I take it. The handwriting is careful, the letters pressed hard into the paper like he wanted to make sure nothing faded.
Things to Do with Dad
1. Fishing on the pier
2. Crab walk at low tide
3. Ice cream at Scoops (get the waffle cone)
4. Show him the houseboat (my room specifically)
5. Introduce him to Stomper’s new drying spot
6. Teach him about hermit crabs (I know more now)
7. Ride bikes on the boardwalk
8. Watch the pelicans dive at sunset
9. Show him my marine life sketches
10. Tell him about the science expedition
11. Get hot chocolate at Michelle’s (the big mugs)
12. Introduce him to Mr. Paul
13. Explore the shoreline for hermit crabs (Olson and Mitch can come)
14. Ask him if he wants to stay longer
My chest squeezes with number fourteen.
“Is fourteen too many things?” Aidan asks. “Mom said we might only have one day, so maybe I should cut it down. But I don’t know which ones to cut because they’re all important.”
I look at this kid. Eight years old. Standing in my office with a list he’s been working on for days, trying to fit an entire relationship into one Saturday. Trying to compress everything he wants his father to see and feel and understand into fourteen numbered items on a piece of notebook paper.
“I think it’s a solid list,” I say. “But if you only have one day, you might want to pick your top five. The ones you’d be saddest to skip.”
“I’d be sad to skip all of them.”
“I know. But sometimes you have to choose.”
He chews his lip and studies the list. “Okay. Fishing is number one because Dad and I used to fish at the lake near our old house. Before the trains took over the garage.”
I nod, keeping my face neutral.
“Ice cream is important because everybody likes ice cream. And showing him my room is important because I set it up myself. Mom helped with the curtains, but the rest was me.”He pauses. “And number twelve is important because you’re important.”
I set down my sandwich. “Aidan.”
“You are. Mom’s happier since we moved here. And Millie reads to you, which she doesn’t do for just anybody, and even Jenna takes her earbuds out when you’re around, which is like...a big deal.”
I don’t know what to do with this. I’ve been handed a piece of paper with fourteen items on it by an eight-year-old who has decided I belong on the same list as his father, and I don’t know what to do with the weight of that.
“I think your dad is going to love the list,” I say.
“You think he’ll actually do the stuff? Like, for real? Not just say he will and then check his phone the whole time?”
