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They both turn and give me identical looks of raised eyebrows. “I could eat. Did you have something here for me to fix, or are we going out?” I ask.
“Out,” Carson answers with a grin, “Then, after dinner, we can run by a store and pick up some groceries for breakfast.” He turns toward Connor, “What do you like in the mornings?”
Connor shrugs and answers honestly, “Anything. I love pancakes and bacon. I can eat cereal, too, if that’s all you have. But I don’t like oatmeal.”
Carson nods, “Sorry, no cereal here, but you’ll have to tell me what you like, and we’ll get a box.”
As we exit the apartment, Connor is listing his favorite cereals out loud. “Cap’n Crunch is good, and Cinnamon Toast Crunch. But no shredded wheat, not even the frosted kind…”
I grab my purse and follow them out to the elevator. Once we reach the parking garage, Connor piles into Carson’s sleek black SUV, and he automatically gets in the back seat. Leaving the front passenger seat for me. Carson holds the door, but we avoid looking at each other as I murmur a quick thank you.
“Does anybody have a preference?” Carson asks as he pulls out into the Jacksonville traffic.
I shake my head, but Connor is more vocal. “How about barbecue? I can put away some ribs.”
Carson smiles and turns the car, “I know just the place. He drives us to a restaurant called Mojo Bar-B-Que. We slide into a wooden booth. I sit beside Connor, and Carson slides in opposite us.
We all order ribs, and when our meals arrive, Connor actually stops his eager chatter as he’s too busy eating. I look over at my son fondly as the boy devours his ribs as if he hasn’t eaten in days, the sauce clinging to his cheeks, and he offers a sticky smile. I watch him lick his fingers with gusto.
I glance up to find Carson’s eyes on me, “Do you like the ribs?”
“Yes, almost as much as Connor does,” I say with a small smile. We both look over at Connor, who is finishing his ribs, while Carson and I have barely put a dent in our dinners.
After we leave the restaurant, we make a quick detour to a nearby grocery store. Later, we exit with a few bags of groceries and load them into the SUV. They are mostly breakfast foods, but I also grabbed some healthy snacks and a not-so-healthy bag of chips for Connor.
At Carson’s questioning look, I explained with a slight smile, “Connor can eat you out of house and home.”
Carson lets out a silent chuckle, a glint of amusement shimmering in his eyes as they track Connor. Our son, with youthful energy, volunteered to return the shopping cart. He can turn anything into an adventure, as he shoves it with all his might towards the corral. Then he jumps onto the back. The cart lurches forward, carrying him on a short, happy ride before it comes to rest with a soft bump.
Back in the apartment, I help Carson put away the food. Both of us are silent as we listen to Connor in the next room. Carson gave him carte blanche to pick out some music. My son has some very eclectic tastes. While he likes the typical Hip Hop, he also likes Rock and even older Rock artists and songs. We hear him softly debating over Pink Floyd or Imagine Dragons. We both smile as we hear the beginning cords of a song from Pink Floyd’s The Wall.
I sit off to the side while Carson and Connor eagerly debate the merits of the different bands. I’m content to listen to their animated discussions.
As eight o’clock approaches, Connor is already yawning, so Carson shows him to one of the spare bedrooms.
Carson instructs Connor in a low and soothing voice, “You can sleep in here. Your mother will be right next door.” He gives a soft smile as he points with his thumb, “I’ll be down the hall if you need anything.”
Connor, his eyes heavy with sleep, manages a mumbled “Okay” before he gives in to a full yawn.
Carson turns to me, his gaze unreadable. “You can sleep in here, Anna.”
I give a forced smile, “Thank you,” my voice betraying my nerves, “I’ll just get my stuff.” I turn and wheel in my suitcase that my son brought up for me earlier.
A few minutes later, Connor emerges wearing a mismatched combination of shorts and the well-worn T-shirt he favors for sleeping. We follow him into the spare bedroom, the space suddenly charged with a strange tension.
I lean down and press a soft kiss on Connor’s forehead. Then I turn to leave but find myself stopping to look back while I stand in the doorway. Unable to tear my eyes from the scene unfolding between my son and his father. This is the first time Carson will tuck Connor in. It’s a simple act, but it feels monumental and charged with emotion.
Carson leans down and gives him a light kiss on the cheek. He reaches out to ruffle Connor’s hair, a small gesture that speaks volumes. A lump forms in my throat, and my eyes burn with unshed tears as Carson murmurs, “Goodnight, Son.”
I quickly turn and walk back into the living room. I stand there gulping in the air with my hand over my heart. I try to shake off the heavy emotions as I don’t want to appear weak when Carson and I talk. And we will talk. I guess I should feel thankful that Carson was willing to wait for Connor to be in bed before we have this difficult conversation.
I slip off my shoes and pull my legs up beside me on the sofa. I wonder what’s taking Carson so long. Wearily, I rest my head on the arm of the sofa as I wait for Carson.
Five
Carson
After I tuck in my son, he closes his eyes, rolls over, and wraps his arms around a pillow. I stand there, my eyes studying his small form. He looks so young with his eyes closed, his dark lashes resting peacefully on his cheeks.
