“I’ll get fresh coffee for everyone. And those croissants,” Mallory says, and I give her a smile and wink. She flashes me a brief but dazzling smile, which I take to mean announcing she’s my girlfriend was okay by her.
I follow my parents, who are still holding Dylan, into the living room, sit down on the couch across from the one they're on, and take a deep breath.
The next two and a half hours are spent talking with my parents about everything that’s happened over the last couple of months. They both take it pretty well. There are tears about Diana dying, and anger that she was going to keep Dylan from me. But the only disappointment they have is directed at the fact I didn’t tell them immediately.
"We had to find out by watching an interview with you," Dad grumbled. "And then book a last-minute red-eye to force the truth out of you."
“I was going to tell you today,” I promise, but I know the damage is done. They’re taking it personally.
I was so absorbed in myself, and trying to be the responsible adult no one thinks I am, that I completely missed that cutting them out would make them feel like they’d failed me. Like I didn’t trust them or love them enough to let them help me. I feel sick with guilt over that.
Mallory stays quiet most of the conversation, sitting in the reading chair over by the folding doors, tending to Dylan, and refilling the coffee and the croissant plate as needed. She does reassure my parents that I'm doing a great job with Dylan and that he's a really good kid who has taken all these life changes in stride.
Mom really can’t stop staring at him. Her eyes flood with tears on occasion, without any real reason I can discern, and she wipes them away smiling. “I’m not sad,” she clarifies at one point. “I’m just so in love with him.”
“Your mother is going to visit all the time now,” Dad tells me. “I have a feeling we’re going to have to buy an apartment here for longer visits.”
“I’m going to call a real estate agent this afternoon,” Mom confirms, and I have a flash of panic. Because it’s Old Tate. The loner playboy reacting out of habit. But then I realize that dude is pretty much dead. And Dad Tate would love to have his parents hang out with his kid as much as possible.
“That would be cool,” I admit. “It takes a village after all and you guys are the best villagers ever.”
“Yeah, and I’ve got to teach him how to skate,” Dad remarks.
“I think that’s something I can manage,” I reply and he looks at me with a skeptical expression.
“You can’t even beat my record, kid,” he teases. “So let him learn from the best.”
"Dyllie Bear you are gonna need some warm clothes for all the ice rinks your pops and dada will have you on," Mom says to Dylan, and damn if I don't feel like blubbering watching her talk to my son. "I promise to always have hot chocolate ready to warm you up after hockey practice."
“Ahbkey,” Dylan says.
We all freeze. “Did he just say hockey?”
Mallory gets out of the chair and walks over, her eyes wide.
“Is that his first word?” My father wants to know.
“I mean… kind of. He says babees which I think is berries, but this was definitely more articulated,” Mallory explains and kneels down in front of Dylan.
“Hockey?” I say.
“Ahbkey!” he mimics. “Babee. Duhbber.”
"Yeah, so we might be overthinking this," Dad grins. "He's just babbling."
“He’ll get there,” Mom assures everyone.
Mallory puts a hand on my shoulder. “You have practice.”
“Right. Sh…sugar.” I stop myself from swearing and get up off the couch. I stare at my parents and then at Mallory.
“You two have a place to stay? I can drop you somewhere,” I say.
“Or you can stay in the guest room here,” Mallory suggests and it’s another panic moment. But she’s right. I should want them to stay here and bond with Dylan.
My parents look at me. “Yeah.”
“I want to be near him every waking hour,” Mom announces. “You can go on a date with Mallory. I’ll babysit.”
