8. Damon

"Do I look fierce?" George had his shirt up and was pointing to his scar. It had healed pretty nicely, but it was always going to be gnarly.

The surgeon was very pleased with his progress. It was going to be tender for a while and he had to be careful when he was playing. George was most upset about the doctor not wanting him to climb for a while. I wasn't. I'd be happy if they sent me home with bubble wrap.

"Yeah, you looked fierce. Let me see the back too." Having one scar sucked, but having one on both sides… it had made it difficult for him to sleep at first. And keeping the bandages from getting stuck was also a challenge because he naturally pushed back against it.

George turned around, and I squatted down to get a good look. It wasn't quite as well healed as the front, the scar more prevalent, but it was well on its way.

"Yep. I was right. You look fierce." Where he got that notion, I had no idea, but if it made him like his scar over detesting it, I was there for it.

"That's good, because I think I want to be a dragon," he announced proudly.

"You do know that's not how it works." My mind quickly went back to the day in the hospital when he called Nicholas a dragon. That man kept popping into my mind. What was it about him? "You can't decide to just become a dragon. It would be cool if you could, though."

"I can become a dragon, just like Mr. Nicholas does. He was really nice, and he told me a story about when he was a boy. If he can be a boy and now a dragon, so can I." How I wished getting all of his dreams were as easy as that.

There were times when I looked down at George and wondered how much of himself he got from his sperm donor. I didn't remember being imaginative as he was as a small child. But then again, I didn't have parents who read to me nonstop the way I did with him.

Reading had always been a passion of mine, which was how I ended up working at the library. I'd originally planned to get my advanced degree and become a librarian, but pregnancy happened, and now I get to work in the place of my dreams with the hours that fit best for my family, so really it was for the best.

His father ended up being a dick when he left, but that didn't mean he didn't have good qualities. I didn't date jackasses. At least I tried not to. I wouldn't have been with him if that were the case. When push came to shove, he just was selfish and not ready for the commitment. It sucked, but what could I do?

I refused to hate the man who gave me George, and I refused to let George see him as anything other than somebody who wasn't ready to be a dad. He didn't grow up thinking his dad hated him or was a shit person. Being without him was hard enough.

"I'm pretty sure he didn't decide to be a dragon."

Although it was interesting that George called him a dragon. At the time it took me aback, and it still did when I thought about it. I'd had a fleeting vision of him as being akin to a dinosaur or a dragon, too. But unlike my son, I knew it was my imagination and not fire-breathing magic.

"You know how sometimes you tell me that I'm your little koala?"

"That's because you're adorable and a good climber, not because you are actually a koala. People don't really turn into animals."

"Sure, Dad." He rolled his eyes. He was too young to be rolling his eyes, yet there he was doing it. The wonderful habit was one he'd picked up from his grandparents—my mother specifically. "But I do look fierce? For realsie?"

"So very fierce. Realsie! " I squatted down and looked at both the front and the back.

The surgical scars were far longer than the original wound—they needed to open him up wider to do the repairs inside. The drainage tubes were now out, which was a huge step. Things were healing beautifully.

We still hadn't ventured into the bath tub yet, but the doctor said he could. I was just being extra cautious, still doing sponge baths and the antiseptic cleansers they recommended, along with the scar creams.

"Are you mad, Daddy?"

"No. Absolutely not, my sweet boy. Why would you think that?"

"Your eyes got all squinty like you're mad or thinking or have a headache." He made a similar face to the one he was describing. He was such a mini me sometimes. "You make it a lot, really."

"I do." And it was never a good look. "I was probably just thinking, honey. What would you like to drink? Milk or water?" I changed the subject, not wanting him to ask me what had occupied my mind.

"I want juice. The hospital always let me have juice." They did too.

"And at the hospital, they also had a ton of rules and woke you up in the middle of the night. Do you want that too?" They were great with him, but also, hospital stays sucked. It was the way of things.

"No."

"The dentist says it's bad for your teeth, but if you want it, I can grab you one, you just need to brush your teeth after."

"I'll take milk." He was not a fan of brushing his teeth. It was the one thing I had to constantly remind him to do.

I poured the juice into his cup, snapped on the lid, and filled mine with water. Then we headed outside. The cat followed us—they'd been doing that a lot since we'd been home. Fluffy FooFoo, named by my son, obviously. But it fit.

The cat wasn't one to follow us around, but George being hurt had him being a bit more clingy than normal. He wasn't the only one. I was pretty clingy, too.

We set our cups down on the table and went over to the sandbox where we started to build.

Looking down at the toys he kept in there, it was no wonder he was curious about a construction site. He had diggers and bulldozers and all sorts of things I didn't even know the name of, but he did. He knew every last one.

"The sand's really dry today. It's not sticking, Daddy."

"Well, why don't you get up and go see how your garden is doing, and I'll water the sand so it'll be ready to play with in a little bit." Never before I was a father did I think there was a science to making sand usable. But there was.

He agreed and wandered to the garden, and I grabbed the hose and wet everything down using the mist nozzle.

I couldn't help but think of Nicholas when a dragonfly flew by. Dragonflies weren't even dragons, and the man wasn't a dragon either, for that matter. It was getting to the point where everything made me think of him. I'd been wanting to call him from the beginning, but also, I hadn't wanted to impose.

After I put the hose away, I got my phone and decided to go for it. What was wrong with a quick text of thanks?

Thanks again for helping at the hospital. George is doing well, and I am too, and I don't know if the latter would be true if it weren't for you.

I was texting like a boomer, all punctuated and forming paragraphs. I didn't care. I wanted there to be no confusion about what I meant. After that I snapped a picture of George holding up a big weed in victory and sent them both before I could chicken out.

Nicholas had done his good deed, he didn't need to be bothered by me, but still, I wanted to reach out. My heart wanted to reach out to him this whole time, but I didn't want him to feel obligated. Doing a good deed is just that—a good deed. Nothing more. Even if I wanted it to be.

I put my phone back in my pocket and spent the afternoon with George playing outside.

After supper, when he was in bed, I set my phone on the side table to get ready for my shower and realized I had my notifications off. Nicholas had responded.

I'm so glad to hear it. My garden could probably use a few weeds pulled out like that too.

Wow, don't tell him, he'll take that as a challenge.

I wouldn't mind.

How was your day?We didn't have that kind of relationship. I shouldn't be asking him how his day was or things personal. But I did.

It was good. Had a great meeting at work. What's the name of the cat?

It took me a second to realize he meant Fluffy FooFoo, who had been caught in the frame… barely. I told him, and we talked back and forth about pets and sandboxes.

Then Nicholas did what I hadn't dared hope for. He asked me out. "Would you like to come over? Maybe go somewhere? Like, have a date."

This time, instead of a text, he left it in a little voice message. I listened to it three times before responding in the same way.

"I'd love to. George is actually going to spend some time with my parents this weekend. They've been feeling extra needy after, you know, the accident. Would that work?"

"Perfect."