You have never dated someone with a child before, and even if you had, the child would not have been this child. Breathless from his bike ride uphill from Peaceful Valley, terrified that you might be upset, or gone. “I’m so sorry,” he assures you. “I didn’t get your message until like 3 minutes ago. I got here so fast!” He is nineteen and painfully beautiful. A boy unable to protect himself from his own ardor. You know this. You knew this five years ago, when you had lunch with him.
Later, he asks if he can come over, after school, and maybe you can bake something together. And this is the thing. You left your marriage because you were alone in it. Alone with a child. Something you had never planned or expected. The hardest thing you have ever done. Alone with a child. And you wanted — have always wanted — a family. Like this boy. Like he wants. Like Gavin. Like Gavin wants. The family they deserve. These beautiful boys. And you have the opportunity, at last, to nurture another boy. To read his poetry, and lend him movies, and bake with him. To listen to his rebellion stories. Your tenderness for this boy hurts you. Breaks you open. And something else. It will save you. The way love always does.
loving a boy, who became a man, kept me honest in a time when I wanted to blame every wrong thing on men
God, they’re a gift. These boys of ours. My son taught me I was worthy of unflinching love, and blessed with it.