Petit Lapin

Chapter 4

A few years had passed since Francis took custody of Matthew, and now Matthew was four years old. Francis loved every moment he spent with his son and Matthew seemed to enjoy his company as well. The small baby Francis once knew was now, still small, but grown a lot more. His blonde hair, as Francis suspected, was inherited from Francis. His eyes were still a bright, beautiful violet as they were when Francis first met him. Matthew was adorable and filled with so much love.

"Papa! Papa!" Matthew called with a quiet voice that only Francis would be able to hear.

Ever since Matthew had started talking, he spoke with a whisper. Francis, being the concerned father he was, took him to the doctor. However, the doctor had just said that Matthew was a shy child, so Francis accepted that as enough of an answer.

"Oui, mon lapin?" Francis replied, putting away his newspaper to listen to his son.

Matthew raised his little arms up to signal that he wanted Francis to carry him. The Frenchman chuckled and bent down from the red arm chair to pick him up. Matthew then started to touch Francis's chin, feeling the stubble with his soft hands.

"Oh non, not this again." Francis laughed. Matthew seemed to like his stubble, which didn't bother him too much. In fact, Francis thought it was quite adorable. However, it also meant Francis had to shave quite often...

Francis looked at the grandfather clock on the wall and decided to start Matthew's school day. Somewhere between eight to ten was always a good time. "Alright, Mathieu, it's time for your lessons." Francis cooed as he pried the four-year-old's hands away from his chin and sat him on his lap.

Little Matthew looked up at his father with his violet eyes and smiled, nodding with enthusiasm at the thought of spending more time with the Frenchman. Francis rubbed his hand over his son's cheek before taking out a book from the shelf nearby. It was a children's book Francis wrote himself, titled 'B for Baguette'.

Francis didn't take Matthew to daycare because he believed that he was the best teacher for his son, even though his maths skills were absolute rubbish. On the contrary, his excellent language skills helped Matthew learn lots of new words everyday. He was grateful that his son also had a passion for the French language. However, he had noticed that his son had a French Canadian accent when speaking. Francis was unsure as to how this came to be, considering the fact that Matthew had only been with their mother for nine months, (excluding the time he spent in her womb). It truly was a mystery, but he decided even if Matthew's French was a little hard to understand at times, he would listen to whatever his son had to say, no matter what.

Francis turned to the last page they were on. He had written this book with Matthew's mother in mind,  despite the fact he couldn't remember ever meeting her. Francis didn't let that stop his imagination from running wild over how beautiful she must have been to have created Matthew. How she must have had eyes as bright and violet as the little Canadian on his lap. He could imagine that she was shy, overly apologetic and polite, but at the same time, snarky with a little hint of salt every now and then. Francis smiled at the thought and began reading. "After six weeks, the Frenchman had finally obtained the key to the lady's heart. He called her and asked her out on another date. This time, he had something special planned for his lover. The two of them went on their fourth date to a romantic park in Montreal."

Matthew squeezed Francis' finger on the hand that was holding the book. It was his way of telling his father that there was something he wanted to know. "What is 'Montreal'?" He asked, turning his head to look up at the Frenchman.

"It's a city in Canada." The Frenchman explained. "A very beautiful one too. Lots of maple trees and cafés."

"What is Canada?" The Canadian child then asked.

Francis wasn't sure if he should tell him that Canada was the country where he was born or if he should just explain the fact that Canada is a country, like France. Realising it wasn't a good idea to keep his son in the dark about this subject, he closed the book.

"Mon petit Mathieu, there is something I must tell you." Francis sighed as he picked up his son and turned him around on his lap so he was facing his father.

Matthew tilted his head to the side, wondering what was with the change of tone in his father's voice.

Francis decided to rip the bandage right off. "Canada is where you were born. It's a country, like how France is a country."

The Frenchman looked at his son to see any signs of distress, but found that Matthew just looked confused.

"I was not born here?" He asked.

"Non." Francis replied.

"Does that mean papa and I moved to France after I was born?"

Francis shook his head. "Your maman is from Canada. She gave you to me so you could live with your papa, here in France."

Matthew took in the new information about his mother and squeezed Francis's finger once again.

"Is that why I don't have a maman around like other kids? Because she lives in Canada?"

Francis nodded, his heart heavy with what he had just informed his four-year-old son. "I'm guessing now that you know this, you want to go see your maman.." The Frenchman sulked but kept a sad smile on his face.

To his surprise, Matthew shook his head. "I like living with papa. Papa is nice and gives me pancakes every morning. I don't want to live somewhere else."

Francis chuckled, feeling relieved that Matthew had no dire urge to see his mother, who Francis still did not know the identity of. "I'm glad you think so, mon petit lapin." He hugged the boy close to him so the Canadian's face was squished against the Frenchman's chest.

"Je t'aime, papa." Matthew whispered in the chest of his father.

Francis put a hand on the small boy's head, petting him softly. "Je t'aime aussi." After a minute or so, he lifted his son so he was sitting the other way and opened the book which he had put away previously.

"Now, let's continue, shall we?"