When I open my eyes the next morning, Theo is already awake and sitting at the end of the bed, flipping through a book.

"Hi, sweetie," I say, voice still raspy.

He lifts his head, attention on me. "Hi, mama."

"What're you up to?" I ask, sitting up and pushing my hair out of my face. I feel unrested; I probably slept a total of two hours last night. I couldn't get Jackson out of my head, nor the conversation we had that'd been dying to happen for years. Now that I'm fully conscious, it only reappears in my mind.

"Reading."

I nod and swing my legs over the side of the bed, sliding my feet into my slippers. On the way to the bathroom attached to his room, I ruffle Theo's hair and he tips his head up to smile at me, eyes closing when I kiss his forehead.

"How'd you sleep?" I ask, pausing where I stand.

"I dreamed about Daddy," he says, his high-pitched voice unassuming as usual.

My gut twists as I search his face. His green eyes look hopefully at me, a hint of a smile on his lips. It must have been a good dream. But I still don't know what to say; I don't know where we go from here. I never thought this would happen - not now, at least. If it were to happen, I always pictured Theo much older. A teenager, a young adult, ready to make his own decisions. Now, I still make them. And I don't feel equipped for this one.

When I come out from the bathroom and get dressed, Theo's doctor comes to tell us that his lungs are clear enough for him to go home. The smile that spreads across my son's face lights me up inside - hospital stays are from his favorite thing.

"Home!" he cheers, standing on the bed after the doctor leaves. "And back to school!"

"Soon, honey," I say, laughing softly as I scoop him up. "Let's get you dressed and we can get out of here."

Theo dances on the edge of the bed to a tune he makes up as he goes. I pull a long-sleeved green shirt over his head, and just as his curls are poking through the top, catch sight of someone lingering near the door.

I pop his head through and lift my gaze fully. It's Jackson, standing there with a stuffed Seattle Seahawk in one hand and a cautious expression on his face.

I didn't invite him back last night, but I'm not upset he's here now. It's just a surprise.

Theo sees my eyes catch on something, so he turns around to see what it is. He follows my gaze, then flips back around to look at me, tugging on the front of my shirt.

"Mama," he urgently whispers. "Is that my daddy?"

I nod slowly, biting hard on my lower lip. "Yeah," I say.

"Why is he here?"

I glance at Jackson again, and he gives me a small, awkward smile. I nod, giving him entry, and he takes a few steps in only to be intercepted by Theo's doctor with release forms for me to sign. I feel Jackson's presence lingering as I listen to the words I've heard time and time again, signing here, initialing here, dating on the dotted line. It's old hat, routine, and the doctor knows this, too. But it's procedure.

But I can feel the tension oozing from Theo's father beside me. It's strange to think of him like that, as Theo's father. It's not like I haven't always, but he's here. Standing in the room with us. Theo's father.

"I hope not to see you again for a long, long time," the doctor says, giving my son a high-five as he jokes with him.

"Yeah, see you never!" Theo replies, giggling. "Mommy, can we go home now?"

Jackson speaks for the first time, saying, "You guys are out of here?"

"Yeah," I say. "Um, what are you doing here?"

It came out harsher than I meant for it to. I really am just curious, but that sounded accusatory. I clear my throat, meaning to smooth it over, but he responds before I can.

"I've missed a lot," he murmurs, voice weak but eyes strong. "I don't want to miss any more."

I'm conflicted, unsure of how to feel. I don't know how to respond. Theo watches his father with curious intensity, but when Jackson looks back at him, he buries his face in my neck and stays there, fingers digging into my shoulders.

"I brought this for him," Jackson says, holding out the plush Seahawk.

I take it gingerly, offering a smile. It's a sweet gesture. Theo loves stuffed animals. Jackson couldn't have known that, but it warms my heart all the same.

"Theo, you got a special present," I say, dipping my chin to try and get him to look at me.

I can't decide whether to call Jackson by his name to Theo, or to say 'your daddy.' I want to go with the latter, but I don't want to force something on my son so suddenly. He's six years old. I'm not sure what about this he understands and what he doesn't. I want to get him home so we can have a detailed discussion about it. I hadn't planned on seeing Jackson again before that could happen, which is part of why I'm so caught off-guard.

I'm used to planning Theo's life by my standards. I've raised him as a single mother for six years, so having someone else come into play is jarring and a bit unsettling. It feels like I'm losing a bit of the control that's kept us stable for all this time.

"Jackson brought you something, baby," I say, testing out how it sounds.

Something I can't identify flashes across Jackson's eyes. He hands the plush over, hoping Theo will take it, but his face stays tucked away, refusing to look out.

"Thought you might like this, Theo," Jackson says. I can tell by his tone that he's trying so, so hard. "Made me think of you."

I look at the little plush, then sandwich it under my armpit. "Thank you," I say, nodding. "That was really sweet."

He half-grimaces-half-smiles, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, shoulders hunched by his ears. I can tell he feels awkward; I do, too. This isn't a comfortable situation by any means.

"Do you wanna walk out with us?" I ask.

We took the bus here. I don't have a car; that's the good thing about Chicago. Public transportation is a lot cheaper than owning a vehicle and it gets us everywhere we need to go. Theo is already a pro at the CTA at six years old; it's something he prides himself in.

"Yeah," Jackson says.

"Okay," I say, then pull Theo's limbs off of me. "We gotta get coats on, buddy," I say. "Can you zip up for me?"

I hand him his army-green coat while I put mine on, and he struggles with the zipper at the bottom. It isn't the greatest quality and it catches on the fabric, but he's always determined to try. Seeing his struggle, though, Jackson takes a few steps forward and puts his hands on the zipper, pulling it away from the side where it'd been caught.

I watch Theo's face; eyes wide with alarm, mouth fallen slightly open as he moves his hands away from where Jackson's work. His father zips him up to the chin then smiles at him, saying, "There you go."

"What do we say?" I ask, throwing my purse over my shoulder.

"Thank you," Theo peeps, unable to make eye contact.

"Anytime," Jackson answers.

I hoist Theo onto my hip and lead the way out of the hospital room, down the familiar hallways to get to the elevator. Once we're on the main floor headed towards the glass doors, I notice a swarm of people just outside, peering in.

"Shit," Jackson curses under his breath. "Shit."

"Who are those people?"

He stops dead in his tracks, so I follow suit. Theo looks up with wonder, peering over his shoulder to see what the commotion is about.

"Why did we stop, mommy?"

"Photographers," Jackson says. "They must have found out I was here. I…" He rubs his temples with one hand, between his thumb and first finger. "Goddamn it."

"Mommy," Theo mutters.

"I know," I say. In our house, we don't curse.

"Here," Jackson says. "I can call my security and have them bring a car to a different exit. We can avoid these guys, it won't be too hard."

I furrow my eyebrows. "Oh, no," I say. "We took the bus. The stop's right outside."

He shakes his head. "You're not gonna walk through all those people, April."

I scoff. "It's not me they want the pictures of," I say.

"I don't care," he says. "They can get rough, no matter if you're the target or not. I don't want you, or-or him… out there with them."

I open my mouth to respond, prepared to refute him. I don't appreciate the coddling - I've taken care of myself and sustained another life for over six years. I can protect our son fine on my own. I'm not some dependent little creature he has to take care of. That was never me.

But then, the photographers catch sight of Jackson and start knocking on the glass. The flashes go off like crazy, partnered with manic shouts that all blend together. Choruses of his name as they try to get the attention of the famous father of my son.

"Mommy, I don't like that," Theo whimpers, holding on tighter. He's a quiet, introverted child with a tendency for shyness. Loud noises and ruckus upsets him, it always has. "I really don't like that!" He's crying now.

"Okay," I murmur, one hand on the back of Theo's head as I look at Jackson urgently. "We'll go. Take us to your car." I pause for a short moment. "Please."

He makes a call that I can't hear and we find our way to a different exit of the hospital. We move quickly, assuming the photographers will get the same idea, and I hold my son securely as I power-walk to keep up with his father.

"It's there waiting for us," he says.

"Just like that," I say, not quite loud enough for him to hear. He has the world at the palm of his hands. With one phone call, there's someone waiting to serve him. I have never, and will never, know what that feels like.

"What?"

"Nothing."

We make it to the car. It's parked right outside a side door, long and black. The driver comes to open the back door and the three of us slide in, Theo and me first.

When the door shuts behind us, the silence is nearly deafening. I keep Theo on my lap, his face still buried in my hair, and avoid Jackson's eyes. I don't know why, but I feel like I have to. I'm finding it so hard to look at him.

I can't help but feel like a second-class citizen in comparison. This life he lives is nothing like the one I know, or anything I've ever known, for that matter. The clothes I'm wearing are two or three years old, never mind the shoes. Theo's jacket is from Goodwill. He goes to a public school, hasn't had a haircut in way too long.

I feel like we're under scrutiny because of Jackson's high-falutin lifestyle. I feel with everything we do and say, with the way we look, he's judging us.

"Um, your address," he says, breaking the thick silence.

I give it to him and he passes it to the driver; before long, we're on Lakeshore Drive headed north towards the Lawrence exit. It isn't the best part of town, but I'm not rolling in money. Mine and Theo's apartment is home; it's cozy and nice, it's all he knows. Our neighborhood isn't great, but I've learned what parts to frequent and what parts to stay away from.

The car slows in front of our building, brick-faced and three floors tall. We live at the top; I can see our little balcony when I look up.

"Thanks for the ride," I say, opening the door and helping Theo out. He's walking on his own now, back in an environment he knows.

Jackson stands up halfway like he plans on exiting, too. I see an expectant look in his eyes, like maybe he wants me to invite him upstairs. I don't exactly hate the idea, but something keeps me from opening my mouth and acting on it.

"Give me a call… if you want," I say, taking Theo's hand and directing him to stand on the curb.

"Thanks," Jackson says, a bit dejectedly. "I will."

"Okay," I say, taking a step backwards. "Um… goodbye."

"I'm in town for a couple weeks still," he says, eagerly.

"Okay," I say again. "Good to know. Thank you again."

Once we get inside, Theo scampers up the stairs like always and beats me to our door, waiting in front until I come with the key. When we get inside, he charges down the hallway and bursts into his room, landing on his bed with a flying leap.

"My bed!" he cheers triumphantly.

I smile at his silliness. "Glad to be home?" I ask, walking down the long hallway to the kitchen, where I set my purse on the counter.

"So, so, so, so glad!" he shouts, still from his room.

The house feels dusty and stagnant as it's sat empty for a few days, so I spend some time cleaning while Theo works on arts and crafts in his room. I put on a pair of leggings and a ratty old t-shirt, turning on music that we both love - Maroon 5.

Around lunchtime, I finish cleaning and go to Theo's room with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for either of us.

"Hungry?" I ask, leaning on his doorframe.

He looks up where he lies on his belly on the hardwood floor, paper and crayons surrounding him.

"You've been hard at work," I say, stepping inside, careful not to crunch anything under my feet. "Can I see?"

He sits up and I join him on the floor, cross-legged. I take a bite of my sandwich and he lifts up a piece of printer paper with three painstakingly-drawn figures on it; one wearing a navy blue and white football uniform, complete with the helmet and all. The footballer is to the right, and in the middle there's a smaller figure also drawn with brown crayon, then a peach-colored one to the left with flaming red hair. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what he's drawn, but I ask him to explain anyway.

"What did you make?"

He sets it flat on the floor again, holding his sandwich with one hand while pointing with the other. "My family," he says. "See, there's me in my favorite yellow shirt with the buttons. And there's you with your crazy red hair. I didn't draw your glasses, since you only wear them at night. And that's my daddy."

I chew the inside of my cheek as I study his picture. He's been working for a while, having obviously put a lot of love and care into crafting this.

"It's beautiful," I say. "You made Jackson's uniform really accurate. How did you remember it so good?"

"I don't know," he says, shrugging. "Jackson is Daddy, right?"

"Yes," I say. "They're the same person." I sigh. "Can I be honest with you for just a sec, baby? I can't really decide between calling him by his name, or calling him your dad. Do you have one you like better?"

"He's my daddy," Theo says. "We should call him my daddy."

I smile to myself, just a little. "Okay," I say. "Then that's what we'll do."

…

The day turns into the night, and Theo and I order a pizza and watch Netflix together on the couch. He leans against my side, giggling at the parts of Cars that he always giggles at, until he's done eating and looks at me wearing a pointed expression.

"My middle name is Jackson," Theo says. "Like him."

"You're right," I say.

He's always known his father's name, but he must be putting this together for the first time.

"Am I more like you, or him, mommy?"

His question comes as a surprise, though I'm not sure why. I should have expected this, or something like it, after everything that's happened.

"You're like both of us in a lot of ways," I say, swallowing hard. I set my pizza down. Suddenly, I'm not hungry anymore.

"Like how?"

"Well…" I say. "You look just like him."

"Because I have brown skin. And so does he!"

It cracks my heart a little bit to hear Theo say it like that. I always wanted him to have a black male role model growing up, but I couldn't give him one. I knew I was robbing him of something by taking that away. He couldn't look around and see someone in his own household who looks like him. We don't use the same hair products or lotions. When he was little, I had so many questions about his hair and skin, but no one to answer them. Google was my crutch back then. Has he been feeling ostracized from me this whole time?

But then, I wonder if I'm reading too much into it.

"Yes," I say. "And I love your beautiful brown skin. You know that." I smile, and so does he. It makes me feel a little better. "But it's more than that. Your eyes, for one thing. You both have these magical, light-up green eyes. I can read your every thought in them, I swear I can. And I always could do that with him, too. When he was sad, I would know. Even if he was smiling."

"Smiling when he's sad?"

I make a small sound, my shoulders bouncing once. "It's something your daddy did a lot," I say. "He wasn't the best at talking about his feelings. He used to pretend to be happy, even if he wasn't. Just so other people wouldn't worry."

"Why?"

"I don't know," I say.

"I talk about my feelings."

"Yes, you do," I say. "You're very good at that."

"Sometimes, I cry."

"And that's okay, too."

"Does my daddy ever cry?"

"I don't know," I say. "Remember, I haven't seen him in a very long time."

"Since before I came out of your tummy."

"Right."

"Did he cry when you still knowed him?"

I take a moment to breathe. I recall back to the four years I knew Jackson and the two years I spent loving him. I never once saw him cry.

"I'm sure he did," I say. "But I just never saw it."

"You say it's okay for boys to cry."

"That's true," I say. "It is."

Theo pauses for a moment, resting a flat hand on my thigh. I look down at it, how tiny it is, and try to sear the image in my head. I know I'll miss it when he's a big, burly teenager who doesn't hug his mother anymore. The thought is frightening - I shove it out of my mind as quickly as it came.

"What's his favorite food?" he asks.

I smile to myself and squeeze him tighter. "Pizza," I say. "Your daddy used to love, love, love pizza. I'm sure he still does."

"We have pizza!" he giggles. "And I love pizza."

"I guess now we know why."

He holds his crust up to my mouth and I take a big bite of it. "Or because you love pizza, mommy," he says, laughing. "Where does he live?" Theo asks. "In Chicago? In our city?"

"No," I say, stroking his arm. "I'm pretty sure he lives in Washington somewhere. I don't have an exact answer for you on that one."

"Seattle is in Washington. That's where his team is where he plays football," he says. "That's by the Pacific Ocean."

"Very good."

"Does he like swimming?"

"I don't know, honey."

"Maybe we could find out. I have my swimming lesson tomorrow, right, mommy? Can we ask Daddy to come with, like sometimes Aunt Addison comes with?"

I study his face. He isn't overly-eager or sickeningly-sweet. He's asking because it's something he wants, something that will make him feel good. I can't bear to deny him.

"I can call him and ask," I say. "Let's get you up to bed. I'll call him later."

After Theo is tucked up tight in his racecar sheets, I kneel at his bedside and kiss his forehead.

"Did you say your prayers?" I ask.

He nods, a cute smile on his face, gripping the edge of his sheets.

"What'd you pray for?"

"I can't tell you, or it won't come true," he says, giggling. "Mommy, will you lay with me and tickle my arm?"

"Sure," I say, climbing up onto his small bed. He turns on his side and I press my lips to his curls, running my fingernails down the smooth skin of his arm.

A few minutes later, after I think he's asleep, he speaks again. "Mama," he whispers.

"Hmm."

"Can I love my dad?"

I steady my gaze and stare at the back of my son's head. Immediately, my eyes sting with the onset of tears. "Of course you can," I say. "You can feel any way you want about him."

"But if I love him, can I love you still?"

"You can love as many people as you want, teddy bear," I say, clearing my throat in attempts not to cry. "There's no limit. I love you more every day, you know that? Maybe tomorrow, I'll love you even more."

"More than the moon?" he whispers, his little voice slurred with sleep.

"More than the moon," I promise him.

He turns over to face me, nuzzling his face into the crook of my neck. "I love you, too, mama," he says, then finally drifts off to sleep.

…

The next day in the locker room, I'm getting Theo dressed in his swim trunks for his lesson. He's buzzing with excitement and nerves about seeing Jackson, and so am I. But I'm keeping my feelings under wraps.

"Hold still, wiggle worm," I say, laughing as I tie the drawstring around his waist.

"Are we done now, mommy? Can we go? Is he here?"

I lug the swim bag onto my shoulder and push open the door. "He said he would be," I say.

"There he is!"

Theo's voice is excited, but he wraps himself around my leg as soon as he sees Jackson. His father is wearing a simple gray hoodie and jeans, but he's never looked better. I can't take my eyes off of him.

"Hey, guys," he says.

"Hi," I say. "Theo, say hi."

"Hi," he peeps.

"Thanks for inviting me, little man," Jackson says. "Means a lot. I haven't been to a swimming lesson in years."

"Do you know how to swim?" Theo asks.

"I do," Jackson answers, matching our pace as we walk to the pool. "Not all that well, but I'm pretty sure I could save myself."

"I can hold my breath for 12 seconds underwater," Theo says, voice still quiet.

"That's awesome," Jackson says.

"Want me to show you?"

"I'd love that."

We make it to the pool, and Jackson and I sit on a bench on the side as Theo's teacher helps him down the rungs of the ladder.

"Watch!" he calls, before his lesson starts. He sinks under the water and I count on my fingers, showcasing a perfect twelve as he comes up.

"That was awesome!" Jackson says, and his son beams.

Throughout his lesson, I feel Theo's eyes on us. "Thanks for making it," I say to Jackson.

"Thanks for inviting me," he replies. "Really, I mean that. I… I wasn't sure if you were going to give me a ring or not. It really means a lot that you did."

I nod slowly. "I don't want to keep him from you anymore."

"I appreciate that," Jackson says, then turns to look at me. "Really, I do."

I nod again. "He was asking all about you last night," I say.

"He was?"

I laugh softly. "Yeah. He was giving me the third degree. He also drew this picture…" I pull up the photo I took of it and show him.

"His family," Jackson says, a smile growing on his lips. "Will you send that to me?"

"Sure."

"Mommy!" I hear. "Mommy, Jack-... Da-... Mommy, look!"

Theo fumbles with his words, but we pretend not to notice as he shows us the new stroke he just learned how to do. We applaud him, and his teacher takes his attention again.

"We have stuff we need to talk about," Jackson says.

"I know," I say.

"A lot of it."

"I realize."

"And it's more than that," he says. "I wanna catch up with you. Hear about your life. Hear about… everything, Peach."

I don't correct the nickname this time. It's second nature for him to say and for me to hear. It's a warm blanket wrapped around my shoulders on a cold day. It's home.

"We'll get time," I say. "I promise."

After Theo is done with his lesson, I wrap a towel around his trembling shoulders. As we walk to the locker room, he looks up at Jackson and says, "We go to church school after swimming."

It's true, we do. It almost slipped my mind because of the craziness as of late, but he's right. We didn't make it last week, so there's no skipping.

"That's cool," Jackson says. "Mind if I tag along?"

I look at him with surprise. Growing up, religion was hugely important to me. Less so as I hit my teenage years, but it was still a monumental part of my upbringing. I wanted to raise Theo knowing the basics. I don't need us to be devout, but I want him to have a little bit of the same history I did. The good parts, at least.

Jackson was never interested in it, mostly because of the aggressive way my parents ingrained it in my psyche. So, hearing him voluntarily offer to come along with us is startling.

"Can he come, mama?" Theo asks.

"If he wants," I say. "Of course."

The church is warm and quiet when we walk in. Theo's class is small, only with about six or seven other kids on a good day.

"You can see my classroom," Theo says, looking up at Jackson. I watch his hand move like he's going to slip it into his father's, but it retreats back to his side. "Can I show you?"

"Sure," Jackson says. "Lead the way, I'm right behind you."

I keep my distance as I watch them interact. From behind, the way they walk is so similar. I've never realized that.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Theo," the church school teacher, Mrs. Peterson, says. "Who do you have with you today?"

"This is my dad," Theo answers, without hesitation.

"Jackson," Jackson says, extending his hand. "You mind if he shows me around?"

"Not at all," she says.

"This is the altar," Theo says, urging Jackson along and showing him a miniature wooden altar. "You get out the chalice, the candles, and something else I forgot the name of. Then you touch your forehead, your chest, and your shoulders, and say this: the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Okay?"

"Interesting."

"And we sing right here," Theo says, pointing to a green rug. "But that's at the end. I don't think you can stay 'til then. We pray right here, but I already know how to do that. Mommy taught me how to pray when I was a baby."

Jackson looks over his shoulder and catches my eye. His are glistening with emotion.

"I'm gonna go now," Theo says. "You can go with Mommy where everyone waits outside."

"Thanks for the tour," Jackson says, and I can tell he wants to touch his son, but he doesn't let himself. I want to tell him he can, that he should just do it, but I stay quiet.

…

At home that night, the three of us are sitting at the dining room table. It's still surreal that Jackson is right here in front of me, in the same space as his son that I kept hidden for so long. I can barely wrap my head around it.

"What's your favorite movie ever?" Theo asks Jackson, having already asked seemingly hundreds of questions tonight.

"Tough one," Jackson says. "Probably a tie between Cars and The Lion King."

Theo gasps. "I watch Cars!" he says. "Mommy! He watches Cars, too!"

"Imagine that!" I say, laughing with him.

"Your favorite food is pizza," Theo says, once his laughter dies down.

"Right on the nose," Jackson says. "How'd you know?"

"Mama," Theo says. "She told me last night. We had pizza then."

"And you didn't save any for me? What kind of malarkey is that?"

Theo cracks up again, his eyes pinched shut tight, mouth wide open with his head thrown back. Jackson smiles, marveling at him, and I marvel at the both of them. They are a perfect fit.

"Who's your favoritest person ever ever?" he asks.

Jackson taps his chin. "That's an easy one," he says. "I think I'm gonna have to say you."

Theo makes a surprised sound. "But you just knowed me!" he says. "I only saw you a day ago!"

"Doesn't matter," Jackson says, shaking his head. "That's my final answer."

My heart feels like it might explode.

"But your favorite person ever used to be Mommy," Theo says, looking back at me with twinkling eyes.

A small pocket of silences passes as Jackson looks from his son to center his eyes on me. The look of love hasn't faded - it's now focused on a different person. Myself.

"Yes," he says, nodding. "Very much so."

My cheeks heat up and I try to hide my blush by looking away. I can't handle that.

"I think it's time for little boys to get to bed," I say, scooping Theo up.

"Aw, mommy…" he whines.

"I know, I know, you're having fun," I say. "But you can see your daddy again soon. Say goodnight."

"Goodnight," Theo says, and I walk towards the hall where his room is. He looks over my shoulder, arms wrapped tight, and says, "Goodnight, daddy."

After Theo is asleep, I go into the living room to find Jackson on the couch. Thoughts are rushing through my head at a thousand miles per hour, for some reason focusing on the paparazzi debacle yesterday.

"Are those pictures going to be published?" I ask, coming up behind him. He follows me with his eyes as I sit down. "From yesterday at the hospital. Because if they got any with Theo's face in them and they're out for everyone to see, I'm really not okay with that. Can you do something?"

"I'll pay them off," he says. "I won't let that happen."

"Good," I say. "Thank you. Because it's really important for me to-"

He cuts me off, twisting the ring on his finger I'd seen before. He says, "This is a promise ring."

I stop with my mouth open, my thoughts halted, too. "I… what?" I ask.

"A promise ring," he says. "It's not an engagement ring. It was… it is. It's a promise I really thought I meant." He clears his throat, lifting his eyes from the floor to rest on me. "But now, I don't know what to think."