"Okay, little man, how about me, you and Papa go for a walk and talk about big-people words?" she asked him as she walked over to my dad and grabbed him around the elbow.
I stood up and shot her a look of thanks. She just smiled and dragged my dad out the door with Gavin talking her ear off about something he saw on Spongebob.
When Carter and I were finally alone, I chanced a look at him. He didn't look pissed. He didn't look sad. He just looked like he had no idea where he was or what day it was. We stood there looking at each other for several minutes until the silence finally got to me.
"Would you please say something?" I begged.
Just moments ago I was blissfully happy that he finally figured out who I was. He held me close and he was going to kiss me. Now everything was ruined and it was my fault for not telling him sooner.
Carter shook his head as if trying to clear it.
"That was a kid," he stated. "I don't like kids."
I bit my tongue. He was still in shock. I couldn't just go off on him because he said something like that. Hell, I don't even like kids and I live with one. I love my kid, but that doesn’t mean I like him all the time.
"I used a condom. I know I used a condom," he said in an accusatory tone, shooting me a panicked look.
Okay, that was it for the tongue biting. The pleasure I’d felt earlier when he’d had his body pressed up against mine and his lips on my neck flew right out the window.
"Really? You can actually remember that? Because I'm pretty sure up until about twenty minutes ago you had no fucking idea who I even was. You're right though, you did use a condom. You put it on three thrusts after you took my virginity. But let me clear something up for you there Einstein, they aren't one-hundred percent effective, especially when they aren’t used properly," I fumed.
"I dry heave whenever anyone pukes. And I don't know how to change a diaper," he said in horror.
"Carter, he's four. He doesn't wear diapers. And he's not Linda Blair from the Exorcist. He's doesn't walk around spewing vomit all day," I said with a roll of my eyes.
"My wiener hurts. I need a drink," he muttered before turning and walking out the door.
***
By the time Liz and my dad came back to the store with Gavin, I was in no mood to talk to either one of them. I put Gavin in the car and went home without saying a word. I was probably acting like a big baby, but I didn't care. I was mad at them for thinking this whole thing was funny, I was mad at myself for not telling Carter as soon as I saw him, and I was mad that I was mad about all this.
Who cares that he freaked out and would probably never talk to us again? It wasn't like we were missing out on anything. Gavin had no idea who he was. How could you miss something you never had?
But I did have him. Literally. And even thought I was fucked up at the time, I know what I’m missing. For two weeks he opened up to me and I knew so much more about him than I did before. I know he loves his family and wants more than anything to have one of his own some day. I know he’s a hard worker and would do anything for those he loved. For just a moment, it was nice to have him here. To be in the same room with him, to see him smile and hear him laugh, to feel his arms around me and know I wasn’t alone in this crazy parenthood thing.
Shit. I was good and fucked. I did care. I wanted him in my life; in Gavin’s life. I wanted Gavin to know his father and I wanted Carter to know what kind of an awesome little person he helped to create. I want to spend more time with him and I want him to know me. Not the partial version I gave him on the phone for fear of slipping up about Gavin or the chocolate-scented fantasy version he held onto all these years, the real me. The one who put her dreams on hold to raise his son, the one who would do it all over again in a minute if it meant she got to have Gavin in her life, the not so perfect crazy me who jumps to conclusions and freaks out about the most mundane things and who would give anything to go back to that morning five years ago and stay curled up in that boy’s arms who smelled like sweet cinnamon and whose kisses were hotter than an inferno.
I spent the rest of the day cleaning the house from top to bottom. This was a sure sign I was agitated. I hate cleaning.
I was on my hands and knees pulling shit out from under the couch. A pop-tart wrapper, a sucker stick and a sippy cup with something chunky in it that was probably milk at one time.
Jesus, Gavin hasn't used sippy cups in over a year.
"Mommy, are we havin' people over for a party?"
"No, we're not having a party, why?" I asked him as I picked up two pennies, a nickel and four empty fruit snack wrappers.
"Cuz you're cleanin'. You only clean when people are comin' over."
I pulled my head out from under the couch and sat back on my feet.
"I do not only clean when people are coming over," I argued.
"Do too."
"No I don't."
"Uh-huh."
"Do not."
"Do too."
Gaaaaah! I'm arguing with a four-year old.
"Gavin, enough!" I yelled. "Go clean your room."
"Freakin' hell," he mumbled.