𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋! | harry styles

𝐈𝐈𝐈

THE blaring of a car alarm outside wakes me just before nine AM.

Refusing to open my eyes until I need to, I lie still, enjoying the last few minutes of rest before I really do have to get up. Listening for any movement in the house, I'm not surprised to find it quiet, with only the sound of Cody's latest cartoon obsession drifting through the bedroom door.

Finally, after I almost fall asleep again twice, I peel my eyes open and sit up to take a sip from the glass of water by my bed. I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, yawning again. Stretching my arms behind my back, I roll my neck, hearing the satisfying little pops and clicks as it settles. The bedroom is bright, the sunlight beaming through the crack in the curtain, and warming my feet as the light streaks across them. I wiggle my toes, taking a little time to enjoy the fact that I have nowhere to be-no work, no preschool for Cody, absolutely nothing.

Pulling my hair up, I secure it with an elastic band and splash some water on my face before going in search of Cody and some breakfast.

As is his habit, he's about three feet from the TV, his little legs crisscrossed under him, his hands hiding in his lap as he stares at the screen.

"Haven't I told you about sitting so close?"

I tuck my hands under his arms and lift him onto the sofa before dropping a quick kiss to his head. He barely moves. His eyes are glued to the TV.

The kitchen is warm from the rare morning sunshine, the window over the sink letting the light shine over the cracked linoleum under my feet. I know I should be thinking about how to pay my bills and where the money for next month's rent will come from-especially after coming home eighty dollars light last night-but I can't find it in me to care.

"You want some breakfast, Code?"

I pick up Cody's plate and tip the crumbs from his dinner into the sink before I turn the faucet on, letting my hand sit under the running water as the old pipes whine and strain with effort. It takes a good minute or so for the hot water to kick in, but when it finally arrives I rinse off our two plates and stack them beside the sink.

"Cody?"

Drying my hands, I turn to the living room, where Cody is still transfixed on the TV. Leaning over the back of the sofa, I poke him in the ribs gently.

"Hey, Mister." He turns, giggling and trying to bat me away when I tickle him lightly. "I asked if you want breakfast."

"Can I have pantakes?"

"No pancakes today. How about cereal?"

Shrugging, Cody turns back to the TV. "I guess."

I open the fridge, and even though I know exactly what's in there, it's still a kick to the gut when I see bare shelves. I sniff the milk and put it back beside the half stick of butter and a soft carrot. Closing the refrigerator door, I'm met with a photo of Cody on his last birthday. The glossy print is curling at the sides a little, but the photo is still as bright as ever. His face is covered with blue frosting and chocolate cake crumbs, his red t-shirt caked with it, too. His hair has yet to develop the curl it gets when it's longer, and his cheeks are rosy and soft, full of the baby fat he's begun to lose over the last year.

The boy in the picture and the little boy watching TV seem a world apart. The Cody that sits on the couch behind me has begun to grow into a boy. His father was-is-tall, so I can only expect that he'll be a tall kid. In fact, he has so many of the features that make his father attractive that I can only expect he'll be just as good-looking. The perfect dip above his top lip, the golden blond hair, the stern set of his brow that he gets when he's focusing really hard on something-it's all Evan. He also has his father's eyes-that cool, bright blue that you can see from a mile away. But where Evan's are icy and piercing, Cody's are bright and beautiful, tiny windows to his thoughtful, gentle little soul.