He is so beautiful, and I literally cannot stop myself from smiling; especially when i see him smile. I don't even know what he said just now. It sounded like gibberish, him talking to himself as he scribbles on his page. Now, I'm noticing that his marker drifted onto the tile floor a while ago. "Oh, Jake!" He snaps his attention to his name and i can only laugh as i get up. He must have realized his mistake, because as i walk away from him to grab something to clean it up, I hear it in his tone. "I'm sorry." I just can't keep from laughing, truly. "Don't worry about it, buddy. Look." I scrub the damp, paper towel over the scribble and already pick up most of it. "Marker is easy to clean up, as long as it's not on your clothes. See? all good." Jake just watches me finish, marker still in hand. "All good." He repeats. This kid has to do something pretty bad to get me to stop smiling. Well, that's not true. There are some small things he catches me off guard with, but still, not all bad. "You hungry?" After tossing out the paper towel, the freezer is where my mind goes next. I pause, turning back his way. "Jake." His head finally responds to his name again. "Hm?" He's getting lost in his drawing again, and i hate to take his attention away, but I know he'll refocus in a second. "Are you hungry? We haven't eaten since the park." Why do i bother asking when I'm already pulling out the ground beef, setting it on our cutting board. "Yes!" I chuckle at his enthusiasm and work on peeling the plastic off the meat, but slow a bit near the end. I can see a film of clear slime sticking between the beef and the plastic, and my stomach turns; the smell doesn't help. "Shit..." The curse slips under my breath and i glance to my son, hoping i don't worry him. It definitely isn't healthy or realistic to keep your kids in a perfect, unproblematic environment. Still, i will try, and i'm not ashamed of it. The brown bits of the meat confirm to me that it's gone bad, and i hope Jake wasn't craving burgers as much as i was. In the trash it goes.
Couple hours later and my son is chowing down on his chicken, blissfully unaware of our old dinner possibility rotting in the garbage just some feet away. "You like it?" He says nothing, only nods and coughs. "Drink some juice, bug." With greasy fingers, my beautiful boy grasps his cup and chugs away, and I decide that maybe we should work on touching things with clean hands. Maybe one day. My eyebrows furrow and my eyes focus on his cheek, watching drops of juice leak past the gold. I didn't seal the crack well enough. "Hold on, buddy. Wait- put down the juice for a secon- hold on." I rush away from my seat, into the bedroom where i keep the gold. Wasting no time, I'm back at the table with my son, small brush already dipping into the paint can. "Wait." I whisper mostly to myself, setting the brush down to get another napkin and wipe his face clean; gently scrubbing his cheek. Jake just smiles up at me, unbothered, already pretty much done with his meal. He draws a smile from me too, and my heart shivers just a little, and i ignore it. With my fingers that have been gold-tinted for so long now, I pick the brush back up and work on doing the job right this time. It was so damn careless of me to not check on this. I'm an idiot. "Stay still for me, please, okay bug?" He stays looking straight forward. "Mhm!" My heart shivers more as i think of how accustomed to this Jake is getting. The small, gold-drenched thistles slip along the slimmest crack ever and fill it in with liquid riches. I run my thumb over it to wipe away any excess, my eyes moving inches from his cheek to a whole foot away and back again, triple checking my boy. "Good. All good. All good!" I force the joy into my words and Jake repeats after me again, but my smile is much weaker than his; my heart shakes.
My son rests under his covers, and from the doorway, I swear it takes him seconds to fall asleep. I really worried when Serena got pregnant, because i wanted so desperately not to screw things up. I was preparing myself for late nights of trying to convince a young boy or girl that they can't stay up all night playing with anything and everything. Every night since his birth, it takes him less than five minutes to knock out, and i just laugh at myself. I can see his blanket rising and falling with his sweet breaths. Definitely passed out, must've been less than 30 seconds. "I love you, bug. Daddy loves you so much." I'm not expecting a response while he's sleeping, that's not why i repeat myself. From where I'm standing, I can see the gold shine in the hallway light, and I stare for no reason in particular.
