Page 43 of The Fix-Up

P.S. Soon is… soon.

“Mommy, do you think it’s gonna snow?” Oliver blinked up at me from this bed, hope shining in his eyes.

“I doubt it, sweets.”

Not snow, but the weather had turned chilly for the first time this winter. Yesterday had been a balmy seventy-one degrees with puffy, white clouds dotting a blue sky. After church, Oliver and I had gone to Legacy Park with a picnic basket and stayed for three hours. But as the saying goes, if you don’t like the weather in Texas, wait thirty minutes, especially in early February.Sometime during the day, a fierce wind brought with it a biting chill. It would drop to freezing temps tonight.

Oliver’s face fell. “I wanna see snow.”

The dream of every kid in Texas.

“One of these days, you will. But not today. It is going to be cold though. We’ll have to find your hat and gloves in the morning.” I brushed his hair from his forehead and dropped a kiss. “Get some sleep. Love you.”

He yawned and curled on his side, his eyes already drooping in the time it took for me to turn off the light in his room. “Mommy?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Do you think Mr. Dalton will be too cold tonight?”

“He’ll be fine.” He’d been living in that tent in the backyard for two weeks now and had not once complained about being cold. Or that he could only take showers during the day. Or that I locked the door to the house at night. Begrudgingly, I had to admit, it hadn’t been so awful having him in the backyard, especially with the free handyman services that were included.

“Are you sure?” he asked sleepily.

To be honest, I’d had a fleeting thought or two about Gil and his tent. We lived in Texas, we weren’t built for this kind of weather and I doubted that tent was insulated. “I’ll check on him. Will that make you feel better?”

When he didn’t reply, I realized he’d fallen asleep. I couldn’t resist one last look, at the softly curling dark hair, or the freckles I called mini chocolate chips that dusted his face, the way his hands were tucked under his cheek.

The day I’d found out I was pregnant with him had been awful. I’d gotten into a fight with my idiot boyfriend, arrived late for my shift as a cocktail waitress because of traffic which resulted in a talking-to by the manager, got a lousy tip from aparty of twelve, and ended up wrapped around a toilet puking my guts up after getting a whiff of an order of fish and chips.

I loved fish and chips.

The niggling thought I might be pregnant had dogged me all week, but I’d been too afraid to test. Avoidance by procrastination was an art form I excelled at. By the time I got home from work, it was close to three in the morning. I’d tried to go right to bed but I’d laid there for hours, knowing I had to take the test. Blurry-eyed with exhaustion, I’d sat on the bathroom floor, leaning against the bathtub, waiting for the results.

Two pink lines.

Oliver turned over on his back, kicking off his dinosaur comforter in the process. I covered him up and tiptoed out of his room.

Even though I had been terrified, I’d never thought for a moment about not having the baby. He was mine from the beginning. The best thing I’ve ever done.

I’d done it on my own, too. Oliver’s father heard the words “I’m pregnant” as a sign to disappear. My parents had been supportive, but they lived across the country. Chris offered me money; I only took what I absolutely needed, and I always paid him back. But the nitty-gritty, every day of life? The waking up four times a night. The feelings of inadequacy. Juggling two jobs, babysitters, bills I couldn’t quite pay, and always being one flat tire away from total financial disaster. That I did all on my own.

All worth it for Oliver. For that kid, I’d do about anything. I tiptoed back across the room and was pulling the door shut when I heard a tiny voice, “Don’t forget to check on Mr. Dalton.”

FIFTEEN

Love is hugs.

—THEODORE D., AGE 4

Gil wasn’t sitting out in his camping chair. Which was wise given it’s not only cold but also starting to drizzle. I shivered and wished I had taken the time to put on a coat instead of a thin cardigan. A light shone from inside the tent, and it allowed me to make out the shape of Gil, sitting up. He was talking softly. Shamelessly, I crept closer.

“…sure you wear your big coat, okay?” he said. After a pause, he laughed softly. Must be on a phone call. “I’m doing great. The new house is nice, and I like my room a lot.”

His room? Is that what he was calling his tent? Who was he talking to? His voice was gentle and measured; it reminded me of someone speaking to a child.

“Sure, I’ll send you pictures of it.” Another chuckle and then I heard my name. “Well, Eleanor has long blonde hair and blue eyes and a big smile.” Pause. “You know, she does kind of look like a princess. You’d like her, I think.”

I found myself biting back laughter. A princess, huh?

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