Page 67 of The Fire Captain's Unexpected Baby
Levi could have helped me make this easier, but he was very evasive about whether he could attend the Fathers Nurture Too celebration. I imagine that he had a flashback of a similar eventwhen his kids were little. And he has to attend twice as many events.
I scoop Noah up and kiss his chubby cheeks sadly. We may not have James anymore, but we have each other. I’ve always known I could love Noah enough for both of us. When he was born, I was surprised by the intensity of my love for him.
We buckle up in the car and head to the daycare. Noah babbles in the backseat until we arrive. As I always do, I make up conversations that we could be having. Conversations that we’ll be having in just a few years.
The school went all out for this celebration, more than I had expected. The entrance was wrapped in streamers and framed by a red-and-white balloon arch. Noah ran toward it, his sticky hands reaching for round latex balloons.
“Noah!” his teacher calls to him from her spot by the door, a clipboard in hand. She turns her attention to me as Noah toddles into the building. “We expected you earlier!”
I don’t have time to figure out what she means because she’s already moving on to greet the next family.
This family has what Noah does not: a dad, dressed as a green bean. Hopefully, Noah doesn’t notice that he’s got no vegetables.
We take seats on the carpet squares in the front of the room, below the makeshift stage. Noah claps at the music in thebackground, happy just to be here. He plops down in my lap, and we clap together.
Finally, the teacher comes to the center stage and announces the start of the program.
“We’re lucky to be joined by so many amazing dads who are here to teach us all how important it is to eat our vegetables! You can’t have a healthy plate without veggies,” she laughs, not in the least bit embarrassed by the silliness of the event. “Let’s start the music, shall we?”
The first vegetable comes on stage, does a little dance with his son, and then leaves to sit in the audience.
The second vegetable comes on stage alone. He’s wrapped his torso in orange duct tape, and a wad of green yarn perches precariously on his head. I guess it counts as a carrot? He awkwardly lurches to the middle of the stage, his eyes searching for someone in the crowd.
Noah notices who it is before I do.
He leaps from my lap and crawls onto the stage, where Aaron catches him and wraps him in his strong arms. Noah laughs uncontrollably, a deep belly laugh that I haven’t heard in a few weeks. Hamming it up, Aaron continues to dance and sing about eating vegetables while Noah laughs.
This is the picture that I had in my mind all these years. A man who would do anything for my son: let him color in his tattoos, feed him his favorite snacks, dress up like a carrot. In everything Aaron has done, he has tried to show me—to showNoah—that he is loved.
Wasn’t that exactly what I said I wanted? Stability and love for my son?
Yes, I have feelings for Aaron, too. More feelings than I want to admit. It isn’t just about sex for me, though that is an excellent reason to spend a little time with him.
Watching him with Noah, my heart melts. Wrapped up in this one simple, ridiculous moment, I can see an entire future. The three of us—a small family. A firefighter and a nurse, a stable life for Noah.
Neither of us is going to jeopardize this with drugs or alcohol. Aaron even quit smoking.
The song ends. Aaron and Noah climb down from the stage and debate where to sit. He looks at me first, uncertainty on his face about how I might feel. I had no idea he was coming.
He’s right that I could be so pissed at him for ignoring my need for space. But I’m not.
I pat the carpet square next to me. He sets down Noah, who runs over to me and climbs into my lap. Aaron looks a little moreunsure, a pink blush coloring his cheeks. Whether from the heat of his costume or uncertainty about what his role is here, I’m not sure.
As he approaches, I give him a hearty round of applause and the biggest smile I can muster. That seems to gin up his confidence as he makes the next few strides to close the distance between us.
He sits so close to me that I can feel the heat radiating off his body. I try to focus on the rest of the show. Noah certainly has no problem singing along with the other vegetables and the cheering kids.
All I can think of is the many times he was pressed up against me in bed, his chiseled chest flush against mine. The way his fingers felt laced through mine. The way his kisses landed on my lips, surprisingly gentle for a man as muscular and strong as him.
Eventually, the teacher thanks us all for coming and dismisses us. Noah, Aaron, and I walk out into the sunlight, our first opportunity to talk and my chance to say the things that have been rattling around in my head since the first time I met his family.
Aaron walks us to the car, still holding Noah. I pause behind him as he lowers Noah into the car seat.
“Aaron, we need to talk,” I say quietly, hoping none of the other families will hear us.
He finishes buckling Noah in and stands, leaving the door open so Noah can feel the breeze.
“I would say that we certainly do.” He leans casually against the car, making it clear he isn’t going anywhere until he says what he needs to say. He opens his mouth to say more, but I hold up a hand and stop him.
