Just the three of us?

See you tomorrow.

Book Boyfriend and my son did not see each other the next day (much to PJ’s disappointment). But they did see each other again. And the next time, they were both slightly more comfortable. PJ showed him more of his toys. Book Boyfriend pretended to find them interesting, telling me later, in private, that some of them were "actually pretty cool."

As time passed, they became comfortable with each other. PJ grew used to his shiny red car pulling into the driveway. Book Boyfriend grew used to being handed stickers and action figures the moment he walked through the front door.

He doesn’t knock anymore. He doesn’t have to.

Our home is his home now.

What used to feel scary is starting to feel normal. My house is full of noises again, PJ telling stories, Book Boyfriend cooking in the kitchen.

Sometimes they fight, and I feel like a mother to both of them. Sometimes they form an alliance, and I feel like the third wheel, left out of their silly songs or inside jokes.

On Sundays they watch Formula 1 together. PJ always roots for whoever Book Boyfriend likes. And somehow, Book Boyfriend has become part of PJ’s bedtime routine.

“Please carry me upside down and throw me on the bed!” PJ begs.

“Did you clean your toys today?” Book Boyfriend bargains. (I guess he formed a small alliance with me, too.)

PJ happily cleans his toys and waits in anticipation to be swung upside down and carried to bed. I roll my eyes, following closely behind them and reminding them both to be careful. They roll their eyes back at me, giggling, and all I hear is:

“Do it again!”

Maybe having someone else in our bubble wasn’t so bad after all.

Thunder Storms

Book Boyfriend tried to let me handle the majority of the parenting. He understood that I was PJ’s mom and wanted to respect that. But he had moments where he couldn’t help but interfere.

Sometimes that led to me thanking him endlessly for the support.

Sometimes it led to us fighting on the couch, arms crossed, phones in our hands, both of us too stubborn to give in first.

But these interactions never scared me.

They felt… normal.

We were fighting like an old married couple, and something about that felt comforting, because at the end of every argument we found our way back to each other. My head in his lap. His hand in my hair.

He wasn’t leaving.

He wasn’t leaving.

He wasn’t leaving.

Right?

One night, I was taking a shower during a thunderstorm. PJ has always been scared of thunder. I couldn’t hear him yelling for me over the water, but Book Boyfriend could.

I came out of the bathroom to find them both on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, watching Bluey.

“Yeah, I know he’s not in bed,” he said, shrugging, “but he was scared, so…”

I bit my lip to keep from smiling too big.

He wasn’t leaving.