Page 37 of You Fall First

The most recent addition is an enormous red splotch of marker where I told him his mother’s appendix used to be. Looks a bit like a gunshot wound, to be honest, but that’s too grisly to put into the universe.

Not while the kid’s under my care.

“Look!” He struggles to hold up the butcher paper for her appraisal, but since the sheet is longer than he is, I have to help him manage.

“Who’s that handsome guy?” she asks when we get it unfurled enough for her to see what’s going on.

“Me!” he crows. “I had a op-shin, too!”

She tilts her head. “An operation?”

“Yes!” He hops up and down. “My pendix!”

A laugh bursts out of her, then she cringes. “Ouch.”

Dutton’s face falls. “You hurt, Mama?”

“I’m okay, baby.” She nods and grins, probably too enthusiastically for how she’s actually feeling. “The doctors fixed me all up. But now they have to give me a little more medicine to be sure the fix worked.”

He frowns. “Like glue?”

“Kind of,” she says. “You know when you paint something and touch the colors when they’re wet?”

His head bobs, but his brow is still furrowed.

“Well, my insides aren’t ready to be touched yet,” she says. “I need to dry all the way out, or else I’ll get … too smeary.”

Her eyes cut to me, and she hitches her shoulders, like even she can’t tell if she’s making sense. To be fair, I’m not positive her explanation is any better than mine could’ve been. For sure, I would have gotten more technical. More medical. It’s in my nature, and part of the job description. Which probably would’ve confused Dutton more. Then again, he doesn’t look like he gets what she told him either.

Just goes to show you no one’s perfect at this parenting thing.

Dutton drops his end of the butcher paper. “When are you coming back?” His thumb comes up to his face, tracing the edge of his mouth. He stopped sucking a year ago, I think, but he’s clearly looking for comfort.

I set the butcher paper on the table and wait for Paige’s reply.

“Not for a little while longer,” she says in the gentlest tone I’ve ever heard from her. Dutton’s eyes wince shut, but not before I catch the unmistakable shine of looming tears.

“You said soooon,” he whimpers.

“That’s what I was hoping, too. But the doctors want to watch me a few more days.”

My jaw goes tight. More like two weeks.

But I guess a preschooler’s sense of time isn’t all that accurate, and not making any more specific promises is probably the smarter way to go. Still, I’m not looking forward to Dutton asking me every single morning if this is the last dumb breakfast his Uncle Noah will be making him.

“I’ll come as soon as I can, Dutton,” Paige says. Her voice fractures on the second syllable of his name. It’s the first time she’s said it on this call, and the fact that Dutton doesn’t instantly demand that she call him Buzz tells me everything about his state of mind, too. “Until then, I’ll be able to talk to you like this.” Her words quake now, which means the Paige Stadler dam’s about to break. “Just ask Uncle Noah,” she adds, fighting the tremble. “He’s going to take the best, best care of you.”

Dutton lets out a heart-wrenching wail, and my torso implodes. Clearly the best, best care Uncle Noah can give him is still cause for despair if it means his mother’s not here, too.

Little man, I know the feeling.

What I don’t know is if I should pull him into my lap right now. Or hug him. Or give him any kind of direct comfort. I’m afraid to push too hard or get too close and make things even worse before he processes his disappointment.

One thing I’ve learned—in therapy, and as a therapist myself—is that working through feelings is crucial to both physical and mental wellbeing. So I’m not gonna shush Dutton or talk him out of his sadness before he’s ready. But once he catches his breath, though, a small distraction could be helpful.

Something easy and familiar.

I snag the TV remote and turn on Toy Story 2. Volume low, quietly humming in the background. Is my solution original? Not in the slightest. But I’m new at dealing with a four-year-old’s sense of loss. And that’s exactly what this is to him.