APRIL

UPTOWN, CHICAGO, 5 YEARS AGO

It's snowing, which means I have to get Theo wrapped in his winter gear before we go outside this morning.

I glance through the window, let out a stressed sigh, and hurry to the closet with my baby on my hip. "Mommy's already late," I say, standing on tiptoe to grab the storage tub from a high shelf. "But we can't have my little man freezing his toes off, can we?"

I smile at my son and he looks at me with wide eyes. I stretch again to get the container, but I tip it over the edge and it goes tumbling down, making a huge racket as it goes.

Theo starts to cry, upset by the commotion.

"I know, I know," I say, kneeling to pick it up from its side. But as I lift, the lid comes off and all the contents spill out onto the floor in the hall.

"Damn it," I say, rifling through various clothes to find his snowsuit as his cries turn into screams. I can't hear myself think. "I know, buddy," I say, finally finding it, and bring him to the couch. "It's okay. I'm sorry! I'm sorry for the loud noise. Mama didn't mean to scare you."

He sniffles, one thumb in his mouth, fat tears still rolling down his cheeks.

"All better," I say, then lay him flat. In typical Theo fashion, he rolls over and practically falls off the couch before I catch him, solidifying him in place.

"Stay still, honey," I say. "We gotta get this on you."

It's a little small. I bought it on clearance over the summer, knowing we'd need it come winter. And now that we need it, he's grown. I guess I didn't take that into account.

But I shove his arms and legs in anyway, which makes him scream like he's being tortured. His face is pinched, eyes shut tight, arms and legs beating the air as I zip him up.

"I know, I'm evil," I say, propping him on my hip again. He writhes in my arms, fighting to be put down, but I hold fast. I somehow put my own coat on, slipping into my winter boots, and step over the mess I made in the hall as I head toward the front door. Cleaning up will have to wait until later, I don't have time now.

I pull Theo's hood over his curls and he grunts and whines against that, too. I hitch him higher as we walk down the sidewalk towards the train and he whimpers the whole time. He's still teething, which has made him fussy. It's not been an easy or short stage.

We ride the train to Lakeview, where his daycare and my job are located. I hurry off, keeping a good hold on my son, and push open the door to the daycare with my back once we reach it.

"Good morning, Theo!" one of his daycare providers says, stretching her arms out. "All bundled up today, I see."

"Yeah, and hating it," I say, handing over the diaper bag along with my baby. "I gotta go. I'm late for work. I'll be back by 8."

After work, comes night school. During the weekdays, Theo spends more time at daycare than he does with me. I hate it. I hate that sometimes, when I come to pick him up, he fights to go back into his favorite employee's arms. It scratches away a little piece of my heart each time he does it.

I know I'm not being fair, to him or myself. He's a baby. I know he loves me. And I'm providing for us - working during the day and going to class every night, starting at 5, to become a licensed chiropractor. Someday, I'm going to own my own business and we're going to live a much easier life.

After my night class is over, I hurry from the downtown campus back to Lakeview to pick up my son. My breasts are aching - Theo needs to eat - and he's probably fussy by this point. I need to get us home. He needs to nurse and get in bed, and I need to start on the boatloads of homework I have.

I burst through the door, bringing cold wind with me, and see he's the only child left. This place closes down at 8:30, and Theo is consistently the last one here. It doesn't help with my guilt, so I never draw attention to it.

"Hi, sweet boy," I say, kissing his forehead as an employee hands him over. He grunts, stretches his arms out for me, and nuzzles his face into my neck. I let out a sigh of relief, happy to have my baby back in my arms after a long, grueling day.

I coerce him back into the snowsuit, easier this time because he's sleepy, and begin our long trek home. He falls asleep on my chest while we ride the train, and the disrobing of winter gear is what wakes him up when we get to the apartment.

"Hungry, baby boy?" I ask, after we're both changed into pajamas and sitting on the cushioned rocking chair in his room. Our house isn't very furnished, but this was a chair I saw at Salvation Army and knew I had to have. It's been a godsend to have it in his room.

I pull down the collar of my shirt and Theo finds his way to my breast without a problem. He's a little over 12 months old, too old to be nursing according to some strict baby gurus, but I don't care. He still needs me, and I'm okay with that. He never took to formula, and now eats mostly solid food, but when I tried to wean him from this bedtime routine, all we'd do was find our way back.

So, I let it stay for a while longer.

His lips move slowly as he sighs, eyes closing. I look down where his pudgy fist has gripped the neck of my shirt, holding fast, and smile. I drift to his face, marveling as his mile-long eyelashes and perfect bow-shaped mouth. He is a masterpiece, there's no denying.

"Dear God," I whisper. "Thank you for this day. Thank you for helping me get through it, and thank you for bringing us home safely tonight. Thank for you my healthy baby, and may he continue to stay that way. I'm so grateful for the lessons you've taught me, and opportunities you've given me, God." I stay concentrated on my little boy. "Please guide me and keep us safe, Lord," I say. "We need you more than ever."

Soon, Theo's mouth goes slack and though he's fallen asleep, I can't bear to move him. As he drifts further, his body twitches and he makes small sounds, fingers moving subtly as he relaxes away from my nipple.

Just as I'm about to lay him down, the doorbell rings. I pinch my lips in frustration as he wakes up and starts to cry, tucking myself back into my shirt as I hold the baby with his face over my shoulder.

"Who could…" I mutter angrily, padding in socked feet to answer the door while Theo continues to wail in my arms.

I open it and see my landlord standing there. She looks surprised when I answer, probably past the point of disheveled with a distressed baby on my hip.

"Hi… April," she says. She flashes me an uncomfortable smile.

"Evening," I say, bouncing Theo in efforts to quiet him down. It doesn't do any good.

"How are you?"

I nudge my glasses up on my nose with my free hand, I only wear them at night, but tonight I wish they were off. They're giving me a headache worse than the one I already have.

"A little stressed at the moment, gotta be honest," I say, laughing uncomfortably. "The baby had just fallen asleep when you rang the doorbell."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she says. "I just came by to tell you that it's the fifth of the month and we haven't yet received your rent check."

I sigh - long and exasperated. I knew I'd been forgetting something.

"I'll get it to you," I mutter. "I promise. I have the money, I do. I just need to transfer it, and it'll be there. I'll write the check tomorrow morning."

She looks at me wearing an awkward expression. Theo still hasn't stopped crying.

"We do charge a late fee after the fifth, April," she says. "And this isn't the first time this has happened."

"I know, I know," I snap. "I'm fully aware, believe me. I have a lot on my plate right now, and it's not as easy as it might freakin' seem to juggle all of it." I hold the baby closer. "Theo, please..." I practically beg, one hand flat on his back. I look at my landlord. "I'll get you the money tomorrow. I promise. Charge me a late fee, do what you have to do, I don't care. I just… I have to get my son to sleep."

I shut the door in her face.

Theo's cries lessen to whimpers as I hold him against my heartbeat, walking calmly around his room while singing a song from kids' church last Sunday.

"I've got the joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart," I sing softly. "Down in my heart… I've got the joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart… down in my heart to stay…"

After he falls asleep, I lay him down in the crib and hope I'll be able to find that joy soon.

I drag my feet to the living room, where I sit on the couch with my homework surrounding me, not doing a single bit. All I can do is stare at the wall and think about how tired I am, think about how Theo might not sleep through the night tonight because of his teeth, and how I probably won't even have gone to sleep by the time he wakes back up.

I rub my temples and start to cry, hot tears slipping down my cheeks. I feel hopeless. I can't do this anymore, not on my own. I'm late on rent for the third month in a row, and I'll have to scrape together everything I have to make it. I'll probably have to short the daycare for a second time, promising that I'll pay them when I get the money. Outstanding tuition not covered by aid was already taken out of my account, which only makes me suffer more.

The weight of the world lies heavy on my shoulders. I never expected life to look like this after I left. I expected it to be hard, but doable. This feels impossible.

I pull out my phone and don't bother with opening my contacts. This person is no longer on that list. Instead, I open the dialpad and poise my finger over the 4 to start on the Ohio area code, the one I hope he still has.

I need help. I never wanted to ask for it from him, but I feel I have no other choice. I need to call Theo's father; I need some sort of clarity, I need someone to hold us up. I can't do it on my own anymore.

My eyes dart to the clock. It's almost 11pm, which is late. I don't want to call and wake him up, shaking him with such life-altering news at night. I'll call tomorrow, in the morning.

The next day, Theo is in a much better mood. I give him a teething ring to chew on after he's done nursing, then switch on the TV so he can listen to it in his bouncer while I get ready.

As I'm putting on my makeup, a familiar name calls me out of the bathroom. When I walk out, I see that ESPN is on, and there are sports commentators talking about promising new players from colleges around the United States.

"Jackson Avery, a big name from Bama," one man says. "He's only a sophomore, but Jesus, does that boy have legs. Have you seen him on that field? He's a demon. He's gonna go places, that's for sure. Pros are gonna be fighting over this one."

Theo squeals and bangs his fists on the tray in front of him, causing plastic toys to scatter on the hardwood floor below. I sigh, looking from my son to the screen, and back again.

I won't call Jackson. I can't. I put the thought out of my mind.

UPTOWN, CHICAGO, THREE YEARS AGO

"Mommy… Mommy, wake up!"

I open my eyes and feel a little body on mine, hands lightly jostling my shoulders to get me to respond.

"It's the first day of school, mommy!"

I roll onto my back and look at my three-year-old son, dressed in his matching pajamas with puppy dogs all over them. His eyes are bright and cheery as if it isn't 6am, and his hair is a wild mess. His smile is contagious, I can't help but give one back.

"It is the first day, isn't it?" I say, pulling him close for a big hug. "My big boy is going to school!"

Theo is starting his first year of preschool at John T. McCutcheon elementary school, and he couldn't be more excited. I'm excited, too, but at the same time I have a small stone of sadness sitting in my gut. He's not my little baby anymore.

"I'm a big boy now," he says proudly, smiling even wider. "Right, mama?"

"Right," I say, ruffling his hair. "Pretty soon you're gonna be in high school. What will I do then? What will I do without my little baby?"

He cracks up giggling and buries his face in my armpit, one arm tight around my middle. "I'm not a baby, mama," he says.

I smile to myself. "Doesn't matter how old you get," I say. "You'll always be my little baby."

"Even when I'm 6?" he asks. "15? A hundred forty-two?"

"Even then," I say, and jiggle him. "Okay, we gotta get our lazy butts out of this bed and get you dressed, teddy bear. Let's go!"

He puts on the outfit we picked out last night, tiny jeans and a dark green polo, and I'm taken aback at how much he looks like his father in that color. His eyes pop, and when I tame his hair as best I can, he could be Jackson's little twin. I have a hard time looking at him for too long because of it.

"You look great, buddy," I say. "Let's get a picture."

I take a picture of him by himself in front of the door, then we pose for a selfie. He wraps his arms around my neck and squishes his cheek against mine, both of us cheesing for the camera.

We walk hand-in-hand to his school, making light conversation as we go.

"Are you nervous, baby?" I ask, looking down.

He looks up, meeting my gaze. Shaking his head, he says, "No."

"Not one bit?"

"Nope!" he says, swinging my arm. "I wanna go to school and learn and be smart lots."

"Be smart like mama?" I ask.

"You're the smartest ever!" he shouts, then breaks out in giggles. "I'm gonna make lots of friends. Right, mama?"

"Of course you are," I say. "Everyone's gonna love you. But I'm still gonna be your best-best friend, right?"

He smirks my way. "Yes."

"You'll always be my best-best, too," I say.

We walk a little further, and as I feel Theo's smooth hand tucked into my own, tears prick the backs of my eyes. I look down at him and remember all that we've been through these past three years, all the rough spots we've experienced to get here, and feel so grateful for the child he's grown to be. He is by far my greatest accomplishment and biggest joy. I don't know where I would be without him at my side.

And now, he's moving onto the next milestone in his life. One that I can see him through, but can't carry him over. He's not a baby anymore, he's a child. Of course, he's still very young. But it's different now. He's in school. He's not an infant who needs me every second of every day, depending on me for absolutely everything. He has unique thoughts, feelings, and a very special personality.

When we get to the school, swarms of other parents and children are milling about, talking excitedly. Theo grips my hand a little tighter as he gravitates toward my legs, growing shy now that this has all become real.

"You're okay," I say, stroking his hair. "Let's go inside. Get away from all this noise."

Inside the school is a little better, but not by much. Theo stays right on my heels, now holding my hand with both of his. When we get to his classroom, I stop just outside and kneel, holding my son's face in my hands as I look deep into his eyes.

"I wanna go home," he says. "Mommy, can we go home?"

"No, honey," I say, and lean forward to rest my forehead against his. "It's gonna be great. I promise. Remember how excited you were just a little bit ago?"

He wraps his arms tight around my neck, unrelenting. "I don't want you to go," he murmurs, and I wrap my arms around him. "Stay here."

"I can't stay with you at school all day," I say. "You don't want your old mom here, anyway."

"Yes, I do!"

I chuckle. "It'll be okay, babe. You'll get used to it."

Then, his teacher comes out and greets us. Theo looks at her with wary eyes, still holding onto me with everything he has.

"He's a little nervous," I tell her.

"That's alright!" she says. "Come on in, Theodore, I'll show you your spot on the rug."

"My name's Theo," he mutters, staring at the carpet as we walk.

"Theo," I say, a bit louder so the teacher can hear. "He likes to be called Theo."

"Got it," she says, smiling. "Alright then, Theo. Your spot is right here. Does this look good to you?"

"How about you try it out?" I say, squatting.

He sits, looking between the teacher and me without saying much. Then, he pushes himself up and throws his arms around my neck again.

"Please don't go, mama," he whimpers.

I make eye contact with the teacher and she gives me a sympathetic glance. I rub Theo's back and kiss his temple, swaying us side to side a bit. We spend a while there, just the two of us, until I pull away and wipe his tear-stains with my fingertips.

"My brave boy," I say. "You can do this. I know you can. You're gonna love school. You're my smart boy, I can't wait for you to get even smarter."

He sniffles. "Smart as you."

"Smart as me," I say, then press a deliberate kiss to his forehead. "I'll see you at 3:30 sharp. I won't be late. I'll be here to get you."

He nods, gives me one last hug, then watches me leave. When I look at him adjusting through the window on the classroom door, my heart swells with pride.

I try not to think of Jackson often. But during moments like these, that's easier said than done. I want to share this pride with someone - him, specifically. I want to be standing in this hallway that smells like Crayons next to Theo's father, both of us misty-eyed together.

But instead, I walk out alone, feeling a strange mixture of being empty and full.

UPTOWN, CHICAGO, PRESENT

Now, in front of John T. McCutcheon elementary, I'm waiting for Theo's class to come out with Jackson at my side. His presence is nice, comforting, grounding. I never knew simply being next to him again would bring me so much clarity and stability.

He makes me feel those things, yet I've never been more confused in my life. When he kissed my cheek a couple days ago, he'd lingered and neither of us wanted to move away. I could tell that much. When he pulled away, though, we met eyes and exchanged unspoken words, unspoken feelings.

I've been trying to shove them down ever since. He's involved with someone else. And even if he weren't, trying to start something with him again would be messy and confusing for everyone involved. For Theo, we work best as friends.

"Here he comes," I say, standing on tiptoe to spot our son.

I see his teacher leading the line, then catch sight of him in the middle, jumping up and down to get my attention. When he sees Jackson, his mouth gapes before he starts clapping and smiling.

"He's so excited," Jackson says, sounding pleased.

"Of course he is," I say. "I told you he would be."

"Mommy!" Theo says, arms stretched out wide as he careens towards us. "Daddy came!"

"I thought you'd like to see him," I say, squeezing him tight. "How was your day?"

"Good!" he says, then directs his eyes up to Jackson. He looks like he wants to say something, but doesn't.

"What'd you do?"

"I don't know," he says, taking my hand as we walk away from the crowd of people.

"You don't know?" I say, messing with him. "What did you do, sit and stare at the wall all day?"

Theo giggles. Jackson walks on the other side, so I nod and gesture for him to take his son's hand. He looks strained at first, nervous to do it, but he follows through. He takes Theo's hand and Theo looks up at him, surprised, but lets it happen. A smile graces his lips because of it.

"Now, I got two!" he says, swinging both of our arms.

We walk for a little while, talking about Theo's day as he keeps pushing his hair out of his eyes.

"You got some crazy hair, little man," Jackson says. "Looks like you need a cut!"

I furrow my eyebrows, unable to keep the frown off my face. I've always been touchy about Theo's hair because though I've gotten better over the years, I'm still no expert. I do my best, I'm always learning new things, but I can never seem to keep up.

"I moisturize it every other day," I snap. "It's healthy hair. There's nothing wrong with it. His hair is beautiful."

Jackson looks at me, raising his eyebrows. "Hey, that wasn't supposed to be a dig. I love his hair. Mine used to get the same way, all crazy when Mom let it go for too long. But trust me, it'll be a lot easier to handle if you get it buzzed into a nice shape. "

I swallow, glancing at the curls atop my son's head. It would be helpful not to have to go through a forest of tangles and tears trying to get it to look nice. He'd probably like it much better, too.

I just don't like feeling inadequate when it comes to taking care of him. I've done a good job on my own for years. I can't be perfect all the time. I can't help but feel defensive.

"It's okay, Peach," Jackson says, quietly just so I can hear. "Happens to the best of us."

That soothes me slightly, and I know he's right. Theo's hair does need work. I haven't gotten around to it because we don't get a lot of time, and because a trip to the barber never goes well.

"Theo, how about a haircut?" I say, squeezing his hand.

"No," he says, shaking head and making his hair bounce. "No, thank you."

I chuckle. "Very polite, but there's not really much of a choice involved. We have the time now, why don't we stop by the barber's? Your poof is getting kinda crazy, babe."

He stops in his tracks and drops both of our hands. "No, mommy!" he whines, eyes growing wide and glassy. "I don't wanna get my hair cut. I don't wanna go!"

"Honey, it'll be fine," I say, glancing at Jackson warily.

"No, it won't!" he argues. "I hate haircuts! They hurt me and they always looks bad!" He starts fully crying, tears sliding down his cheeks at a rapid pace. "They cut up my head and make it sting!"

"Hey," Jackson says, kneeling. "I know where we can go so that doesn't happen."

Theo sniffles, wiping his face with the backs of his hands.

"Is that what bothers you so much about haircuts?" he asks. "Is that why you don't wanna go?"

Theo gravitates to my side, holding onto my hand with two of his as he watches Jackson with wondering eyes. "Yeah," he peeps. "They cut me."

Jackson looks up at me. "They don't know how to get a good, close shave," he says. "I don't mean any offense by this, but…" He clears his throat. "White barbers. Peach, I gotta take him to someone who knows black hair. Do you mind?"

I shake my head, slow at first and then more confidently.

"I wanna take you to the kind of people who cut my hair," Jackson says. "Do you like my hair?"

Theo studies Jackson's head, then reaches to run his hands over the kept curls. He nods slightly, still sniffling.

"I can have them do yours just like this," he says. "Would you like that?"

Theo nods again, but shrinks in closer to me. "Mama comes, too."

"Of course she's gonna come," Jackson says, standing up to his full height. "Let's call an Uber and go get ourselves a haircut."

The three of us walk into a barber shop called Kenny Mac's, Theo still attached to my side. The bell dings as the door opens, and a few guys look over and their faces light up when they see Jackson.

"Jackson Avery!" one of them says. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"My boy needs a cut," Jackson says, shaking the guys' hands. Theo intensely watches his father interact with these new men, interest lit in his eyes.

"Look at that hair," someone else says. "Let's get this little man set up with a chair and a cape. We'll take care of him." The barber makes eye contact with me. "Don't worry, mom."

I let go of Theo's hand and he follows Jackson and the barber, whose name is Bryan, over to a chair. I sit by the magazines and pretend I'm not watching, but in reality I can't take my eyes off of them.

Jackson helps Theo flip through a magazine until he finds something he likes. "He wants this," Jackson says, showing it to Bryan.

"Mid-fade!" Bryan says. "Let me see, he's got some curls, that's for sure. So, mid-fade with edge-up. And I'll find a way to utilize these."

"That sound good?" Jackson asks Theo, and he nods.

Then, I see Theo grab Jackson's hand and whisper something in his ear.

When he finishes, Jackson stands and says to Bryan, "Don't cut my boy, or I'll have to sock you to next week."

They both laugh. Theo looks between the two grown men with an expression on his face that tells me he wants to be amused, too.

"Don't go, daddy," Theo says, and Jackson tells him he won't. He stays by the chair the whole time, stealing glances at me over his shoulder every now and then.

I can't help but smile. Sitting here in this barber shop, we're a family.

When it's over, Theo's grin melts my heart when Bryan turns him around and he looks at his new cut. "Mommy!" he practically sings. "Look at my cool new hair!"

"I see!" I say, standing. I walk over and Jackson is beaming. Bryan undoes the cape and Theo hops down, walking closer to the mirror.

"It's so cool," he says. "Now, I look just like Daddy."

"You already did, my man," Bryan says, chuckling. Jackson hands him a bill I can't see, and I let him. I don't know why, but I do.

We ride the train home, the three of us sitting in a row on the Red Line. As Theo touches his new hair, someone unfamiliar comes up to Jackson and asks for his autograph, which prompts a few more people to do the same.

I frown, pulling Theo closer as Jackson signs a couple phone cases and stray napkins. I eye them warily, feeling territorial all of a sudden. That's my baby's father, and they think they know his life? They don't know the first thing about him.

Once we're on the sidewalk heading to the apartment, I feel like I can let out a long sigh of relief. I'm about to bring it up to Jackson, but his phone rings before I can.

"Hello?"

Theo looks up as he starts to talk, and I can't help but watch, too. Jackson tries to keep his voice low, but we're too close to hide anything from.

"Yes," he says, then pauses. "Yes, I do. I know that. Yes, I know I said that. I do have to be back soon, but I don't necessarily know what 'soon' - … no. Yes. It's not that, Steph, it's…" He sighs and waits. "I know, and I'm sorry. Yeah. I just… I don't know, okay? No, it's not like that." A long pause. "Talk to you soon," He says. "Bye."

"Mommy," Theo says as Jackson hangs up. "Is Daddy famous?"

I look at the man I once loved so much it hurt. I see the pain and confusion written all over his face - he's doing nothing to hide it.

"Yes, he is," I say. "A lot of people love your daddy."

"But us the most, right?"

I gloss over his question and unlock the front door to our apartment instead.

"Theo, honey," I say, setting our bags down. "Homework, okay? While I get started on dinner."

"Aw, mommy…" he whines, dragging his feet. "But Daddy's here. Can I play with him instead?"

I make eye contact with Jackson, and we silently communicate as parents for the first time.

"Playing comes after homework, little man," he says. "Sit down at the table with me. What do we got tonight?"

I go into the kitchen to make spaghetti, but with Jackson and Theo still in sight. Theo gets out a math worksheet he's been working on for the past couple days, and shows Jackson what he hasn't done yet.

"You can add four-digit numbers?" Jackson asks. "April, he can add four digits!"

"I know," I say, smiling. "He's a genius."

"You're a genius, dude," Jackson says. "I didn't learn how to add big numbers til 'like, yesterday."

Theo giggles, leaning back against the chair. "I got my genius from Mama, that's why," Theo says, still laughing.

"Another burn," Jackson says. "First I'm fat, now I'm stupid."

"Bad word!" Theo says. "Mama, Daddy said the s-word."

I peek my head out of the kitchen. "Put a quarter in the swear jar, mister."

"You owe me a quarter," Theo says, outstretching his open palm.

Jackson rifles for a coin and hands it over, and Theo runs into his bedroom to put it in the jar that's only a bit full. I'm not a huge potty-mouth, only when I'm stressed or afraid. Theo keeps this house in check.

The two of them finish the worksheet, which I can tell Theo appreciates. He's been wanting to get that out of the way for a while now. He goes to put it back in his backpack, and when he does, his inhaler falls out with a clatter.

"What's that?" Jackson asks.

"Just my inhaler," Theo says. "For asthma. I have one to bring to school just in case I have an asthma attack. But usually I don't. Only if I'm running super fast."

"Is that why you were in the hospital?" he asks.

"Yeah, except not really. I had br…"

"Bronchitis," I call from the kitchen. "And when he gets that, we have to go in. It irritates his lungs worse than it would for a normal kid."

"Got it," Jackson says. "Well, that's kinda scary."

"Not really," Theo says. "Wanna see a picture of me with my very first inhaler when I was little?"

Jackson must agree, because Theo's footsteps hurry down the hallway and he returns with a picture in his hands. It's one of him at about two years old, holding up an inhaler and smiling ear-to-ear, so proud.

"You're a cutie," Jackson says.

"I know," Theo says.

"With Mom's confidence, I see," Jackson says, poking his son in the ribs.

"What's that mean?" Theo asks, but instead of answering him, Jackson looks over his shoulder and meets my eyes with a smile.

"Can you show me more pictures?" Jackson asks. "There's a lot I didn't get to see. Maybe you could catch me up now."

"Mama, can Daddy see my baby book?"

"Sure, honey," I say. "You know where it is."

He runs down the hall yet again, lugging a big blue photo album when he comes back. "Here…" he grunts. "It is. Open it! It has all every single thing of me inside."

Jackson cracks the cover and Theo waits expectantly next to him. He loves looking through his baby book and hearing all the stories that go along with the photos.

"This is me when I was just born," Theo says. I listen, turning around to stir the pasta in the pot. "Well, not right after. 'Cause I was born on a bus. Right, mommy?"

"Exactly right," I say. "Right in the middle of Interstate I-90."

"I was born on a highway!" Theo says. "Mommy was riding a bus. And I came out of her tummy in the very back seat."

I smile to myself. He knows that story well.

"And this is me with Mama when I was a little baby. I was only 8 months old when I started walking, and Mama had to chase me everywhere all around our apartment. And I would get into everything and spill it all so she had to put baby locks on stuff real fast." He giggles. "I even said my first word before I turned one. Guess what it was."

Jackson pretends to think. "Hmm…" he says. "Maybe.. Mama?"

"Yes!" Theo shouts. "How'd you know?"

"Lucky guess."

"Here's me on my very first birthday party! I shoved cake into my face. It was vanilla with chocolate frosting. See? See how messy I am?"

"I do see."

I hear something change in Jackson's voice. He doesn't sound quite so lighthearted and jovial anymore, and it doesn't take much to guess why. He's getting a front-row seat to everything he missed. He can see it, but he can't reach out and touch it. There are so many memories, six years worth of them, that he can't rewind to and relive.

I know it's unfair, and I know I caused that unfairness. There's nothing I can do to take it back now, but it doesn't stop me from feeling sick.

"Here's me and Mommy in front of the Bean. She's holding me and we have ice cream, see?"

"You guys did everything together," Jackson says.

"We still do," Theo says, nonchalantly as he flips a page. "Mommy's my best friend, okay? Even more than Johnny at school. So, don't take her away, okay?"

I tip my head to one side, surprised Theo would say something like that.

"I won't," Jackson says, the subtle smile returning to his voice.

"We could share," Theo says. "But you can't take."

"We'll work something out."

"There's plenty of Mama to go around," I say, bringing dinner to the table where they're sitting. "Make room for spaghetti, boys."

As we eat, Theo continues to flip through the book. "Here's me on my first day of school ever!" he says. "See, me and Mom took a selfie. I was really scared, I remember that and I think I cried."

"What do you think about school now?" Jackson asked.

"I love it! I'm the smartest one in my whole class, and the fastest too."

I catch Jackson's eyes and we smile again. We go through dinner still looking at pictures, and Theo falls asleep on me during a movie afterwards. Before I pick him up to bring him to bed, I run my hand over his trimmed curls and kiss his forehead, relishing his presence.

"Alright. Come on, baby," I say, scooping him up easily.

"You got him?" Jackson asks, sitting up a bit.

"Yeah," I say. "Be back."

I change our sleepy son into his pajamas and tuck him in, kissing his forehead softly before walking out of the room.

I rejoin Jackson on the couch with a long sigh, resting my head against the back and letting my eyes roam his face. "Hi," I say.

"Hi."

"Mommy…" I hear, and dart my eyes in the direction of Theo's room. "Mommy, you forgot to kiss me goodnight…"

Jackson pretends to be shocked, gasping and covering his mouth with one hand. "You forgot to kiss our son?" he asks.

I roll my eyes and smack him. "No," I say. "He's being a weasel. Hold on."

I go back into Theo's room, where he's lying with the covers up to his chin, eyes open and waiting.

"Goodnight, mister," I say.

"Is Daddy gonna sleep at our house tonight?" he asks, and before I can answer, he continues. "If he can't fall asleep, I can sing to him. Okay? Will you tell him that?"

I chuckle. "Sure, honey."

"Okay," he says. "I need my goodnight kiss, mommy. I said my prayers already. I prayed for Daddy to never leave again." His eyelids grow heavy and I linger in the doorway, holding onto each of his words. "Can he stay, mommy?" he asks. "Can we keep him?"

I open my mouth, then close it, running my tongue over my lips. "I don't know, baby," I say. "Go to sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

I shut his door and sit back down on the couch again, if not a bit closer to Jackson.

"What'd he have to say?" he asks.

"Usual stuff," I say, choosing to keep it to myself. This isn't supposed to be as confusing as it's proving to be.

"You're his world, Peach," Jackson says. "He loves the hell out of you."

"As he should," I say, giggling. "No, I'm kidding. I love him… I love him more than I ever thought I could love something. When he was born and I saw his face, I can't describe it. He was my saving grace, you know?"

I look at my ex-lover's expression and instantly regret what I've said. No. He doesn't know. He didn't get to see Theo's pinched, messy face when he was just born. He didn't get to hold that squalling baby in his arms and know that through all his mistakes, he'd done at least one thing right. He didn't get to feel that unconditional love, even in the dead of night when Theo, as an infant, was unrelentingly fussy with colic.

He didn't get any of it, I made sure of that.

"I am sorry," I mutter, moments later. "For not letting you know him."

"I know," he says. "And I'm sorry, too. For not trying harder. For not knowing. For not finding you. I don't know."

We sit in silence as I recall our day preceding. Jackson pipes up just as I'm about to speak.

"You have any drinks in the house?" he asks. "Beer, wine, anything? I could use one." He says the last part with a self-deprecating laugh.

"I have some wine," I say. "We could share a bottle."

"That sounds perfect."

I pour us each a glass of red wine and bring them to the living room. He takes a long sip of his and doesn't set it down, and I do the same.

I clear my throat and bring up something I haven't yet stopped thinking about. "So, that phone call earlier…" I say.

He meets my eyes, then flits his gaze away.

"Is that why you need a drink?"

He laughs, just a puff of laughter, and takes another long drink. "Yeah," he says, after he swallows.

I don't speak; I wait for him. I give him the floor because I want to know more about this girl, Steph. I don't know exactly why, but there's a curiosity about her nagging at the back of my mind.

"She's on me to come back," he says.

"Oh," I say, recalling Theo's words about keeping his father from just moments ago.

"I haven't told her why I've stayed," he says. "I've kind of… been lying. It's so much to explain over the phone. But she knows something's up."

He takes another long gulp of his wine and finishes the glass. When he sets it down, I refill it.

"I don't know what I'm doing," he says, looking up at the ceiling. "With her." His eyes come down. "With you."

I meet his gaze for a second, but my stomach jumps so bad I have to look away.

"I'm feeling pretty lost right now," he admits. "Even before I found you. It was actually worse, then. A lot worse. Steph and all them… they know me as Avery, the Seahawks' quarterback. The guy with the ultra-white teeth who's in commercials sometimes and plays the game like no one else." He closes his eyes and scratches his forehead. "It's tiring. No, it's more than that. It's fucking exhausting."

I slowly drink my wine, contemplating how to respond. "You can't let your guard down around her?" I ask.

He shakes his head slowly, then more adamantly. "No," he says. "No, not at all. If anything, it's higher. She's always trying to get me to be something I'm so fuckin' sick of being. I'm tired of the superstar persona, and she loves it. Peach, she fuckin' loves it. She lives for it."

He sighs, long and drawn-out. The look in his eyes is confused and wandering.

"There's only one person who's never made me feel like that," he says. "One."

I trace the rim of my glass. I ask the next question, though I already know the answer.

"Who?"

Without hesitating, he says, "You."