“Dante!” Noah bounces closer to me on the bed and pats the spot next to him. “Do you want to hear the story?”
I clear my throat. “Dante has better things to do.”
Dante holds my gaze as he pushes off the door frame and walks to the bed with long, lazy strides. “Actually, I’d like that.”
He kicks off his shoes and stretches out on the other side of Noah with his fingers interlinked behind his head. “What are we reading?”
“You only missed the first two pages.” Noah is almost giddy with excitement. “We can read them again. We don’t mind. It’s a story about an airplane. You’re going to love it, Dante.”
Noah really likes Dante. I’m not sure how I feel about that.
Noah shifts closer to Dante and mimics his pose by crossing his ankles and folding his arms behind his head.
Another jolt jostles my heart. Sitting together like this, side by side, they look so much alike it’s scary. It’s not just the pose. It’s the way they carry themselves with quiet confidence. Dante has never needed to be loud to make himself heard. The quietness surrounding him is both authoritative and deadly. In Noah’s case, that quietness stems from being completely at ease with himself.
However, what hurts the most is that Noah may have needed something I’ve kept from him, something I can never be for him—a male figure in his life. Have I damaged my child by unwittingly depriving him from something he so clearly craves?
They sit like that for a moment, Noah with a serious expression as he tries to imitate Dante and Dante with a smile tugging at his lips as he looks down at his son, both of them oblivious to the fact that my heart is cracking down the middle.
When I found out I was pregnant, I envisioned a scene exactly like this. I imagined us as a family. I was so sure Dante would be a good dad. But I was certain about a lot of things that turned out to be false.
Noah turns his face to Dante. “Do you want to read?”
Dante’s smile stretches. “Why not?”
He reaches across Noah for the book. I hold fast in an automatic reaction, not wanting to let go. Until now, these moments with Noah have been mine alone. I’m scared. I’m terrified Dante will hurt Noah and break his heart just like he did with me. If I’m honest, a part of me finds it difficult to share Noah with anyone else, let alone with a man I don’t trust.
When Dante’s fingers brush against mine, I don’t have a choice but to let the book go. Dante gives me a knowing look, one that says he can see right through me, but it’s been a long time since I’ve let anyone inside. He may think he knows me, but I haven’t been that girl for years.
Dante turns to the first page. Noah settles in, making himself more comfortable.
“Once upon a time, there was a little yellow airplane that wasn’t very fast. He lived with all the other planes in a big hangar. The fighter jet and the helicopter…”
I tune out Dante’s deep voice, unable to listen because for some reason, the way he reads the familiar story, as if he’s truly enjoying it, hurts me. What hurts even more is how Noah is watching him, hanging on his every word.
A strange feeling of discomfort settles inside me. It takes me a minute to understand the cause and to name it.
Guilt.
A terrible notion of failure makes me feel sick to my stomach. I’m worried that I’ve been a bad mother, neglecting my son’s emotional and psychological welfare. Just because Noah never complains doesn’t mean I’ve met all his needs. And what he seems to need is a father figure.
Noah doesn’t read along with Dante as he does with me, reciting the story from heart. He’s listening to Dante with riveted attention, as if he’s hearing the story for the first time. To sit through the duration of the ten short pages is both moving and torture.
When the story is finished, I tuck Noah in. Dante stays as I give Noah his dinosaur and kiss him goodnight. His presence makes me uncomfortable, but I can’t tell him to go away. Noah is too happy to have him here. I can’t take this from Noah when I already feel guilty that my son missed a father figure in his life. Besides, Dante will do what he wants to do. He’s not going to listen to me.
I leave the bathroom light on in case Noah wakes up in the night. He’s never not shared a room with me, and he tends to get frightened when he wakes up in a strange place. It always takes him a moment to remember where he is.
Noah yawns and rubs his eyes. “Goodnight, Dante.”
I stare down at his sweet face. “Do you want me to stay with you? The bed is big enough for both of us.”
Dante locks his fingers around my wrist, his grip a little too tight. “Your mom is just next door. You can call her or me if you need us.” To me, he says, “He has to learn to sleep in his own room.”
Noah blinks up at Dante. “Where’s your room?”
He replies without hesitation. “I share one with your mom.”
His honesty surprises me. I didn’t think he’d want to explain how that works to Noah, but Noah, who’s used to sharing a room with me, doesn’t question the arrangement. He simply accepts the fact as someone who grew up without the luxury of space.
