My son isn't happy with his father.
Ever since they've returned from his hockey practice, he keeps looking at Silas resentfully. We, however, haven't talked much after my unexpected outbrust in the kitchen.
I'm embarrassed, truly.
But all this talk about divorce, knowing the truth had frustrated me and it felt so good to shout at him. It's a wonder how I didn't break things.
I can hear music from my study down the hall as I sit here with my kid in his bedroom. Silas is listening to Wild Horses, a song that will stay with me forever. I can't tell if he's reminiscing or showing off. I hope it's the former one. It brings back bittersweet memories. How immature had I been back at those days, jabbing my finger on his chest, accusing him of cheating on me, telling him he was only mine! Such a child.
"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow,
Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow," Silas Jr. giggles immediately. "Look, mommy, look."
He's bent over The Philosopher's Stone. I'm not sure if it's fine for him to read a book like this. But he specifically requested me to buy the series for him. He catches up to everything scarily, even through stutters and stammers. I am proud of him. Then again, I don't want to push him.
His pale skinny finger hovers over a line as he reads slowly.
"You're in modern magical his..." His nose scrunches but he blocks my view deliberately so that I don't say how to pronounce the next word.
"His... histoh-ry," he adds, confused. "History?"
"That's right, baby," I smile down at him.
"Goodness, didn't you know, I'd have found out everything I could if it was me, Her-me-oh-nee said," he reads on.
"Honey, how about we try it this way? Repeat after me," I interject, ever so softly. "Here. Her-my-oh-nee."
He repeats after me several times. It's pleasing. I, myself, have grown up with these books. When he's finally done with another page, I interrupt, "It's bedtime, Silas."
"Mommy, a few more minutes?"
"Silas?" I raise my eyebrows at him and he stretches out of his bed with a pout, walks towards his bathroom and closes the door. It's absolutely thrilling to know that I've made this real human being who needs his own privacy, who's so different from me.
Before I set my feet down the floor, I'm startled by a knock on the ajar door. His father, tall and very much alive, stands, his feet bare, his hair messy.
"Can I come in?" He smiles, almost sleepily.
I nod, can't helping a shy smile before looking away quick. He sits on the edge of the bed, a hint of mask wafting to my nose immediately, driving me crazy.
"I'm surprised he hasn't learnt all these books by heart," he says, pointing towards the Harry Potter copy in my hands.
"Why would you say so?" I chuckle.
"He reads like an adult. Although, there are a few pronunciation mistakes, he still... he's gone after you," Silas concludes finally with a grin, his eyes crinkling with warmth. "He might be a carbon copy of me but he's more like you."
I'm glad when the bathroom door opens. I'm not willing to say anything to that, so I look down at the kid and check his teeth.
"Dad, can we watch Harry Potter tomorrow?" He climbs into his bed, slipping under the duvet, growing small. My heart aches.
"How about you finish reading the book first and then we compare it to the movie?" Silas looks down at him, brushing his hair off his forehead.
"Okay."
YOU ARE READING
Here's to Us (Blood Money #2)
Romance"What we had is over, Dawn. You don't have to do this anymore. You're free to go." I traced the glass separating us with my fingers, looking into his green eyes and whispered to the phone, "So you want to know why I'm still here?" He just stare...
