Page 36 of Guarding the Star

I love Wes, but this is a lot.

At eleven, his fever climbs. I press a cool cloth to his forehead. He cries. I sing. The only songs I know are club tracks and TikTok sounds, so I make one up. It makes no sense, and the rhythm is terrible. It's about the dragon who played soccer and scored goals with his tail. The keeper told him… that goal doesn't count because you used your tail.

Wesley laughs, and snot goes everywhere.

By midnight, he settles. I hold him in the rocking chair in the living room. His head on my chest. His hair damp with sweat against my chin. He weighs more than a kid this small should weigh.

“Want Mama,” he mumbles, half asleep.

“Mama's coming later, boss. I'm here now.”

“You stay?”

“Of course.”

"Foweva?"

“As long as I can.”

His eyes close. His breathing goes slow, steady, deep. His fingers stay gripped to my shirt as he falls asleep.

I sit in the rocking chair with Wesley on my chest and the sound of Zoe's wall clock, one of those old ones that ticks. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

No television. No podcast. No music. Nothing except a sleeping kid and a clock.

And I'm okay.

The silence is there, but it doesn't crush me. It doesn't drown me. I guess the quiet isn't empty when you've got Wes in your arms with three tiny fingers hooked to your shirt.

To this kid who isn't mine, who has two moms who love him like crazy, who has a stuffed octopus and a three-legged dragon, I'm something that calms him. A safe place. Somewhere to fall asleep without being scared.

And what I feel isn't tenderness. I feel tenderness every day when I'm with him. What I feel is need.

I want this.

Stillness. Falling asleep with a kid in my arms. The weight of his little head on my chest.

I don't want it as a visitor, some stand-in aunt who shows up once in a while. I want this all the time. I want a little person who grabs my shirt while he falls asleep.

And maybe I'm an idiot for getting my hopes up, but I also want the woman who's still parked on the street even though I told her to leave. The one who's watching a house where there's no danger.

***

I wake up at five. Wesley is gone. Zoe carried him to his crib and draped a blanket over my shoulders. My neck aches, my back is stiff, but I don't care.

On my phone, a text from four hours ago.

Paula: Tessa and Zoe are back. Are you coming down or should I keep waiting?

Shit.

Me: Fell asleep and they didn't wake me. I'm so sorry. I figured something out.

Paula: What?

Me: I'll tell you in person. Breakfast?

When I walk out of Zoe's house, Paula is still in the car, parked in the same spot where I left her, looking like she hasn't slept.