I look down at Tommy, his full set of baby teeth on show. He’s grown so much. His baby fat is gone, replaced with boyish cheekbones. His hair is thicker now, just like his dad’s and even though he still has his mother’s eyes, bright blue and for sure the cause of future heartbreaks, it’s his smile that captures all my attention—a smile just like his father’s.

I squat down so we’re eye to eye and hold up a finger. He nods enthusiastically, an uncontrollable burst of laughter filtering out of him. I point to him, then I rub his belly, making him laugh harder. He nods again, and I do the same when he points to mine.

Behind me, Josh says, “I think they’re hungry, Ma.” And just like that, we fall into step, Tommy by my side.

Ella says, peeking over her shoulder, “I made fried pickles, Becca. I heard they were you’re favorite.”

“Silly Nanni!” Tommy shouts. “Becca thinks fried pickles taste like poop!”

Josh chuckles as he stops at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for us to pass. Once we have, he walks next to us, his hand on the small of my back, mine wrapped around Tommy’s, and for a second, just one, I almost let love mean something.

* * *

Josh and his mother speak throughout dinner. They talk about Grams for a while and then discuss business. Against his mom’s wishes, Josh tells her to cancel his appearances for the next week. I shift uncomfortably when she mentions Chris and tells Josh that he won’t be happy, that he won’t understand, to which Josh tells her that he’ll have to deal with it.

Tommy talks to himself, and sometimes his food, promising to save some of his pasta shells as pets. He names one Shelly, another one Doofus, and another one Poop. Occasionally, I see Josh watching me, but I don’t make eye contact. I can’t. So I sit and I listen to three generations of Wardens and I ignore the fact that I’d never felt more at home, more accepted, more at peace than I do this very moment.

When dinner’s done, Josh and his mom clean up while Tommy takes me to his room and shows me all his new things—things that weren’t here two years ago. Toys, iPads, new clothes, an abundance of skateboards, and the holy grail of camera gear better than mine. My jaw drops as I practically fall to my knees, my eyes wide in shock. “Chris bought him all that for his birthday and Christmas. He spoils the shit out of him,” Josh says, leaning against the doorframe.

“Naughty word, Daddy!” Tommy shouts.

“Sorry, bud.” Josh moves to sit on Tommy’s bed and looks up at me. “He’s only now starting to understand how to use it all.”

I grab my phone out of my pocket and have Cordy to say, “He’s into photography?”

Josh laughs as Tommy removes the lens from the body and replaces it with another. “Yeah. More than he’s into skating, actually.”

Moments of silence pass while Tommy attaches an action-stabilizing handle to the camera. “Tommy doesn’t travel to my comps with me anymore, but he goes to the demo video shoots. He gets right in there and films it all.”

I sit down next to him and show him my phone. Is he any good?

Josh bites down on his bottom lip and shakes his head, his eyes wide. “Horrible,” he mouths, and I laugh a silent laugh. Then he says, “It’s getting late, Tommy. Time for bed.”

“Noooooooooooooo!” Tommy yells, but he’s already opening the drawers and picking out his pajamas. “Is Becca having a sleepover in your room like last time?”

Josh looks at me, his eyebrows raised in question, and the only thing I can do is stare back. “No. But you’ll see Becca tomorrow, okay? Promise.”

I leave the room while Josh helps Tommy change, noting that the house is empty which means Ella’s left, and return only when Tommy calls for me. He’s lying in his bed, his arms outstretched. “Good night, Becs!”

I give him a hug, smiling when he kisses my cheek. Then he starts to talk again, about anything and everything, doing whatever he can to prolong my stay. Josh’s hands find my waist, pulling me back. “Okay, bud. Lights out. Good night.”

Tommy yawns loudly. “Night, Daddy.”

Josh guides me out of the room and starts closing the door behind us, but Tommy yells, “Daddy, you forgot to do it!”

Josh’s shoulders tense, his eyes locked on mine. Then he faces Tommy and touches his finger to his nose and then to his chest. “I love you.”

“Love you, too, Daddy,” Tommy says as Josh turns to me, his eyes distant while he mouths what must be Tommy’s routine words, “And I love Nanni and Ma’am and Mommy and Justin and Aunt Kimmy and Uncle Robby and Aunt Chloe and Uncle Hunt,”—Tommy takes a breath as Josh steps closer to me—“And most of all, I love My Becca.”

My stomach flips, my heart… I can’t even explain it.

I don’t know how long we stand there, a foot apart, his eyes never leaving mine. But it’s too long. Or maybe not long enough. He’s the first to break, looking away when he says, “You don’t have any bags.”

I don’t know if it’s a question or a statement, but I nod anyway.

“You um… you left some clothes here from…” His voice fades as he spins around and walks the few steps to his bedroom. I ignore the voices in my head telling me that I shouldn’t follow, that I shouldn’t let him close the door after me. “They’re in my closet,” he says, but he makes no move to get them. Instead, he just stands there, staring at me like he did outside Tommy’s room. I can feel the heat creeping into my cheeks, the sweat forming on my palms, the beating of my heart crashing against my chest. The air is thick. My breaths are shallow as I finally get my feet to function and move around him to get to his closet. His bedroom’s changed since I’ve been in it last, the floor covered with boxes stacked three or four high, filled with brand new t-shirts, all sealed in plastic, sponsors’ logos printed on them.

“You can take whatever you want,” he says, moving around me. He reaches over me to get a box from high in his closet and drops it on his bed. A few of my dresses are in there, along with tops, bras and panties. My cheeks flame while I silently question why he kept it all. I look over at him, but his eyes are fixed on the box, his cheeks as red as mine if not redder. “You can stay here,” he says out of nowhere. “I mean, if you don’t want to be alone tonight. But you’re probably used to being alone, right? Because your dad and his job and all that… unless you’re not alone…” He exhales loudly.

“I’m alone,” Cordy says for me. Stupid Traitor Cordy.

His eyes lock on mine, then slowly drift down my body. “You can take the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch. Or not. Whatever you want.” He sits on the edge of the bed and looks up at me. Only now do I see the bags under his eyes, the struggle to keep them open, and I remember that he hasn’t slept at all in two days. “The doctor’s coming in at nine. Kim will be here at eight to take Tommy for the day. I want to be there before he sees her, make sure she’s up for it. Yeah… she’ll probably hate that I’m there but… she’s going to be okay, right?” His voice breaks. “She has to be okay.”

I reach for him, but he stands quickly, avoiding my touch. “I’m going to shower.” He opens a drawer in his dresser to grab a pair of boxer shorts, and without looking at me, he says, “I’ll be back.”