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Tramp woke up to someone poking his face.
He blinked his eyes open to find a very fidgety baby sitting on his chest, one chubby finger jabbing at Tramp’s forehead. 11 months old and already way too mobile for everyone’s good. Cameron had displayed such a knack for getting into trouble that Jock had jokingly begun calling him “the local scamp”, as a callback to the local tramp. Somehow the nickname stuck, and now Tramp and Scamp had rhyming father-son names.
“Dadda,” Scamp said matter-of-factly.
“Yeah, buddy. That’s me.” Tramp’s voice came out rough with sleep. He squinted at the clock on the nightstand. 6:52 AM.
“Why are you awake? Sun’s barely up.”
“Dadda dadda dadda,” Scamp continued, now patting Tramp’s face with both hands.
“Dadda's up. Dadda’s here.”
Tramp sat up carefully, holding Scamp so he didn’t topple off. He babbled something excitedly and began climbing up Tramp’s chest, using dad’s shoulders as a ledge. Tramp grinned, and Scamp mirrored it at once. Same crooked edges at the corners.
“Where’s your mama?”
As if on cue, the bedroom door opened and Lady walked in, already dressed and looking far too awake for this hour.
“Good morning,” she said, way too cheerfully. “Happy Father’s Day.”
Tramp rubbed his eyes. “It’s Father’s Day?”
“It is.” Lady sat on the edge of the bed and kissed him.
“Oh.”
Tramp looked at Scamp, now clutching dad’s shirt. He'd never given much thought to holidays intended for family, which made sense. Tramp didn’t grow up in a proper family, or ever imagined he would have one. But here he was. Holding a son. One that possessed so many of Tramp’s own features that it was practically the first thing anyone said upon meeting him. Oh, he’s the spitting image of you!
He felt Lady move closer, leaning on his shoulder. Scamp was still busy gripping shirts and fidgeting between his parents’ laps.
“Father’s Day. I’m a father,” Tramp said finally.
“You are,” Lady nodded, still smiling. “A very good one.”
“Mmm, isn’t that up to him?” Tramp pointed at Scamp, who giggled ecstatically in response. He began climbing Tramp again and repeated the one word he knew best.
“Dadda dadda!”
Lady raised an eyebrow at her husband, who made a final weak protest.
“Well, that’s the only word he knows! Of course he keeps saying it.”
That only earned him an eye-roll and another kiss on the cheek. Then Lady gave him a light shoulder bump.
“Get dressed. I made plans.”
“Plans?”
“We’re going out for breakfast. All three of us.” She lifted Scamp, settling the baby on her hip. He melted into her arms quite comfortably and pulled at a strand of Lady’s red hair. Scamp hadn’t figured out the “mama” sound yet, so he resorted to making “Mmmm” noises and kicking his feet happily.
“I made a reservation at that fancy diner you like. The one with the giant pancakes.”
Tramp stared at her. “Blue, you didn’t have to do that. I got us takeout for Mother’s Day!”
“Takeout from Barnaby’s! My favorite place in the world!” Lady smiled, Scamp now leaning against her cheek. “Either way, I didn’t do it because I had to. I wanted to. It’s, well, it’s a special day.”
Her tone softened at the last bit, and Tramp felt a familiar tightness in his chest. They’d mutually wanted kids pretty bad but Tramp had been simultaneously terrified of the concept. He’d opened up to Lady regarding the topic, bit by bit until all his fears and concerns and worries poured out. About being a bad parent. About potentially becoming what his own parental figures had been. Permanently messing up a child the same way Tramp was messed up felt cruel.
He didn’t know what good parenting looked like, and he’d said as much to Lady.
“But you know what bad parenting looks like,” Lady had said firmly. “And that’s huge. Knowing what not to do is part of the battle.”
Tramp agreed, but he wasn’t sure if that was enough. He didn’t have much of an argument after that though, so the conversation had ended there. Complete with a kiss planted on his lips and a jab at his cheeks flushing.
“Dadda!”
A squeaky voice broke into his thoughts. Scamp was pushing a large stuffed rabbit in his face, which Tramp took gently.
“I guess it is a special day.”
Lady had only set out some coffee on the counter, since they were going to the diner anyway. Tramp appeared in the kitchen with a sheepish smile, smoothing down his neatly ironed shirt. Lady gave a delighted laugh while Scamp babbled his opinion from a high chair.
“Oh, you dressed up!”
“Sure.” Tramp shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “I mean, you said it’s a special day—”
“You’re all giddy inside, aren’t you?”
Tramp’s face broke into a wide grin, which he tried hiding behind his palms in vain. Lady gently moved them apart. Her smile had turned a little smug. She pressed her forehead to Tramp’s who now looked like he was fighting back tears. Happy ones.
“This is just crazy,” he mumbled, watching Scamp mash slices of a banana around his green plastic plate. Most of it was likely to end up on the floor.
“What is?” Lady asked.
“Just… I don’t know. This. Everything.” Tramp pressed closer to Lady’s face. “Still doesn’t feel real, you know?”
“I know,” Lady nodded. “But it’s real. Get used to it, vagabond.”
She cupped his face and kissed him softly, leading to a very loud cry of protest from Scamp in the background. Banana bits were smeared around his mouth, nose, and forehead. Tramp and Lady looked at him in surprise.
“Wow. He did not like that.” Tramp moved closer to the baby, who promptly tossed a plastic spoon at him. “Kissing is yucky, is it, whirlwind?”
Lady laughed, grabbing some napkins and gently patting them over Scamp’s face. Tramp grabbed the half-eaten banana plate and turned on a faucet. He suddenly spotted the coffee Lady had laid out, untouched.
“Thought we were going to a diner, blue,” he said, after putting Scamp’s matching green plate, spoon, and sippy cup away. “Why’d you bother with coffee?”
“You can never have too much coffee,” Lady declared, and was greeted with another screech from Scamp demanding to be taken out of the high chair. “Especially with this riveting little creature around.”
She picked up Scamp and checked her phone. The diner opened in half an hour—plenty of time to get all that banana off Scamp. He sat quietly through the whole cleanup, occasionally babbling. When he even let them brush his hair without protest, Tramp squinted at his son.
“What’re you playin’ at? Hm?”
Lady chuckled. “Maybe he’s just enjoying the attention.”
“Nah, blue. He’s plotting something,” Tramp quipped. “Look at that little face.”
“Your face, you mean,” Lady added, eyes darting between Scamp and Tramp’s near-identical features. “Maybe he is plotting. He’s half-vagabond, to be fair.”
Tramp mock-groaned. “When do I get freedom from that nickname?”
“Never,” Lady grinned, kissing his forehead and scooping up a now pristine Scamp. “You’re forever my vagabond.”
The diner smelled like butter and coffee and something sweet enough to make your stomach growl the second you step inside. Lady gave their name at the counter while Tramp held Scamp, whose eyes went wide at the noise and unfamiliar smells.
“Gotcha. Right this way, please,” the waitress said brightly, already reaching for menus. Her eyes flicked to Scamp swiping at something in the air.
“Awww. Happy Father’s Day!”
Tramp froze for half a second, then grinned a little meekly.
“Oh. Thanks!”
It came out more awkward than he’d intended. Lady caught the look on his face and smiled to herself. The waitress’s eyes were glancing between her boys, and she predicted the remark that followed.
“He looks just like dad!” the waitress continued. “We have high chairs available if you’d like them.”
“That’s okay. He likes sitting on laps,” Lady explained, running a hand through Scamp’s hair. He giggled at the sensation.
They slid into a booth by the window. Scamp wriggled out of Tramp’s lap at once to look outside, nearly wobbling flat on his face. Tramp caught him quick and helped him sit, keeping one arm across his little shoulders. Across the table, Lady picked up a menu.
“What are you having? Pancakes?”
“What’s he gonna eat?” Tramp pointed at Scamp, who banged his little fists on the table for no particular reason.
“Whatever we have, probably. Just…mushed up and tiny.” Lady pointed at a very inviting image of giant pancakes, with butter melting on top and syrup slathered all over. “Thoughts on sharing this massive plate?”
Tramp licked his lips, and Scamp copied him. The baby’s came out more slurpy-sounding and spit sprayed around the table. Tramp frowned.
“Hmm. Gotta work on that, whirlwind,” he said seriously. “Can’t have you spitting everywhere whenever we have good food.”
Scamp blinked in response, then made a whiny noise towards his mother. Presumably complaining about Tramp’s scathing critique of his lip-licking skills. The waitress returned with coffee and water, placing Tramp’s mug in front of him first.
“On the house!” she said. “It’s a Father’s Day perk.”
Tramp stared at the mug, eyes flickering with doubt. As if it was brought to the wrong table.
“They just… give you things?” he whispered once she left.
Lady laughed, shaking her head. “Wild concept.”
“How do they know I’m not some deadbeat loser?” Tramp asked, poking the mug now. “Maybe I didn’t deserve the free coffee. Hm?”
“They don’t. It’s just a cute marketing thing, like getting free dessert on birthdays,” Lady shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry about not deserving it in your case.”
“You’re just nice,” Tramp muttered, but he was smiling.
“Drink the coffee, vagabond.”
The coffee tasted better than usual. That might’ve been psychological, but he wasn’t about to question it. When the pancakes arrived, stacked high and dripping with syrup and butter, Scamp let out a shriek of pure joy.
“That one’s definitely yours,” Tramp said proudly, pointing at the baby. “You see that enthusiasm?”
“He could sneeze and you’d be proud of him,” Lady said with a laugh.
Tramp snorted. “I’ve seen your Photos app. Don’t act like you wouldn’t do the same.”
“I never said I wouldn’t!” Lady laughed again. “You just seem extra impressed by him today, that’s all.”
Tramp shrugged, eyes not leaving his son. Scamp had grabbed the edge of the plate and was staring at the pancakes with bright brown eyes. Tramp’s eyes.
“I just—” Tramp started. “I don’t know. I keep expecting someone to tap me on the shoulder and tell me there’s been a mistake.”
“No mistakes. You’re stuck with us.”
Scamp chose that moment to grab Tramp’s arm with surprising strength and beam up at him.
“Dadda.”
Tramp swallowed hard. “Yes?” he said. “Dadda here.”
The baby gestured at the pancakes excitedly, and Tramp began cutting one up in tiny pieces. Scamp watched, at one point grabbing a knife and attempting to copy him only for Lady to slowly take it away. He protested loudly but forgot about his knife woes as soon as Tramp plopped pancakes on his plate. Scamp squealed at them, then grabbed a piece with a tiny hand.
The free coffee lay unsipped as Tramp gently put a bit of pancake in Scamp’s mouth, pulling him back on his lap. Lady was cutting another one into bits and making sure they weren’t overloaded with syrup.
“I think that should be enough,” she said, looking at the pieces carefully. “I doubt he’ll eat all of it.”
“He just loves sharing,” Tramp said with a grin, giving Scamp another piece. “With the floor, his forehead, his nose, his hair. Right, whirlwind?”
Scamp gave another squeal, and the waitress walked by right then. She eyed their plates with amusement.
“How is everything? Pancakes okay?”
Lady and Tramp exchanged a glance, then looked at the waitress a little sheepishly.
“Oh. Uh, we haven’t had any yet,” Lady began, chuckling. As if in response, Scamp babbled at the waitress, who laughed.
“Little guy is demanding!” she said. “Do let me know if you need anything, we offer free drink refills.”
“Thank you!” Lady picked up her own fork, stabbing her pancake. She lifted it to her mouth, only to stop mid-air and stare at her son. A tender smile spread across her face as she tapped Tramp’s hand. He was busy separating Scamp’s remaining pancake pieces onto his plate from the serving dish.
“Look.” Lady pointed. Tramp looked. Scamp was gripping a pancake piece in his chubby hand, and holding it up to his father with an eager expression.
“Oh, no more? Not hungry?” Tramp scratched his head. “Don’t you usually…catapult it across the room?”
Lady gave a slightly exasperated, but loving laugh. “That’s not what he’s saying, dummy. Look again.”
Scamp was attempting to climb his father again, sticky hands getting all over that nice shirt, and pushing the piece to Tramp’s face. He made a stream of babbling sounds and ended the spiel with “dadda”, waving the pancake bit right where Tramp’s mouth was.
“He’s trying to feed you back!” Lady burst into affectionate laughter. Tramp looked at his son blankly before fully processing, and then carefully lifted him up.
“That’s—I have my own pancake, buddy! You can keep yours.”
“Oh, don’t you dare!” Lady said at once, already pulling out her phone. “You let him feed you right now so I can get it on video and rewatch it a hundred times.”
Scamp took that as encouragement, leaning in with great effort and the pancake probably turning into mush in his fist. He shoved it forward, beginning another nonsensical sentence with bits of “Dadda” in between.
Tramp opened his mouth just enough to take the pancake. It was warm and tasted faintly like butter and baby hands.
Scamp squealed, bouncing in place and clearly thrilled with himself. He immediately grabbed another piece and tried again, this time missing Tramp’s mouth entirely and smearing pancake across his cheek. Lady laughed so hard she had to lower the phone.
Tramp wiped his face with the back of his hand, displaying a permanently wide grin. Scamp tried a third time. This one landed closer to his lips but still not quite there. Tramp promptly licked it off, making Scamp explode into delighted giggles.
Somewhere between the bites, the noise of the diner faded. Forks clinked. Fryers and kettles hissed whenever the kitchen door opened. The door creaked faintly with every new patron. Tramp reached for his coffee absently and took a sip.
It had gone cold, but still tasted like the best coffee he’d ever had.