4. Heller

4

HELLER

I feel a little guilty as I unlock the door with the key Max and Eli gave me last week. When they bought a home with a room in the basement, they said I could use the space as a mini-apartment for when I stay overnight. I’m sure they didn’t think I’d spend more nights in that bed than the one in my own apartment. But instead of complaining, they got me my own key.

Little footsteps patter behind the door. When I open it, I see Lark in their human form. They run toward me in nothing but a diaper with jelly smeared across their face. I probably interrupted clean-up after dinner.

“Dada!” They squeal and hold out their arms to me.

My heart swells. I want to hold out my arms to Lark and say, Yes, I am your Dada . But I’m not. Legally, I gave up Lark to Max and Eli. I’m supposed to be Uncle Heller to them.

The problem is that “dada” is a lot easier to say than Uncle Heller. That’s why I haven’t corrected them. Or that’s what I tell myself.

I glance up to see Max walking into the room. Did he hear what Lark said?

“Dada!” Lark repeats, pointing to me.

Max looks at me, waiting for my reaction. He doesn’t seem upset.

I kneel down and hold out my arms. Lark toddles toward me, reaching forward with one sticky hand. I grab for it and kiss each of their fingertips. It’s what I do every time we see each other. If Lark is in their polar bear form, I kiss each of their toe beans, and if they’re in their penguin form, I kiss each of their wings. They’ve noticed they don’t get as many kisses that way, so they usually shift into their human or polar bear form when they see me. It’s so cute.

“One kiss, Two kisses, three kisses, four kisses, five kisses,” I say.

When I’m done with their first hand, Lark holds out the second. I obediently kiss all their fingers on that hand too.

Lark plops down on their butt and holds up a grimy foot. “Mow tisses.”

Clearly, it’s time for a bath. I strategically arrived just in time for Lark’s bedtime routine. It’s been two nights since I did it last, and I ache to be the one to lather the tearless shampoo in Lark’s hair and play with their bath toys until the water gets cold. But I know it isn’t fair that I show up for bedtime every third night. I’m not Lark’s dad, and uncles don’t get to sing their niblings to sleep every third night.

“One kiss, two kisses, three kisses, four kisses, five kisses,” I count off, treasuring each and every one.

Lark lowers their foot, then lifts the other. I kiss their toes on that foot too, looking into their eyes while I do it. They stare back at me with a love that I wasn’t prepared for when I gave birth to their egg more than a year ago. I had no idea how tied my heart would feel to them—how much I was giving up by handing them over to Eli and Max.

I still don’t think I was ready to be a father when Lark hatched. At least not alone. Some of my friends are single parents, and I knew deep down that I couldn’t handle that. But sometimes I wonder if I would have adjusted to it.

Maybe I made a mistake.

“I need to wash the dishes, if you wouldn’t mind doing the bedtime routine,” Max says.

When I show up at night, Max always has something to do. Either it’s the dishes, the laundry, or a trip to the grocery store. I don’t doubt that he’s busy. Eli teaches classes to newbie hired fists most nights, and having a baby is a lot of work. But sometimes I wonder if he’s busy or if he’s just letting me have time with Lark.

“Yeah. I can give them a bath,” I say.

“Thank you so much.” He turns back to the kitchen, then stops himself. “You know, it’s okay if you want Lark to call you… something different.”

I sit there in silence, not daring to take him up on his offer. I have no legal rights here. If I fuck things up with Eli and Max, I won’t ever see Lark again. I don’t think they’d do that, but I come from a family that made me realize from a young age that people are capable of horrible things.

“Maybe you should ask Eli about that,” I say.

Max presses their lips together. “We’ve already discussed it. Lark has that book full of family photos. When they point at your photo, they say dada.”

Lark stands up and runs toward the hallway. Without thinking, I rush after them and sweep them up into my arms. They giggle and try to squirm out of my grip.

“Just think about it,” Max tells me. “You don’t have to change your mind. But if dada doesn’t work for you, maybe we could figure out something Lark could pronounce, like baba.”

He is unfailingly kind, like always. There’s never been a time when he or Eli has made me feel like a third wheel. It’s almost too good to be true.

“Okay. I’ll think about it,” I promise.

Max gives me this calm smile that I’ve come to trust over the last year and a half. Eli is a great guy. He’s always going out of his way to help people out and saying charming things. But Max is my favorite. He’s even keeled and predictable. The only time I’ve seen him flustered was when Toby and Felix killed all of his houseplants during their nesting phase.

He may be an alpha, but he’s nothing like the alphas I knew growing up.

“Are you ready for a bath?” I ask Lark.

“Baff! Dada baff!”

I wave to Max as I carry Lark to the bathroom that used to be Toby’s and Felix’s “Conservatory” about six months ago. Back when I was growing up, the omegas would openly tease each other about their nests. My parents’ room always smelled slightly of caramel because my omega grandmother collected caramels for her nest, and there was a problem with the heater that caused them all to melt. We had extra blankets in the hall closet from the time Aunt Martha collected blankets and couldn’t figure out where to return them all and boxes of air fresheners from the time our cousin Lia bought enough of them to fill her entire bedroom. It’s nice to walk into the bathroom and be reminded of someone’s nest.

It feels like home.

I hug Lark tight before setting them down on the floor. They hold out their arms for me. “Again, Dada. Mow.”

I crouch down and pull them into my arms. I hold them tight, savoring the scent of their hair and the warmth of their little body. I never knew I could love someone this much.

“I love you, Lark,” I whisper in their ear.

“Wuv you, Dada.”

My heart melts. Will Eli and Max really let me be Lark’s Dada too? Because that word means a lot of things to a kid. We can’t just let Lark say it because it’s easier to pronounce.

As much as I don’t want to admit it, I need to have a conversation with Max and Eli about this. They’re good guys. They’ll probably be reasonable about the whole thing. At the very least, I can finally know where they stand in regard to how involved I’m allowed to be in Lark’s life.

I want more than I thought I would.

I hope they won’t mind.