“My god, no. I have no room left in my stomach. Not even for a bite.”
He signals to Melba and makes some gesture with his finger, swirling it around and poking the air with it—some kind of restaurant sign language I do not understand at all. When he finishes, he shifts his attention back to me.
“What was that all about?” I ask.
“I told her to wrap me up a dessert and bring the check.”
I nod, a little sad that our date is almost over. Not that it was a date. We’re just two friends going out for a catfish dinner. That’s it. I’m going to keep saying that to myself over and over until I actually believe it.
“Jacob is going to be psyched about Halloween.”
I’m back to smiling again. Who cares what this is? It’s fun, and that’s all I need to know. “My kids, too. They really liked hanging out with Jacob. Sammy is having a little bit of a hero worship issue, I think. Jacob’s an older kid and his wheelchair is really fast, so . . .”
Dev smiles. “That’ll make Jacob happy. I won’t tell him, of course, but he doesn’t get to interact with other kids very often, so it’s good that they started off on the right foot.”
I tilt my head at him. “Doesn’t he go to daycare or school?”
“Sometimes, for a couple hours at a time, he goes to daycare. He was too young to start kindergarten last year. It’s really hard to find a place that can take care of his needs, so he spends a lot of time with my mother and me. It’s also why you don’t see me full-time at the warehouse. I work there as many hours as I can, but I have to be there for my son a lot, too.”
I nod. “I get it. Do you do his therapy for him?”
“Most of it. I get training from his physical therapist, and then I continue the work at home. He doesn’t like it, so it’s a bit of a battle, but it needs to be done.”
“He told Sammy that he has cerebral palsy. I’m not really familiar with that disability. What does it mean for him and for you?” I pray that I haven’t stepped over the bounds of social decency by asking him these very personal questions, especially because I’m doing it almost out of selfish reasons. I don’t want to make assumptions and say or do something stupid the next time we’re together.
Dev doesn’t hesitate. “There are a few different kinds of cerebral palsy. He was diagnosed with spastic CP, which means essentially that his muscles spasm a lot and get really tight. It was caused by a lack of oxygen at birth. His joints are painful, too. It’s really tough for him. I have to keep him stretched out, and we do a lot of massage to try to keep his muscles from pulling his skeleton into bad positions and wearing down the cartilage in his joints. Because his muscles and tendons are always pulling in directions that aren’t good for his bones, they don’t always grow properly. That’s why he probably looks a little crooked to you.”
My heart aches for Jacob. “It sounds very painful.”
“It is, but he’s a real trouper. He’s tough. He has been since the day he was born. You could see it in his eyes when he was just a day old. Even when he’s in pain, he’s determined to push through. He’s my hero.”
“Geez, he’s my hero, too. To be so young and to have such a heavy burden? I couldn’t even imagine . . .” I don’t finish my thought, but inside my head all I can think is how stupid and shallow I’ve been, whining about how tough my life is. How much time have I wasted fretting about my son’s lisp? A lisp is nothing compared to Jacob’s challenges.
“Everybody is given his own burden to carry, and we’re never given anything we can’t handle. When I look at my son, I see a superhero. I see a human being who is handling something so tough, most of us would be crushed under the weight of it. But he doesn’t get crushed. He rises above it all. I admire his courage, and at the same time I’m there to whup his butt when he starts to forget how amazing he is.”
I want to cry, I’m so in love with this man right now.
My heart lurches as that thought crosses my mind. Is it possible that I’m in love-love with him, like not just right here in this moment but in general? Gah, how lame is that? He’s relegated me to the friend zone and I’m looking at him with goo-goo eyes, hoping he’ll decide one day to be my boyfriend.
I could spend days, weeks, or even months beating myself up about this, but I’m not going to do that. Any girl would feel the same way, and I don’t think any woman in the world would blame me for being so mixed up and full of hope. He’s not only a great guy, but he’s also a great dad. Why didn’t I marry a guy like him instead of a turd like Miles? What a waste of ten years that was. I console myself with the fact that I have three great kids . . . and the thought that Dev is probably horrible in bed. He has to be, right? No man can be everything—great dad, great coworker, great friend, great in the sack . . .