Chapter Text
“Jameson Michael Ross, get out of that bed,” Mike says, his stern tone belied by a wide grin. He leans over to ruffle his son’s hair.
“No.” Jamey pulls the duvet up over his head.
“C’mon, dude. You have an important appointment this morning.”
Jamey giggles and says, “No.”
Mike laughs in response then climbs into the bed with his son. “Scoot over,” he says, gently nudging his four year-old.
“Daddy!” Jamey squeals.
“If you’re not getting up, I guess we have to stay here all day.”
“That’s silly,” says Jamey. “You can’t stay in bed all day, Daddy. You have to work.”
“How ‘bout this?” Mike suggests. “We can snuggle for a little bit, then we both get up to get ready for the day. What do you think?”
“OK, Daddy,” Jamey says. “But I get to decide how long.”
“Who made you the boss?”
“I’m always the boss of you,” Jamey sing-songs.
“True. Now let’s get to snuggling.”
——————
“Ah, pet,” says Edith. “I didn’t think you were coming today. Where have you been?”
“Upstairs, Grammy! I was upstairs.”
“You were, were you?” Edith asks. “And what were you doing there?”
“Snuggling with Daddy,” Jamey says. “I got to decide how long.”
“Did ya now?”
“Yes,” Mike says, following Jamey into his grandmother’s living room. “He said he’s the boss of me.”
“Well, someone has to be,” Edith teases. She pulls Jamey into her lap for a big hug. “It’s good you’re keeping a good eye on your da.”
Jamey giggles. “What are we doing today, Grammy?”
“You kids can decide together and let me know.”
Jamey climbs down and walks to the three children playing in the living room. Toys and stuffed animals litter the play area, even though it’s only 9 am.
“What do you want to do today?” Jamie asks his playmates. “I wanna paint.”
His question stirs a cacophony: “Knit!” “Kickball!” “Read!”
Edith laughs from across the room. Mike joins in and says, “I guess Grammy is the boss today.” He leans to kiss her forehead and says, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“Michael,” she scoffs then reaches to grab his hand. She pulls it against her cheek, turns her head to place a quick kiss on Mike’s palm, and releases. “Off you go. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“You’re no fun, Grammy!” Mike says. He gathers his helmet from the entry way, his clip-on shoes clicking against the wood floor. “Love you, Jamey!”
“Love you, Daddy!” Jamey shouts back.
“No shouting, you two,” Grammy scolds with a smile. She turns her attention to the assembled pre-schoolers and clasps her hands. “Let’s start with story time then we can decide what to do next.”
The kids scramble to sit at her feet. “The pigeon,” someone calls out. “No, not the pigeon,” responds another.
“Hush, hush. Amna,” she says. “Why don’t you pick the first book today?”
“Thanks, Grammy Ross,” the young dark-haired girl says quietly. She rises from her seat on the floor and walks to a well-stocked bookshelf. As she peruses the choices, the two boys still seated near Edith start tickling each other.
When Amna returns, she is holding a dog-eared copy of The Paperbag Princess.
“What a lovely choice, dear,” says Edith as she accepts the book. She clears her throat and begins. “Elizabeth was a beautiful princess…”
——————
Mike’s day progresses as usual: pick up an envelope from one high rise and deliver it to another. It’s not monotonous because of the inherent challenge of biking through and across Manhattan. In reality, he doesn’t need to be a bike messenger, but he loves the thrill of cycling through traffic to get packages delivered as quickly as possible. His legs are pleasantly sore at the end of a busy morning and the exercise slows his brain to a semblance of quiet. The work does supplement his income while granting the flexibility he needs: delivering in the mornings means that he has time to spend with Jamey in the afternoons.
——————
“Alright, monster,” Mike says as he swings Jamey to his hip. “What’re we doing this afternoon?”
“I wanted to paint, but we did story time and knitting instead.”
“So, you want to paint?”
“Nah,” Jamey says distractedly. “I want to play trains and maybe vacuum.”
It’s true. Four year-old Jamey has a love of cleaning that Mike hopes lasts well into his adulthood. For Christmas last year, Mike bought Jamey a child-size vacuum cleaner. When he picked it up at the store, the salesperson assumed it was for a girl. Mike happily corrected him and requested wrapping for the unwieldy package.
“You are the funniest kid I know!” Mike exclaims. “If you want to vacuum, I’m never going to stop you.” Mike kisses Jamey’s nose and sets him down. “I’ll set you up with the trains. While you’re doing that, I’m going to do some work.”
——————
As a freelance editor, Mike chooses the texts he edits. This week, he’s working on a memoir of a politician who, based on the themes included, seems to be contemplating a run for higher office. The work is interesting and varied; the pay is good. Unless he and Jamey have plans, he spends several afternoons a week editing, or in some cases, ghost writing. It’s work he loves and excels at.
“Daddy!” Jamey calls from the living room.
Mike finishes the sentence he’s reading and calls back, “Yeah, bud?”
“Come and see what I made!”
“Be right there.” Mike jots a few thoughts on a sticky note then puts the editing aside. “OK. Show me what you got.”
The train track is blocked by a small herd of dinosaurs, some of which are standing on top of the train.
“That’s awesome, dude. I love the dinosaurs.”
“They’re gonna eat the train.”
“What about the people on the train?”
“The got off at the last stop. One of them had bino— binolars”
“Are those special binoculars that see dinosaurs?”
Jamey laughs and jumps up to tickle his dad. “No, silly. They’re just regular bi-noc-lars.”
Mike hugs Jamey to his side. “Tell me more about the dinosaurs and the train.”
Jamey rattles off a scenario that also includes spaceships and the stuffed animals he has gathered. Mike loves his son’s imagination and hopes it never fades.
——————
“Michael,” Edith begins. “I’m worried about you.”
“Not this again, Grammy,” Mike says wearily. “I’m fine the way things are now.”
“I know, but what about the future?” Edith asks. “You can’t be a bike messenger forever.”
“Grammy,” he says. “I don’t plan to be a bike messenger forever, but I like the extra income.”
Edith quiets. She knows Mike feels compelled to earn more to compensate for her diminished physical capacity. Recovery from her knee surgery has taken longer than predicted. It’s difficult to get down on the floor with preschoolers with an injured knee. Edith has had to reduce the number of children she accepts for daycare. Mike’s income from delivering packages makes up the difference.
“What if you took in more editing?”
“I have plenty right now, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to longing for something with more gravitas. Celebrity memoirs get boring after a time.”
“Don’t cut off my source of good gossip. I like knowing those behind-the-scenes stories to tantalize Martha and Rana when we get together for tea.”
“You’re evil, Grams.”
“Speak for yourself. You’re the one who spills the tea.”
Mike laughs. “Which you know I’m not supposed to do, even with you. Then you go telling the neighborhood. One of these days, I’m gonna get in trouble.”
“Yeah, ‘cause Rana knows so many celebrities. She’s likely to run into one to tell.” She laughs wryly and takes Mike’s hand for a gentle squeeze.
“Love you, Grams.”
“I love you, Michael. Even if you are still a bike messenger.”