Scott Sherman - Third You Die

“I don’t know if I’d get any sleep. Is it like being in bed with you?”

Tony looked mildly scandalized.

“I mean, does he also hog all the blankets, dummy?” I hit him with a pillow.

Tony grinned, his hair mussed by my attack, making him look extra scrumptious. “I’m afraid it’s in the Rinaldi genes. Sheet-stealing, chocolate-loving, heartbreaking scoundrels, we are.”

I reached out my hand and Tony helped pull me to standing. Then, before I knew it, he swept me into his arms and carried me into my bedroom. He laid me gently next to Rafi. Sure enough, the kid was cocooned in every blanket on the bed. Tony saw me notice and shrugged.

“I’ll get you one,” Tony whispered, reaching out to unravel his son.

“Just grab one from the sofabed,” I whispered back.

“Good idea. And, listen, I hate to take advantage of you, babe, but if I get hung up, can you bring him to school in the morning?”

I didn’t know if I should be touched that Tony trusted me with all this parental responsibility, or pissed that I was only entrusted with it when it was convenient for him. “Sure,” I said, slurring slightly with sleepiness.

Tony kissed me again. “I’ll get the blanket.”

I was dead to the world before he returned with it.

I crashed quickly but it was a restless, shallow slumber. Two hours after Tony left, I didn’t so much wake as admit defeat. Too wired to go back to sleep, but too tired to bother with the lights, I stumbled from bedroom to bathroom, peed for what felt like three hours, and made my way into the kitchen.

Daylight was just starting to muscle its way through my blinds. Speaking of muscle, when was the last time I’d gone to the gym? True, I no longer depended on a tight body to make a living, but that didn’t mean I was willing to let myself go all Kirstie Alley, either. Bleary as I was, I knew a good workout would make me feel better.

I chugged a glass of milk and rinsed out the glass. Invigorated by the prospect of getting my exercise done for the day, I headed to the bedroom to throw on some sweatpants and a T-shirt. My gym was just down the block, so I wouldn’t even bother with a jacket. If it was cold, I could walk faster.

I flicked on the light. The gym was one place where I paid no attention to fashion. If my clothes fit and were clean, they’d be good enough for me. I was putting on my tee when I heard a cat mewling from my fire escape. It wouldn’t be the first time a stray had found its way up there, only to complain to find itself so unexpectedly far from the ground.

This one was loud, though. He sounded like he was right inside the apartment.

Now that I was paying attention, I realized he was also speaking English.

“Daddy?”

I was pretty sure that ruled out a cat. Or a bird. Or even a parrot.

That was definitely a human being.

Holy shit.

Rafi.

I had totally forgotten Rafi.

Oh. My. God.

Tony wasn’t back, and I was about to leave a five-year-old in the apartment alone.

Worst. Parental. Substitute. Ever.

I briefly wondered if I should just strangle myself with my T-shirt right now. It was already conveniently placed around my neck.

“Da-” Rafi began again, his voice rising higher. A slight note of hysteria was creeping into his tone.

Okay, Kevin, stop thinking about yourself. This kid needs you.

“Hey, buddy,” I said, moving to sit next to him on the bed. I tousled his hair in the same way Tony did mine.

“Hi, Kebbin!” he said with relief, remembering where he was. “I didn’t see my daddy.” He didn’t have to add how that made him feel.

“He had to go out and help some people who needed him,” I said. Rafi’s known his daddy as “one of the good guys” his whole life. “But he made sure I was here to keep you company.” I lay next to him.

“It’s a good thing he did,” I added, in a whispery, just-between-us confession. “He knows I get scared being by myself.”

Rafi giggled. I looked at the clock. It was just a little after five. Rafi should have slept at least till seven. My guess was he’d have fallen right back into dreamland had Tony been in bed with him. But finding himself alone, Rafi cried out.

“You want to play a game?” I asked. I patted my chest and Rafi settled against me. I put my arm around him.

“I love games,” Rafi said, his voice conveying exhaustion and excitement in equal amounts.

“I bet…” I said, pausing dramatically as if about to offer a truly thrilling proposal, “I can stay quiet longer than you can. Deal?”

“Deal,” Rafi said, thinking himself very grown-up.

“Okay,” I said. “You count it down. From three to one. After that, the next one who makes a sound loses.”

“Bet I can be quiet longest,” Rafi boasted, yawning halfway through.

“We’ll see. Okay, start the clock, Rafsters.”

“One… two… twee!” he announced confidently.

All right, he didn’t get the whole “counting down” thing quite right, but ending on the adorable “twee” was better idea, anyway.

I clamped my hands comically against my mouth and bulged out my eyes, as if struggling to stay silent. Rafi lifted his head and giggled.

I shot a warning look-no noises! Rafi clamped his lips together and rested his head back on my chest.

I stroked his hair.

Five minutes later, I won. Turns out that not only did Rafi steal the blankets like his dad, but he snored like him, too.

Lucky kid. I felt more awake than ever.

I couldn’t believe I’d almost left the apartment while he was in my care. What was I thinking?

I wasn’t. But, in my defense, Tony hasn’t exactly been making me feel like I was a significant person in Rafi’s life. Last night and this morning were the first times he’d given me sole responsibility for his son’s welfare. Look how close I came to blowing it.

But I didn’t.

There is, I thought, feeling the warm body next to me and the weight of his little head against my heart, a kind of magic in this. A level of trust and unconditional love that you just don’t experience from anyone other than a child. A special brand of blessing.

But it’s a burden, too. I was really looking forward to going to the gym. I felt like I deserved it. While I wished I were selfless enough not to resent it, I did feel a little “stuck” here. Literally, as I was afraid to get up and disturb Rafi’s sleep.

Sleep. God, that sounded good. Too bad it had deserted me. There’d be no returning to slumber now, not with my feelings of guilt, appreciation, resentment, and happiness running around my head like a bunch of unruly toddlers determined to keep me awake.

Still, it was nice to lie there with this toasty warm little guy nestled against me. He smelled good, like the bubble gum shampoo I’d used on his hair last night with an undertone of that scent unique to loved and happy boys. What was that fragrance? Smooth, new skin, clean sweat, innocence. Even his snoring was sweet, not loud like his dad’s but rhythmic in its regularity. Not noisy enough to drown out the sound of his breathing, that relaxing metronome of respiration, in and out, in and out, in and out, in and

“Kebbin!” Rafi called, amused at the reversal of roles that found him waking me up for school. “It’s time to get up, sweepyhead!”

I groaned and looked at the clock. 7:37. Enough time to get ready, but we’d have to hustle.

So much for being unable to fall back asleep. Maybe this is why people had kids-for their narcotizing abilities.

He’d rolled on top of me and pressed his nose against mine. “He wwwooo…” he said. “Is there anybody in there?”

“I’m up, I’m up,” I grumbled. Not that I was really mad. I thought Rafi was enjoying playing the bossy parent, though, so I thought it was only fair that I acted the truculent kid.