Double Lines

POV – Mikaela

I tossed and turned all night, struggling to fall asleep with thoughts running through my head about what I eventually told Ethan. I had to do it; I wanted to be honest, and although his reaction was expected, it still hurt.

I woke the next morning feeling unrested. Quickly, I showered, dressed and made a quick breakfast before picking Tyler up from Willow.

“Good morning! How was it?” Willow asks when she opens the door.

“Okay,” I admit.

“And did you tell him about Tyler?”

“Yup.”

“How did he take it?” Willow asks. I give her the thumbs-down sign as a response.

“Oh, that bad?”

“Mummy!” Tyler yells, running over to where we were standing. I give him a weak smile, grateful that his interruption stopped me from crying pathetically to my friend.

“How were you? Were you a good boy?” I ask, picking him up and giving him a cuddle.

“Yes! We got to see Finding Dory!” Tyler says, grinning.

“That sounds great! Was he good?” I then ask Willow.

“Yes, but he wanted four bedtime stories!” Willow chides, making Tyler’s face drop.

“One story. You know the rules, cheeky,” I teasingly scold my son. He would have you read to him all night if he could.

“Did you have breakfast?” I ask Tyler.

“Yes! Unca John made pancakes!” Tyler grins. Uncle John is Willow’s father. Yup, she may be in her mid-twenties, but she still lives at home.

“Go get your soccer clothes on then; we need to get going,” I tell my boy, putting him back down.

I watch Tyler run off and walk over to the breakfast table, where John and his wife, Thalia, sit and eat.

“Thank you for looking after Ty last night,” I thank them. Both Willow’s parents' smile.

“Anytime. He is very well-behaved,” Thalia comments.

“Ready!” Tyler says, running into the room.

“Okay. I’ll see you all later. Say goodbye, Tyler.”

I watch Tyler wave his hand at John and Thalia and take his overnight bag off Willow.

“See you soon,” she tells me. I nod and say goodbye.

Tyler does ‘Little Kickers’ every Saturday morning in one of the community centres in Brunswick. Little Kickers is a soccer program for toddlers, teaching them ball-handling skills for soccer. Yes, Daniel had a part in organising it for Tyler. I don’t know how he knew about this program, being a playboy and seemingly uninterested in children, but he did. And Tyler loves it.

The soccer uniform is also adorable. It’s red and white, with Tyler’s name and a number on the back. I chose seventy-eight, not for any sentimental reason like his or my birthday, but because it is my favourite number.

About ten children, mostly boys, do Little Kickers with Tyler. The coaches are good, setting up courses and games for the kids.

After Little Kickers, I take Tyler to the local park or see Daniel’s soccer games. Daniel coaches the under fifteen soccer for Brunswick Wasps (the name of his football club), which is another surprise for me. Tyler and I go to support him and his team, and the only reason why I keep going back is the attention Tyler gets from the boys in that team, who have taken him on as their younger brother and team mascot.

We go to the canteen there and order our lunch, hot chips and a hotdog.

“And a treat for you, little one,” Kelly, the woman at the counter says, handing Tyler a lollypop.

“What do you say?” I ask Tyler.

“Hank you,” Tyler says, taking the lolly from Kelly.

“You can have that afterwards,” I say to my son as we walk towards the field Daniel’s team is at.

“Oh,” Tyler pouts, but I laugh. It’s the same every week: We order our lunch, and Kelly gives Tyler a treat.

“Hello, Mick,” Terrance, one of the boys, greets as we walk up.

“Hi, Ter,” Tyler greets.

“Hello, mate. How was soccer today?” Terrance asks. Tyler makes Terrence sit down and climb on his lap as he tells him about his ‘game’ at Little Kickers. I laugh as I watch them together.

“Mick,” Daniel greets, coming over.

“Daniel,” I reply.

“Still, no?” he asks me. I laugh. Daniel asks me out the same way every week, and I laugh in reply. His soccer-boys have given up on trying to set us up, but it’s become a running joke between us. Plus, I know I’m not Daniel’s type (I’m too tall, my hair too brown).

I watch as our team gets the ball and runs with it towards the goal.

“Yes!” Terrance, Tyler and I yell out when Liam kicks the ball into the net, completely missing the keeper.

“We won!” Terrance says, ticking Tyler’s belly.

“We won!” Tyler laughs. Terrance lifts Tyler onto his shoulders and walks out to his team, where they come up and give Tyler high-fives.

“See you next week, Tyler!” the boys say when we get ready to leave.

“Yes!” Tyler replies.

I walk Tyler over to the car and buckle him into his car seat. I know he’ll be half asleep by the time we get home, where I’ll put him to bed for his afternoon nap.

“We’re home, buddy,” I say as I park the car. I smile when I don’t get a response.

Picking Tyler up, I lift him, rest his head on my shoulder, and close the car door behind me. Living in an apartment with two flights of steps was difficult when Tyler was a baby. I used to have to make a few trips up and down stairs to bring everything inside, but now that he’s bigger, it’s not so much trouble.

I would like to live in a place with a backyard for Tyler; I know he loves being outside, but I’m fiercely independent, trying hard not to take David’s help unless I really need it.

After putting Tyler to bed and tucking him in, I get his overnight bag from the car’s boot. Dumping the bag in the laundry room, I go upstairs and collect the dirty clothes to put a load on. While Tyler sleeps, I usually put a load on and vacuum and mop the main living area. Then I work. The good thing is that Tyler’s afternoon sleeps last three hours; it’s bliss.

I’m busy laminating games for my students and placing them in containers of similar activities (all paid by yours truly, thank you, government funding) when the doorbell rings through the intercom.

“Hold on,” I speak through the intercom, my finger pressed on the button. I check my laminating sheet has gone through before placing another one carefully through (because it pisses me off when it scrunches up in the machine) and make my way down the stairs to the front door.

I’m surprised by who I see standing on the opposite side of the door when I open it.

“Hi,” I greet.

“I am so sorry I took off last night. I was an idiot, and I know I hurt your feelings, but I was shocked and had to think. I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you and meant it when I asked if I could continue seeing you…” Ethan rambles.

I tune out to his words, taking in the pleading look in his eyes. Stepping forward, I lean towards him and give him a chaste kiss on his lips.

“What?” Ethan stumbles before responding by wrapping his hands around my body and kissing me back.

His kisses are warm and loving, and I feel myself melt into his warmth as our tongues gently meet. When we finally pull apart, I rest my forehead on his shoulder and close my eyes, breathing in his alluring scent. I’ve always enjoyed how this man smells and savour every breath I take.

“Can I come in?” Ethan asks. I chuckle. We’ve been standing here, kissing, enjoying each other’s company; I have anyway, all the while standing at the threshold of my home.

“Yes,” I answer, stepping aside to let him inside. Closing the door and locking it behind him, I follow Ethan up the steps to the main living area of my home.

The floor hasn’t changed much since Melina left. She took her personal items but left me the main furniture and all the things for the kitchen. The only things that have changed are the decorations, the pictures, books and figurines.

I watch as Ethan scans the room, taking it all in. The room is the whole floor, with the laundry, bathroom and stairs going up to the next level on the right, the kitchen on the opposite end of the stairs leading to the front door. It’s all open except for the half-wall with supporting beams separating the living area to a large empty walkway with the laundry and bathroom on the side.

“Where is he?” Ethan asks.

“He’s having his afternoon sleep but should be up soon. Would you like a drink? Tea? Coffee?” I ask.

“Sure, tea…” Ethan replies, walking towards the bookshelf near the television, where I have some photos on display.

I nod and walk over to the kitchen, where I turn on the jug. I turn and watch Ethan continue to look at the photos on display; I don’t have many, just one of me and Tyler, Melina and David and then me and my family. Smiling, I turn off my laminator, pull out the last sheet, and pile everything away so I can take it back upstairs before dinner.

“Sugar?” I ask, calling across the room.

“Two, please.”

“Milk?”

“Yes, please.”

I return to the living area and place the two cups of tea on the coffee table.

“Tell me about him,” Ethan asks when I walk over to him. Ethan’s looking at the photo of Tyler and me.

“I love him so much, Ethan,” I grin, looking at the photo. I remember the day that photo was taken. We were at the park with Melina and David, and David had taken a picture of us together with Tyler sitting on a swing. Tyler and I had our cheeks pressed together as we looked at the camera, huge smiles on our faces.

“You don’t regret him?”

“No. Never. He’s the best thing to happen to me. I wouldn’t change it for the world,” I say. Ethan touches my cheek, and I turn and look at him with a smile.

“What is his name?”

“Tyler. Tyler Ethan Carter. He was born on March eighth, two weeks early.”

“Tyler. He looks like a Tyler. It suits him. But Ethan?” Ethan asks.

“I had to give him something from you, and your name was all I had,” I reply, and I don’t regret that decision.

“What is he like? What does he like to do?”

“Tyler loves football. He does Little Kickers every Saturday, and he’s actually quite good. He also loves cartoons. His favourite is Thomas the Tank Engine. We once took him to the Thomas the Tank Engine train park, and he absolutely loved it. He’s a happy kid, very social. All the kids in daycare like him. He’s going to be a heartbreaker when he grows up,” I smile.

“I see you in him, but he looks more like me,” Ethan comments. I nod. He does look like Ethan.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’d need to have a DNA test taken to ensure he’s actually mine,” Ethan states. I shrug, I was expecting something like that, and I’m not offended. I know that Tyler is Ethan’s, and it doesn’t bother me that he wants scientific proof.

“At the end of the day, he’s my son. That’s what I care about,” I reply.

“Do you have any more photos?” Ethan asks. I nod, gesturing my phone on the coffee table. We both sit on the couch, and I unlock my phone, passing it to Ethan when I open my gallery from the date of Tyler’s birth.

I watch as Ethan flicks through the photos, laughing and smiling at some of the pictures as he goes.

“Is this…?” Ethan asks, showing me a picture of Mum standing next to Melina.

“Mum and Melina. They’re identical twins,” I acknowledge.

“Wow. I’ve never met an identical twin before, or should I say, I never knew Melina had an identical sister,” Ethan says.

“Yeah. I didn’t know Mum had an identical sister either until I got pregnant with Tyler,” I comment. Ethan looks at me.

“It’s a long story,” I say with a shrug. Ethan nods and continues to flick through my later photos.

“Isn’t this Xavier Jenkins?” Ethan asks, stopping at the picture I have of Xavier holding Tyler.

“Yeah. He’s my best friend’s big brother. He’s the reason I got into special education,” I smile.

“Do you know him?” I ask.

“Yeah, he was my old personal assistant,” Ethan comments.

“Really? You’re his big young boss?” I ask, surprised. Xavier often talked about his ‘big young boss,’ who looked after him at work.

“He called me his big young boss?” Ethan asked.

“Yeah, on the account that you were his boss but younger than him. Xavier admires you, you know?” Ethan smiles.

“I know. He would always talk to me about his sister with the baby, but I always get confused because I knew his sister Cassie didn’t have a baby.”

“Yeah, he can be quite confusing sometimes,” I sigh.

“Small world huh?” Ethan asks. I nod.

Ethan puts down my phone and leans back onto the couch.

“Thank you,” Ethan says.

“For what?”

“For raising our son. I can’t wait to meet him.”

“You will soon.”

Ethan puts his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his body. Again, I take a deep breath of his scent and snuggle into him. Ethan does things to me I don’t think I’ve ever felt before. Noah, I thought I loved, but realised afterwards that I didn’t. But Ethan? I think I could love him, like really love him. He does something to me when I’m with him; I practically melt. Is it wrong when I say that he makes my vagina throb? I get butterflies in my stomach and hope I don’t make an idiot of myself when I’m near him. And he makes me feel relaxed and calm when I am near him. Like there is no pressure to do things for him to like me. I don’t have to act a certain way or mind what I say. I feel safe. With Noah, especially near the end, I never felt good enough. I never felt like I measured up.

I feel Ethan kiss the top of my head, and I move so that I can look at him. Ethan smiles and then presses his lips against my own. I sigh into his mouth, and I feel him smile. We continue kissing, ignoring the beeping of my washing machine, telling me the load is finished.

I find myself on my back, Ethan hovering above me as our make-out session becomes more intense. I think I would have started taking his clothes off by now if it was nighttime. Ethan rubs his bulge into my leg, and I smile, happy knowing what I do to him.

“Mummy?”

The first thought that enters my head when I hear that sweet little voice is, ‘Oh shit.’ Ethan stops kissing me and gets off me, straightening his shirt.

“Over here, baby,” I call back, straightening myself to look at little presentable.

“Mummy nap?” Tyler asks, making me laugh. It wouldn’t be the first time Tyler has woken up with me asleep on the couch, but that’s usually in the middle of busy school terms.

“No, baby. Did you have a good sleep?” I ask, walking over to Tyler, who has kept his distance from Ethan and me, watching Ethan like a hawk.

“Yes. Who’s this?”

“Tyler, this is your…” I begin, looking up at Ethan to see what he’d like to be called.

“I’m your dad,” Ethan finishes for me.

- edited