“Draw it.”
That gives me pause. “Ah. I see. You want to draw the dead toad.”
He nods enthusiastically, the movement causing the mop of light brown curls on his head to shake.
“Well, you might as well get started on anatomy early,” I concede.
“What’s anatomy?” he asks, smiling.
“It’s a science that has to do with learning about the parts of a living thing. Like a human or animals, for example, the dead toad you’ve got in your hand.”
“If it’s dead, how can it be a living thing?”
I’m utterly unable to fend off my smile at the question. I run a hand through his hair feeling a wave of affection. He’s incredibly intelligent, and I’m not just saying that because I’m biased and he’s my son.
“Because it used to be a living thing, and that doesn’t stop even after it dies,” I tell him affectionately.
He ponders that for a minute. “Can you get Ros to find me a toad that’s still alive?”
“Why?”
“So I can draw it. It’ll be better for anatomy if I draw when it’s still alive, right?”
“Absolutely,” I say softly. “I’ll tell Roscoe to get you a bunch of toads and then you can have a toad tank as well.”
“Yes! Thanks, Dad.”
“In the meantime, I think you should bury the dead toad,” I tell him. “Send him off properly.”
He nods sagely. “Will you help me?”
“Sure.”
I get to my feet and follow him to the backyard. Roscoe, who’s never too far apart from Leo, assists him in digging a small hole. We both watch as he drops the toad into it and starts to cover it up with the sand.
“Boss, I’m concerned about the house becoming a petting zoo,” Roscoe says from beside me, the amusement in his voiceclear as day. “The kid’s already got a fish tank, two rabbits, and a guinea pig. And now we’re adding toads to the mix. What’s next?”
“Probably dogs,” I say dryly. “I’ll have to say no then, though. Dogs are too disruptive.”
Roscoe smirks. “You didn’t think there’d be rabbits in your backyard either, and yet…” He gestures to the small structure at side of the house that houses Leo’s pets.
I smile. “Maybe he’ll be a veterinarian someday.”
Leo finishes his burial and we head back to the side of the house, in front of the pool. He wants to swim, so Roscoe calls for his nanny who changes him into his floaties and swim shorts. We watch as he splashes in the pool for a little bit and I feel light, at peace.
It doesn’t happen too often. With Leo, there are good days and bad days. Fatherhood is a wholly unexplainable experience. There’s no one I can talk to tell me if I’m doing a good job with him. I’ve certainly read books, but no one kid is similar to another, which means my kid is entirely uncharted territory.
And then there’s the gap that I’ll never be able to fill no matter how hard I try. The gap that’s been left behind for his mother. I do my best, though. Every day.
My thoughts are forestalled by the appearance of my little brother. Elio saunters toward the pool dressed in shorts and sneakers while wearing a blue sweat band on his head. My eyebrows rise in question.
“Tennis match,” he explains.
“Right… Since when do you play tennis?”
He grins, “Since the girl I met last week invited me to join her in a couples match. I played pretty well, actually. We won. Which earned me another night in her bed. Specifically, tonight.”
“Congratulations,” I say dryly. “What do you want?”
