“Tate!” Mom barks. If she’s mad I’m in real trouble.
“Mallory, it’s okay. Come here,” I call out. “It’s not the video call I’d planned but… maybe it’s better.”
Surely they’ll be less likely to keep getting angrier if they see Dylan in person. Or, you know, they both just have heart attacks.
“Mallory Echolls?ThatMallory?” Dad asks, his tone confused, not annoyed.
The door to the powder room at the end of the small hall off the kitchen opens and she steps out. She’s holding Dylan. My parents are watching like it’s the big reveal on a suspenseful television show or something. They’re also holding hands and mom has her other hand wrapped around Dad’s bicep.
Mallory walks slowly into the kitchen with Dylan on her hip. He’s been cleaned up from breakfast and he’s blinking, looking tentatively at the new additions to the house. “Who…” Dad swallows. “Who is this?”
“Mom, Dad, this is Dylan. Your grandson.”
It was shockingly simple to say those words out loud.
Mom lets go of Dad and walks right up to Dylan and touches his cheek. "Oh my God, you are the most perfect lil thing. I love you, baby boy," she whispers.
Mallory looks over at me, her eyes swimming in tears. “Would you like to hold him, Mrs. Garrison?”
“If you’d let me,” Mom says in a trembling voice.
“Take him, Ma,” I encourage before Mallory can say anything.
Dad is still rooted to the floor in the living room like the soles of his shoes are made of wet cement. Mom lifts Dylan from Mallory and cradles him to her chest. He wiggles a second and then reaches for her hair and fists it, staring at the copper color like he’s mesmerized. “Bah. Boo. Da. Ba.”
I have no idea what that means but he seems to approve of her because he doesn’t cry. Their eyes lock and he grins and Mom bites her trembling bottom lip and hugs him. “Tate… you have so much explaining to do.”
Her tone is gentle. Tired, even.
I look at Dad. Holy shit… is that… a tear. His left cheek is wet. “Dad…?”
He glances over at me and then away just as quickly. He clears his throat and moves away from me, stopping behind Mom to peer at Dylan's little face. "Hey, kiddo. I'm your… Jesus, I'm barely fifty. I can't say gramps."
Mallory smiles. “Pops and Nan? That’s what I call my grandparents on my mom’s side.”
“Pops and Nan…” Dad repeats like he’s testing them out. He reaches up and runs a hand over Dylan’s head. “I’m your Pops, kiddo.”
“Dylan,” I say. “His name is Dylan.”
“Dylan,” Mom whispers. “Good name.”
“Mal calls him Dyllie Bear,” I admit and Mom looks over her shoulder at me with a grin. “I like that too.”
“Maybe you should all sit down and chat?” Mallory suggests, motioning toward the living room. “I’ll make more coffee and I think I have some Trader Joe’s croissants in the freezer I can heat up.”
“No, no,” Dad says and takes my coffee cup from my hand. “I’ll just drink his coffee. You sit down and join us, Mallory. You’re his mother and we’d like to get to know you too.”
"You're a part of this family now too," Mom says without a snag of hesitation in her voice. I guess a baby completely erases the fact that Mallory's mother "bullied the hell out of her when she was in high school" —Aunt Callie's words.
“Oh no.” Mallory starts waving her hands in front of her. “I’m not. He’s not. I’m just the nanny.”
“She’s notjustthe nanny,” I blurt out. Now everyone is looking right at me, including my son. He’s literally staring at me like, okay then Daddio, let’s hear it. I look over at her, holding her pretty eyes with my own. “She’s my rock. She’s my best friend and my girlfriend. But no, Dylan isn’t hers biologically.”
“Oh.” Mom is utterly baffled.
“So the mom is…?”
“Mallory’s right,” I say gently. “We should all sit down.”
