My eyes widened at the news of a natural disaster materializing in my living room. I set the apples down and jumped onto the chair with Noah. We moved around the room on chairs and pillows and coffee tables until the three of us collapsed into a pile on the sofa, laughing and winded. It might not have seemed like much—a simple, silly game—butthis right herewas my dream come true. Without thinking, I cupped Quinn’s face and kissed him. It was spur of the moment and stupid, but sometimes life just needed to be risked in that way.
“Blech,” Noah articulated, complete with retching noises.
I grabbed my son and proceeded to drown him in a sea of kisses, making sure not to miss even one of the cute little freckles that inexplicably poked through his tanned complexion.
“Wait a minute,” Quinn said, spying something across the room. “You have a guitar?”
“It’s my dad’s. When I was a kid, he used to play it for me. He was an amateur and only knew a couple of songs, but I’ve held onto it all these years, hoping someday he’d play it for me again.”
“Do you think he’d mind?” Quinn asked, already headed over to grab it.
“You saw my dad. He’s got bigger things on his mind.”
Quinn returned to the spot beside me with the guitar in hand. He plucked one string and a puff of dust floated up. “Nice to see you wipe it down once in a while.”
“I haven’t cleaned it in all the years I’ve been holding on to it.”
Quinn waved the now-airborne particles from his face. “Yeah, I can tell.”
As Quinn twisted and turned the metal heads on my father’s guitar, he patiently explained to Noah how everything worked, even trying to get him to use his ears to hear if something was out of tune. I smiled, watching them work together for a common goal. To think how many kids had this gift every day—fathers who cared enough to pass their wisdom on.
Quinn began to play, the song an extension of him as his fingers moved effortlessly over the strings. Such ease. Such beauty. The tendrils of his music wrapped themselves around me and I tingled, imagining his hands drawing skillfully across my own skin.
“I have an idea,” I said, standing up and pulling a protesting Noah off the couch after Quinn’s impromptu concert was complete. “Let’s get you all ready for bed, and then maybe instead of a bedtime story, we can get Quinn to sing you that song from theNext in Lineperformance.”
Quinn’s eyes flickered with what I could only assume was the memory of what had happened the last time I’d heard that song. It had ended up with me on my back and him between my legs. And in all honesty, it would probably end that way again.
* * *
Noah took longer than usual to calm down, and that had everything to do with Quinn. He didn’t want to miss any of the fun. I couldn’t blame him because neither did I. It was only after Quinn promised to see him again that Noah finally lay down and fell asleep. But it wasn’t enough for me to know that he was in the lullaby stages of sleep. No, my kid had to be full-on into the deep stages of REM sleep before I dared go back out to the musical stud in my apartment.
I quietly shut Noah’s door and made my way into the living room, lovingly decorated in a combination of beach décor, Noah’s various art projects, and framed photos. Quinn was standing near my front door, a photo swiped off my entry table in his hand.
“What are you looking at?” I asked, wrapping my arms around him from behind, already feeling uncommonly comfortable laying my head against his back.
“Jess and Noah,” he said, replacing that photo and picking up another. “Jess and Noah.” And another. “Jess and Noah. It’s just the two of you. No other family. No other friends. No father for Noah.”
“There’s an explanation for that: it’s just Jess and Noah.”
“Is his dad NL from the heart in the mini-golf castle?”
“Yes. His name is Nick Ledger.”
“And you were pregnant during the burglary, and the juvenile hall, and the high school shunning?”
“Unbeknownst to me, but yes.”
“So, Nick’s not in your life at all?”
“He’s around, sort of, but only when he wants to be, which isn’t often. I used to try to force it, but he just doesn’t want to know his son. It’s heartbreaking.”
“Does he at least pay child support?”
“Not in a couple of years, no.”
Quinn shook his head, upset for me. It was nice that someone was. It took two to tango, but I was the only one still dancing.
I took the photo out of his hand, set it down, and led him to the kitchen table. “Sit.”
