: skinny jeans, a deep v-neck tee, homemade jewelry made from hemp string and wooden beads, and his black hair buzzed short. “How’s it going?”
“It’s so good right now, Ty. I’m serving over at The Oracle for some quick cash, and I’ve got a one-way ticket to Cape Town in the spring.”
“Cool.” Tyler finished pouring the steamed milk into the mocha and handed it to a waiting woman, plastering on what hehoped was a convincing ‘customer service’ smile. “Sounds like a sweet adventure.”
“I didn’t know you were back in town.”
“I just got back a few weeks ago,” Tyler replied.
“Do you go out anymore? I see the others from the boarding house all the time.”
“I have a kid.”
Corey looked surprised. “Oh shit, that’s right! You and Falcon had that baby, didn’t you? What’s she up to?”
“Traveling, last I heard.” Tyler thought of his friend, of the way she’d looked up at him with wide, panicked eyes from the hospital bed, her blonde hair wet with sweat.I don’t want this, Ty. I don’t want to be a mom. I don’t know what I was thinking.He and Falcon had never been more than friends who occasionally hooked up, but when they’d found out she was pregnant after a casual night together, they decided they were going to try to raise the kid. He’d been terrified, but it seemed like the right thing to do. When she’d said she wanted that, Tyler hadn’t said no.
