❃𝙺𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚊❃
I didn't think it was possible to feel so many emotions at once. Anger, anxiety, sympathy, and—God! Anger.
I didn't raise my son to be violent. Never once has he ever raised a hand at anyone—not that I know of, at least. I figured his teachers or someone would call if he did that, but maybe I was wrong. Clearly, I was wrong about something.
Maybe I didn't drill it into his mind as well as I thought. We don't hit, we keep our hands to ourselves. That's what I've always told him, and he seemed to understand. He repeated it back to me when I requested, and he seemed like he understood.
I don't even know what I'm supposed to say to him. Obviously, it's not okay that he beat up some other kid with his backpack. But a part of me reasons that he had to have a reason for that. I mean, he had to have, right? Cameron's not a violent boy. There has to be a reason why he'd do something like this. Has to!
Whatever his reason is, it isn't good either way. I'm a firm believer that nothing ever gets accomplished with violence. It's demining and the lowest way to settle something. Maybe it was wishful thinking to hope my son felt the same about it though.
The house is quiet when I manage to twist the door knob enough to kick the door fully open. I shift the different bags in my hands around as I kick it shut again. It closes harsher than I mean to, but maybe that's not a bad thing. It probably insights a bit of fear into the boys here.
"Cameron Noah Stone!"
Noah texted me an hour ago to tell me they'd be here using Cameron's key, so I know for a fact they're here. I wander over to the completely silent living room where they both sit. The tv is off, but I bet if I walked over to it, it'd still be warm. There's no way they've been sitting in silence for hours.
Cameron guiltily sits on the couch beside his dad who lounges like he does have a care in the world, arm draped over the back of the couch. I step over to slide the bags of fast food onto the coffee table. Once my hands are free, I cross my arms over my chest and raise a brow expectantly at him. "What'd you do at school today, Cameron?" I hum.
His bottom lip juts out but I don't falter. "Um," He reluctantly begins. "We did adding." He whispers.
My eyes narrow. Noah sighs and nudges him gently with the hand draped on the back of the couch. "C'mon," He whispers.
Cameron takes a deep breath. "I got called to the office." He mumbles, hardly audible.
"Mhm," I acknowledge. "For what?"
He shifts in his seat. "Fighting."
"Fighting." I repeat, nodding to myself. "Cameron Stone, did you hit a boy with a backpack?"
"Yes..."
"Why?" I start shaking my head. "Why would you do something like that?"
For some reason, he looks at his dad before he answers me. Noah stares back at him silently, not offering whatever answer Cameron's hoping for. Or maybe he does answer, but doesn't need to actually speak or do anything to relay it. That's not fair if he is though, because I can't even do that and I've been around Cameron his whole life.
Cameron looks over at me with a defeated look. "I don't know." He admits quietly.
I shut my eyes and drop my head as if this is going away. "Fighting is never, ever okay, Cameron. You know that, and the fact that you disregarded it today is unacceptable. You understand that, don't you?"
"Yes..."
I take a deep breath, finding it in me to open my eyes and look at him again. "What happened?" I try.
He shakes his head almost immediately, unwilling to answer me. "Nothing."
"Something." I insist. "Otherwise you're telling me you hit a boy for no reason."
He slowly starts deflating when he realizes the alternative. "He was being mean." He weakly offers. "And he pushed me first."
I frown at that. "Cam, that's when we go get a teacher." I point out. "Or we walk away from it. There's no reason to put our hands on people." I insist. I never wanted my son to even know how to raise a hand at someone, but that's unrealistic. In the real world, he knows what violence is and he knows how to shove someone back. I don't really know what to do with the fact that he not only knows, but has done it before.
His frown deepens. "Okay." He mumbles under his breath.
I lift my hand to rub a finger against one side of my nose bridge, letting my eyes fall shut again for a moment. "So, obviously, you're grounded." I point out. He still frowns, but he doesn't look surprised. "And I want you to apologize to that boy."
They both straighten at that. "Apologize?" Cameron looks like he might cry. Noah watches me like I'm insane. It's what my mom used to have me do though.
I try not to falter. "Yes, Cameron. Apologize." I firmly confirm. Noah shifts in his seat, eyes darting between me and Cameron. He keeps quiet about it though even if he doesn't agree with this. "You don't have to be friends with him, but I want you to at least apologize for doing what you knew was wrong."
He thinks about it for a good minute before he ultimately slowly nods. "Okay." He whispers.
"Okay," I repeat quietly. "Go wash up before dinner." I dismiss him on an exhale, waving him away. He sniffles a little as he gets up from the couch and walks around me down the hall. I look over my shoulder to watch him. When I look back at Noah, he's still watching me like I've lost my mind. I frown. "What?"
He shakes his head and looks away. "Nothing."
"Noah,"
He sighs deeply. Hesitates to look back at me. "An apology, Kiara?" He whispers, careful to keep his voice down in case Cameron can hear us from the bathroom. "The kid's a sixth grader, and he started it."
"So, what? It was just okay for Cameron to hit him?" I scoff. "That's not the kind of lesson I want my son to learn from this, Noah."
He opens his mouth to respond, but ultimately shuts it and sighs deeply as he looks away from me. I shift on my feet, slowly beginning to grow unsure. Is it not fair of me to resent the fact that Cameron would even think to not only hit a kid, but with a backpack as his weapon too? How else am I supposed to feel about it? And what am I supposed to tell him?
Noah abruptly stands from the couch. He doesn't say anything as he walks around me and down the hall to the bathroom where Cameron washes his hands. I don't stop him from going, instead opting to stay in the living room staring down at the gross greasy food I brought home. I don't personally like it, but Cameron does. Noah too, I think.
With a deep breath, I pick the bags back up to take them to the dining room, setting them on the table before I go wash my hands in the kitchen sink. Noah and Cameron stay away for a bit, and by the time they come into the dining room, I've already set their food in front of the chairs they always sit in. Silently, they both take their seats.
"Thank you." Noah offers before he reaches for his wrapped up burger. He glances Cameron's way expectantly.
"Thank you." Cameron repeats once he gets the hint, voice much quieter than his dad's. All I can do is nod in response, staring down at the burger I don't actually want in front of me.
Maybe the apology is a bit much for the situation. I remember hating having to write them as a kid, but I did stop doing things that needed an apology letter. But it could still be the wrong approach. What else am I supposed to do though? Noah admitted he didn't have any ideas himself over the phone when he called after taking Cameron home. Maybe I should've taken some time to think about it with him before I gave Cameron his punishment.
"Kiara, eat."
I blink a couple of times, sliding my gaze to Noah. He watches me expectantly and darts his eyes to my still wrapped burger then back to my eyes. I frown a little but reach over to grab it and slowly begin to unwrap it.
His order are the only words spoken the entire time we eat.
__________
As a little girl, I always understood there was something wrong with my picture of home. I didn't figure out what that was until I was a little older and made my own friends though.
I wasn't sure if I wanted any kids all the way up until I actually got pregnant for the exact reason that I wasn't entirely sure I knew what a family was supposed to look like. I knew I never wanted to raise a hand or even think about raising a hand at my son, and I knew I wanted him to be comfortable at home, but I wasn't sure how to do that. I wasn't sure how to make the home comfortable because I'd never seen one like that before.
I still don't know if I'm doing a good job.
Maybe I'm not. My son willingly decided to go to bed early tonight, and didn't really want my help with getting ready for bed. He wanted his dad instead. And he wasn't really up for giving me that great of a hug before he disappeared to his bedroom.
Maybe the apology letters were one of the many things wrong with my home as a kid, and now I'm passing that onto him. Maybe I should take it back. Tell him he doesn't have to write that boy a letter. But what else am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to handle this?
My eyes slide up from my crochet project that is actively falling apart when I hear knocking on my bedroom door. I take a deep breath as I answer. "Yeah?"
The door starts opening, and Noah cautiously peeks inside. I expect him to tell me he's going to head out now and to lock the door behind him, but he instead steps further inside and hesitantly shuts the door. "Hey," He breathes, door clicking shut behind him.
"Hi."
His brows start to furrow and his head tilts as he spots my project. "What're you making?"
I frown and slowly lay it out. "What do you think?"
He stares at it for a good long while, grimace beginning to grow on his face. He ends up having to guess, but he doesn't even sound confident in his answer. "A blanket..."
I deflate a little. "It's supposed to be a scarf." I think I made it too wide.
"Oh," Noah acknowledges quietly. "It looks nice." He decides on a gentle chuckle as he steps closer to the edge of the bed.
"You couldn't even tell what it was." I sigh as I lean over to set it down on the nightstand. I frown at it for an extra second then let my eyes drift back up at him. "Is he okay?" I ask on a mumble.
He takes a deep breath before he answers. "Upset." He answers with a brief lift of his shoulder. "I think just because he upset you though."
"Me? Why?"
A small smile touches his lips. "Because you're his mom, and he loves you. He doesn't want to disappoint you." He reasons. "He'll be okay." He adds pretty quickly, trying to dismiss the thoughts he knows are in my head.
I still frown as I start sitting up against my headboard more. "Do you think I should've done something else? Other than his apology?" I ask, hopeful that he has any other ideas. He didn't seem very happy about my punishment either.
He hesitates to answer, just because he still doesn't quite know how to answer me when I ask questions about our parenting. "I know you want him to understand what he did wrong and why it was wrong...but the kid was older than him." His voice lowers some at the end of his sentence. "And he pushed him first. I mean—he started it. What does Cameron have to apologize for?"
"What else are we supposed to do?"
Noah doesn't seem to have a ready answer for that. He starts shaking his head helplessly. "I really don't know." He admits. "Aaliyah never got in fights. I mean..." He chuckles to himself as he looks away and down at his fiddling hands. "I've never had to deal with something like this."
"Me neither." I whisper. His eyes fly back to mine. "Should we just go with the grounding?"
"He already has detention all week." He reminds instead of actually answering me. Basically rooting for just the grounding.
I start slowly pulling my knees to my chest to make room on the edge of the bed. Noah doesn't immediately get the hint. "He's asleep already, isn't he?"
"Laying down." He offers weakly. Meaning he doubts Cameron's actually asleep, but is sure he won't leave his room again tonight. I hum quietly at that, turning my attention absently to stare at my project some more.
I should really unravel it. It's hideous.
"How've you been, Kiara?"
I look back to him quickly. I stare for a second while a scrunched expression crosses my face. "Why?" I mutter.
He cocks his head back. "What the hell did I do to deserve an attitude?"
I start to laugh. "I'm sorry, it was just such a random question." I hold my hand up apologetically while he returns the scrunched look I was giving him. "We were talking about our son, not me."
He starts to smile a bit. "I thought that conversation ended."
"Well, it's done now. You killed it."
He shrugs me off, uncaring if he killed our conversation. He starts a new one happily. "Seriously. How're you?" He pushes.
I watch him for a moment, silently wondering if he's asking because Cameron hardly wanted to hug me before he went to bed, because we haven't asked each other in a while, or because it's been nearly three weeks since I've spoken to Wyatt. "Fine, I guess." I decide is a good answer for all three questions.
He's not happy with it though. "Kiara, don't make me use the lie detector."
The lie detector. It's terrifying.
Basically, he pokes at your sides, almost tickling you until you eventually give in and tell him the truth—uncaring about how much you thrash and beg him to stop. Poor Cam suffers all the time from the lie detector. It's effective though.
I recoil on instinct. "I don't know." I concede just from the threat alone. "I kind of have bigger things to worry about." Like how to actually fix the fact that my son won't tell me about what mean things the boy was saying.
He still doesn't accept my answer. I curl into myself as much as I possibly can when he starts getting up onto the edge of my bed where I made room. The tips of my socked feet nearly brush against his leg once he's settled. "You have a lot of stuff on your plate." He points out.
I scoff quietly. "More than Cam?" I challenge. "More than you?"
He's a little caught off guard when I throw him into the mix too, but he ignores it. "Cam's already going to that therapy place this weekend." He dismisses. "They teach shit about learning to cope—He's fine."
"He's only eight."
"A good age to learn how to handle his feelings."
I purse my lips. "In therapy?"
"Kiara, there's no way we can change what's already happened." He reminds for the umpteenth time. "You gotta start cutting yourself a break. All you're doing is hurting yourself with your second guessing and your regret. It's already happened. We can't change that, but we can help him deal with his feelings that come from it."
"Since when are you so in touch with your feelings?"
He frowns. "Why is it so hard to believe I can be in touch with my feelings? Is it because I'm a manly man? You fucking sexist."
I roll my eyes. "When have you ever told me how you feel? It's always how I am or how Cam is."
His jaw drops in betrayal. "Sorry—Who yelled at who the other night?" He reminds. "Me. I expressed myself."
My expression turns dry. "First of all, we don't yell when we express ourselves."
"And Cameron's birthday." He ignores me. "I told you about how I was feeling that day."
"You still open up less." I wave my hand dismissively as I start sitting up more, moving my legs to sit crisscross with my hands in my lap. "I never know what's going on inside your head."
"I never know what's going on inside yours."
I hum quietly at that, letting my eyes drop down to his hands that fiddle absently in his lap still. "Do you think..." I pause.
"What?" His voice is gentle and reassuring, welcoming me to ask him anything with no consequences.
"Do you think it'd be wrong if I went and had some ice cream?"
A slow smile starts crossing his face. "Kiara,"
I start to laugh, struggling a bit to keep my voice down. "Would it?"
"Probably." He decides with a quick nod. "But we're gonna do it anyway." He starts getting off my bed and holds his hand out for me. I start grinning and reach for his hand as I unfold myself and jump off the bed. He doesn't let my hand go until I pull it away as I'm walking around him to lead the way.
We're sure to be extra quiet when passing Cameron's bedroom door. I think it'd be extra heartbreaking to find out that not only is he still grounded, but also Mom and Dad eat his ice cream while he sleeps.
We manage to find our way to the kitchen in the dark, only turning the light above the stove on when we get there. He does the honors of finding our spoons while I open the fridge to grab the big tub of strawberry ice cream. Once I have it, I hug the cold block to my chest and slide down the wall beside the fridge to sit crisscross on the floor. Noah steps over and leans down to sit beside me, handing a spoon off to me once he's down.
"I wonder if my mom ever sat in the other room and ate ice cream while I was sleeping." I thoughtfully hum as I dip my spoon into the ice cream for a generous scoop.
"Sounds like her."
I smile. "It does." I agree. Maybe it wasn't specifically my ice cream, but for sure some of my candy.
"We should probably stop doing this." He suggests thoughtfully. He doesn't continue until he's eaten another scoop of ice cream. "Only sharing ice cream after we've upset our kid."
I chuckle at that. "Ice cream just makes us feel better." I reason. I guess we should stop doing things that upset Cameron then. That seems impossible though. He's only eight and feelings like those are kind of a part of every day life.
"Uh-huh," He acknowledges. "Maybe we should just eat it when nothing's wrong too. Just because we feel like it." He insists. I feel his eyes on me while I reach in and struggle a little to scoop up a bunch of ice cream that nearly falls off my spoon.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't agree with him. Not because I want to feel good on nights where nothing's wrong, but because nights where we're sat whispering in the kitchen over a tub of ice cream feel strangely cozy with him. We could either talk or be completely silent, but I will for sure be a hundred percent comfortable just like this for hours. I have to have to admit it, but I think it's just because it's with him. It'd be a lot less fun if it were just me.
Just as I'm struggling a little to put the big ass scoop of ice cream in my mouth without making a mess, my gaze meets his. He watches me with a slowly growing smile as I move on slow motion to slowly guide the spoon out of my mouth. "What?" I ask on a mumble.
He shakes his head dismissively but won't look away from me. As a result, my eyes are stuck on his too. I feel like if I tried to look away, my gaze would still meet his one way or another. So, what's the point? I mean, I probably should look away because he looks like he's really thinking something over, but I don't actually want to.
Without rhyme or reason, while we're staring back at each other with our own different reasons to, Noah lifts his hand to my cheek to gently guide me in closer while he leans over. I don't know what else to do other than let it happen—letting him capture my lips in a gentle, almost timid, kiss.
I can taste the strawberry ice cream on him, and I try to focus on that instead of my racing mind. It doesn't work, of course. I notice the way he tastes, but it does nothing to stop me from wondering if he's kissing me because of a personal, fleeting impulse or if it's because he actually means something by it. It's the second time he's kissed me for no reason, and that fact doesn't help me figure it all out.
My hand slowly and subconsciously starts lifting to his chest when I feel him start to lean further in, no longer pulling me in closer himself. He chases me, and I can't help myself. I keep up with his kisses, seeking comfort in that sweet taste of strawberries.
One of the spoons clatters loudly on the tile the more he shifts to get in closer. I think it's his. It doesn't matter though, because he doesn't bother to pull away and pick it back up. In fact, it's almost like he doesn't even hear it—too busy chasing the impulse he seems to keep getting. Whether he means anything by his impulse or not, I still don't know. I don't know if I want to know, to be honest. I think I'd like to live in blissful ignorance for a little bit longer.
My time runs out quickly though. Of course, it does. It has always run out quicker than it's supposed to. It's a part of my responsibilities.
"Mom!" Cameron calls from his other room. If he knew his dad was here, I'm sure he'd call out to him.
I pull away from Noah at the sound of him calling for me. At first, he chases my lips. Ultimately though, he realizes Cameron's calling for me and drops his head with a little breath as he starts pulling away. I swallow thickly as I glance at him for just a moment. I stay nothing as I quickly get off the floor and hurry out of the room and down the hall, flipping the hall light on as I walk up to the door.
I take a deep breath before I slowly open Cameron's bedroom door, trying to block some of the hallway light that pours into the dark room with my own shadow. "Yeah, baby? Are you okay?" I whisper.
I see him sitting up in his bed in the dark. "I can't sleep without Taffy." He shamefully admits. He wants to be all grown up already and has decided that he doesn't want to bring Taffy around everywhere. Unfortunately, he isn't as ready as he'd like to be to do that.
"Oh," I start looking around the room a little, but it's too dark for me to see her.
"Dad couldn't find her." He adds. Which means he was ultimately forced to go to bed without her. I sigh as I step further inside.
"I'm going to turn the light on." I warn. He's quick to lift his blanket over his eyes. "Okay," I whisper as I turn the light on. "Did you check under the bed?"
"Yes." His voice comes out muffled by the blanket.
"Mm...What about the toy box?" I kneel down in front of the big wooden box in the corner to start digging.
"No."
I don't have to dig that much to find her, buried under a remote-control car and a T. rex toy. "Here she is." I hum as I stand up and walk over to the door to turn the light back off.
Once Cameron knows it's off, he drops the blanket to watch me come back to the bed. He lets out a breath of relief once she's in his arms. "Thank you," He mumbles.
"Mhm," I give him a quick peck on the top of his head. "Now go to bed. It's almost past your bedtime." I dismiss as I start pulling away to go to the door.
"Good night." He offers quietly. "I love you."
I pause at the door and look back at him with a small smile. "I love you too, Cam." I return. I hesitate in the doorway, watching him pull his blanket over his shoulder and roll over with Taffy to face the wall. I almost want to stay here forever but force myself to step out into the hallway where I can practically feel the shift from lighthearted to serious. It weighs heavy and is almost suffocating. And it only gets worse the closer I get to the kitchen.
He's not on the floor anymore, already up and rinsing our spoons. The ice cream tub is nowhere in sight anymore. He looks over at me and reaches over to turn the water off. I watch his Adam's apple bob before he speaks. "Is he okay?"
I linger in the entryway, wrapping my arms around myself like I'm cold in my sweater. "Yeah." I assure. "He just couldn't go without Taffy."
Noah frowns at that and tosses the kitchen rag he uses to dry his hands onto the counter. "I couldn't find her. Where was she?"
I huff to show I don't believe him. "Toy box."
He makes a face. "Hey, I checked under the bed, the living room, and the closet."
"And didn't think to check the toy box." I dryly add. He scoffs at that as he takes more slow steps closer. I start to smile, unable to stop myself with our playful conversation. At least Cameron has her now.
"Whatever." He murmurs dismissively. "I did my part."
"Yeah?" My smile curiously widens and my chin tilts up a little more when he stops right in front of me. "Then how come you couldn't find her?"
I feel the warmth of his hands close around my hips. "Because I don't have super seeing powers like you do."
"It's called being smart."
"So, you're smarter than me. We knew that already." He dismisses, voice lowering as he dips his chin some to lean in until his nose brushes against the side of mine.
"We did." I agree, hands lifting to his chest the closer he gets. I shut my eyes just moments before he catches me in another kiss, still chasing his impulses, I guess. I can't really blame him. It's an uncomfortable feeling to leave impulses unsatisfied. Plus, there's still a hint of strawberry in his taste which means there's probably in mine too.
I start humming when that one kiss that I thought was the last one to settle his little need for catching me off guard like that turns into a deeper one like the one we just shared on the kitchen floor. I guess I was stupid to think that he'd just kiss me once more then walk away as if nothing happened though. His grip on my hips are too tight for that.
I put some pressure on his chest to push him away. Once our lips part with a little click sound, he tries chasing me for one more. I know better though. "Noah," I call on a gentle laugh. He sighs but stops chasing me.
"Come on." He urges all peer pressurey.
"It's past my bedtime." I decide as I push further away from him. My very early bedtime. He sighs again when his hands drop from my hips. "And I don't want to kiss another boy for no reason."
His hand lifts to his chest slowly. "First of all," He scoffs. My smile starts widening before he's even begun. "Another boy? Is that all I am to you? Just another boy?"
"Who I happen to have a son with, yes."
His jaw drops. He continues. "Second, what the hell's the no reason for? You don't think I have a reason?"
I raise a brow. "Other than scaring the hell out of me? No." I dismiss him with a wave of my hand. "Now, come on. Cameron thinks you left already." I hum as I turn away to start leading the way to the door.
He quickly follows me. "Why would you think I don't have a reason?"
"Because you're you."
"Wow—You just really like to hurt my fuckin' feelings, don't you?"
"Love it. My favorite pass time."
"Come on." He starts to chuckle as I guide him towards the door that I open up. We pause at the open door, he doesn't walk out. "Go out with me this weekend." He tries.
My laugh comes out startled. "What?" I lean in a little in case I didn't hear him right. I couldn't have. It's the most absurd thing I've ever heard.
A boyish grin crosses his face as he repeats himself. "Go out with me this weekend." I laugh more at that, unable to help myself. His gentle laughter joins mine. "Kiara, come on. Let me show you I have a reason. Go to dinner with me. Saturday night, how's that?"
"Noah, what?" I start shaking my head, still laughing to myself as I reach out to start guiding him out the door with my hand on his shoulder. "No." I answer the question that I still can't really tell if he means or not.
"Why not?" He huffs but is still smiling. It's hard to tell if he's being serious or not, which is basically the kind of guy he is. You don't really know he's playing with you until he relents and makes it undeniably obvious.
"No." I repeat my answer as dismissively as I can while still laughing. "Go away, Noah." I add, waving him off while he still stands in the doorway with his hand resting on the doorframe.
"Give me one good reason why."
"Cameron." I simply offer.
He scoffs dismissively. "The kid pouted when he realized we weren't together."
"And if it doesn't work out?" I raise a brow as I challenge his imaginary land.
He shrugs. "I can be an adult if you can."
My eyes narrow skeptically. "Aaliyah." I give a second good reason why nothing should change. "She's my friend and your sister. She'd hate it." I smugly inform.
This actually gets him to falter. He recovers quick though and shrugs again. "Haven't thought it all the way through—" I start shutting the door at that, uncaring if his hand is still on the doorframe. He's quick to continue on before I can shut the door on him. "But!" His hand lands on the door to stop me from shutting it. I sigh but I let him push it open some more. "I'll figure it out. She'll get over it. Eventually."
I shake my head as I continue shutting the door. This time, his hand doesn't reach out to stop me. "Good night, Noah."
"So, you're gonna think about it?"
I shut the door in his face before I answer that stupid ass question.