There's something about Caden Lawless that has me thinking maybe. Maybe my hope didn't die with Justin.
DAYS FLY BY, and as we fall into an easy pattern something happens. As far as roommates go, Caden is perfect. I like having him around. I like waking up to find him in his yoga pose, and then watch as he laces his running shoes. The kiss to my cheek before he slips out the door is nice, too. So is his smile. And his coffee, God, his coffee is good. So good I'll never make my own as long as he's here to do it for me. He says please and thank you, and helps with the dishes and laundry. As each day passes, my heart opens, and I hope to find him at the cottage tomorrow and the day after that. And the day after that.
Something happens. As far as friends go, Caden is perfect. I like talking to him. I like listening to him and his stories. He knows so much, has done and seen so much. He's amazing and funny, serious and contemplative, silly and honest. He smiles and laughs, scowls and broods, cries out in his sleep, and curses the couch when he gets up-although I'm not buying that a lumpy sofa etches the lines around his eyes. As each day passes, I hope to ease his worries so I'll find him at the cottage tomorrow and the day after that. And the day after that.
Something happens. As far as fathers go, Caden is perfect. He's attentive and compassionate with the baby. He has the patience of a saint and a soft hand to soothe a tense back or coax out a stubborn air bubble into a burp. JT doesn't belong to him, but Caden acts as though he does. Each day passes and I hope their bond grows stronger so I'll find him at the cottage tomorrow and the day after that. And the day after that.
One afternoon when Caden sneaks up behind me just as the whirl of my mixer dies out, something happens. He peeks over my shoulder and looks first to the vanilla cream frosting in the bowl, and then to my eyes. One arm reaches around my waist to hold me still, his fingers slinking beneath my Bon Jovi "You Give Love a Bad Name" T-shirt to find my bare stomach, while his other sneaks in to gather a good dollop of white goo. He brings it up to my nose and touches it just before sucking the rest from his finger, and something happens.
Something like springtime after the longest winter on record. Something new and bright, open and wondrous, exploding with every color in the rainbow. My pulse quickens, my eyes widen, and my mouth trembles, all in a second.
And then I laugh. It starts as a giggle and rolls into a ball of breath-hitching, head-spinning hilarity, all happening while he holds on and smiles. It feels so good. Then my hand is in the frosting and he has more than a smidge on his cheek. As his eyes narrow and he dives in, we laugh together, and I hope we'll have a tomorrow and a day after that. And a day after that.
PART TWO
"There is charm about the forbidden that makes it unspeakably desirable."
-Mark Twain
Dear Justin.
You were a hurricane when you blasted into my life. But the last two months have been a category-five monsoon. Your son is really beautiful. He reminds me of you so much my chest hurts, but in a good way. The hole isn't as big now. So thank you. Thank you for being you-thank you for knowing what I would need.
x Piper
CHAPTER EIGHT
Change in Direction
Piper
DAYS TURN TO weeks, and in the blink of an eye two sleepless but blissful months pass with a newborn, a puppy, and Caden crowding the once lonely cottage. The most important universal truth of all time sprinted into the world faster than anyone anticipated and has kept us just as busy as he did the night he was born. Justin Taylor Stevens is a wide-eyed wonder.
I could stare at him all day, and I look at him now as he latches on to my breast for a mid-afternoon snack. He smiles around my nipple, and I fall in love a little more which seems impossible, but I've learned to accept it as truth. Every minute my heart swells bigger than the last, and in some moments I feel as if it'll burst out of my chest. JT is by far the best thing I have ever done, and he looks exactly like Justin-the spitting image with a shocking amount of blond hair and blue eyes I get lost in daily.
"I'm hungry, woman. Feed me," Caden says as he and Gus burst through the front door with a smile.
In two long strides, he bends to kiss JT's head. I don't cover myself or react in any way. He saw my vagina and every other part of me during delivery, so it seems silly to hide. "How's Momma?" He brushes his lips over my temple and when I don't respond, he tips my chin up.
"Caden," I whisper his name as if it's a benediction, a prayer of thanks, because that's exactly what it is. He's my rock. My friend. A stranger turned savior from post-partum emotional meltdowns, and a diaper duty taskmaster. We've been on sound platonic footing since the night in the cemetery, the night our world exploded into a haze of spit-up and laundry. I'm too tired to notice his rock wall of abdominal muscles or the swell of his ass that barely holds up his pajama pants. Too tired, sleepy, way too exhausted to notice muscles and tattoos, I repeat to convince myself.