Page 59 of Hiss and Tell
I’m adjusting Milo’s child-sized bow tie for the third time when he looks up at me with serious eyes.
“Poppa Sebastian, do you think Daddy will really come? Like, actually show up and not have an emergency or get lost or forget?”
The question hits me right in the chest. Four-year-olds shouldn’t have to worry about whether their parents will keep promises,but Derek’s track record speaks for itself. Still, something’s been different about him lately. The therapy, the voluntary parenting classes, the genuine effort to be present instead of just appearing when convenient.
“I think he’ll be there, buddy. He sounded really excited when he called Mama.”
“But what if he doesn’t? Will you still be proud of me?”
“Milo.” I crouch down to his level, my snakes arranging themselves in gentle, reassuring patterns. “I will always be proud of you. Whether Daddy comes or not, whether you remember all the words to your song or not, whether your bow tie stays straight or ends up sideways. Nothing you do or don’t do could change how proud I am to be your Poppa.”
His face lights up with the kind of relief that comes from unconditional acceptance. “Okay. And if Daddy does come, that’s just extra good, right?”
“Extra good,” I confirm, finishing his bow tie adjustment. “Now, are you ready to show everyone how much you’ve learned this year?”
“Ready!” He bounces on his toes, then stops suddenly. “Can you make just a tiny bit of magic for good luck? Nothing big, just… you know, Poppa magic?”
The request makes my heart squeeze with love. I create a small constellation of golden lights that dance around his head like a crown, then fade into sparkles that settle in his hair.
“There. Graduation magic that no one else can see, but you’ll know it’s there.”
“Perfect.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re walking into Little Dragons Preschool, Milo between Aspen and me, practically vibrating with excitement. The classroom has been transformed for the ceremony—tiny chairs arranged in rows, a small stage area decorated with the children’s artwork, families gathering with cameras and proud expressions.
And there, near the back of the room, is Derek. On time, appropriately dressed, holding a wrapped gift, and looking genuinely nervous in the way of someone who wants to do the right thing but isn’t sure what that looks like.
“Daddy!” Milo breaks away from us and runs toward Derek, who catches him in a hug that looks both surprised and grateful.
“Hey, buddy! You look so grown up in that bow tie.”
“Poppa Sebastian helped me get it perfect. And he gave me invisible graduation magic for good luck.”
Derek’s expression shifts as he processes the casual way Milo refers to me as Poppa, but instead of the jealousy or resentment I might have expected, his face softens into something like wonder.
“Invisible magic, huh? That sounds pretty special.”
“It is. Poppa Sebastian’s magic is the best magic.” Milo takes Derek’s hand and tugs him toward us. “Come meet everyone! Mrs. Moskowitz brought cookies, and Miss Lee says we get to sing three whole songs!”
As Derek approaches, I brace for awkwardness, but instead find myself looking at a man who seems genuinely committed to being present. His “hello” to Aspen is respectful, and when he extends his hand to me, his grip is firm and his eyes are sincere.
“Sebastian. Thank you for being here for him. For all of this.”
“Thank you for coming,” I reply, and mean it. “It means everything to him.”
“I can see that.” Derek’s gaze follows Milo, who’s now showing off his bow tie to Mrs. Moskowitz. “He’s so confident. So happy. You’ve both given him something I never could.”
“You could give him that too,” I say quietly. “Consistency. Showing up when you say you will. It’s not about being perfect—it’s about being present.”
Derek nods slowly, something shifting in his expression. “The therapist says the same thing. That it’s never too late to start doing better.”
Before I can respond, Miss Lee calls for everyone to take their seats. The ceremony begins with typical preschool charm—slightly off-key singing, one child who waves at his grandparents through the entire first song, another who forgets her lines and just grins at the audience instead.
But when Milo’s turn comes to recite his “What I Want to Be When I Grow Up” poem, he stands straight and proud and speaks clearly about wanting to be a librarian who reads stories to children and makes magic with books.
“Because stories help people feel better when they’re sad, and everyone deserves to feel safe when they’re scared, and magic is for sharing, not hiding.”
Through our bond, I feel Aspen’s pride and joy, her amazement at how articulate and confident he’s become. In the audience, Derek wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, and Mrs. Moskowitz sniffles loudly enough that several people turn to look.
