I clear my throat, fighting back a wave of tears. Life’s really not fair.“Why do you call your glucometer Tony?”
“Tony Stark is Iron Man.” He looks at me like I should know this. I do know this.
“I don’t get it. Does your glucometer have a suit of armour or something?”
I get a Matty-grin, full of teeth and dimples. I think if Hunter has those same dimples and he really smiled at me, I’d pass out. “Daddy drew it for me! Wanna see?”
I’m torn between the need for him to check his sugar again, or causing him more pain. Better do it quick, then.
As I’m unzipping his pack (holding his glucometer, test strip bottle, alcohol swabs and the lancet), I do see that Hunter has drawn a badass rendition of Iron Man on Matty’s glucometer. It’s rectangular like an iPhone - the sides are Sharpie’d in red, the middle plates outlined in black and scribbled in with gold. The finishing touch is a silver-blue circle surrounding the buttons which represent Tony Stark’s arc reactor, stopping the shrapnel in his heart from ripping the muscle to shreds.
I might have just fallen in love you, Hunter. Shit.
“This... is awesome. I kinda wanna keep it.”
Matty’s hands swipe over mine, grabbing Tony back with such grace and swiftness, I wonder if sticky fingers is going to be his business when he grows up. “No! Daddy made it for me. Maybe he’ll draw you something one day, Sera. I can ask him! What’s your favourite superhero?”
The simple maple syrup coffee cake I made before setting Matty on the counter is in the oven, permeating the room with the smell of a baker’s heaven. I texted Katie earlier anyway to pick up junk food if she wants to bring it over for the boys. I don’t offer an explanation. She’ll learn about Matty soon enough.
“Batman. Definitely Batman.” I snort when Matty’s face goes all are you serious? “What’s wrong with Batman? He’s a ninja. Take away Tony Stark’s suit of armour, and he so can’t fight. Batman is the best.”
Matty shakes his head and yawns hard enough to crack his jaw. His blue eyes are hazy when they meet my gaze. “Sera, I’m tired.”
Adrenaline overload. My blood rushes in my veins, and my heart wants to break through my chest it’s beating so fast.
I fumble with the test strip bottle, sending maybe twenty of them flying in all directions all over my kitchen. When I finally get one, I jam it in the wrong way in the slot of his glucometer. It takes four tries to figure it out. I rip open an alcohol swab packet, and clean the finger Matty holds out to me. The first layer of skin is puckered with little holes, flaking in some places, whole in others. I swallow and do my best to clean the whole upper knuckle area.
I stare at him when I get the little bit that pricks his finger and hold my breath while a bead of blood wells over the puncture. The kid doesn’t make a sound. Fuck me.
“I’m sorry,” Matty whispers.
Oh, man. “What are you sorry for, little buddy?” I bring his finger to the test strip I had already inserted into his machine. The bead of blood gets sucked into the strip, and the machine does its five second countdown to blood sugar detonation. Without a napkin or towel around, I let him wipe his finger on the waistband of my shorts, which gets a giggle out of him. The fist that had been squeezing my heart loosens a little, and it’s now easier to breathe.
Matty shrugs, and stares at his feet. “Daddy always looks like he’s gonna cry when he has to check me. So I tell him sorry. It doesn’t help.”
I ruffle his hair and pretend that I’m okay, that this is okay. It’s not.
“I’m happy I can do this for you, kid. I’m glad we have Tony here to check if you’re always okay. So there’s no sorry.” I kiss the finger I punctured, and smile big at him even though I think we both know I’m forcing it. Hunter was not what I was expecting. I wanted a badass guy from a fantasy, the guy from the elevator. Hunter’s so real, I’ll need to put myself in a fiction-induced coma for days on end to recover.
The timer on the oven beeps. I grab Matty underneath his arms and set him down. My phone buzzes. I decide to get the cake out first, but then freeze. What if it’s Hunter and I have no number to call him back? Frak! I lunge for my phone, swipe and bark out a hello, rushing to the oven at the same time. Matty’s laughing at me. I stick my tongue out at him.
“Sera?” Yep, it’s Hunter.
“Hey. How are you feeling?” I grab the dishtowel I had put on the counter and make a grab for the cake tin. I check if it’s done, and take it out. It smells so good, I’m not sure I want to share it with anybody.