by Marie, Carly
I took his free hand and started toward the door. With his thumb firmly in his mouth, I hadn't expected to hear him mutter "Stuffies" as we headed out of the room.
"How could I forget?" I asked with a wink. The truth was I almost had, but he didn't need to know that. "Let's go to your room and get them." It had always been his office, but looking at my boy—sorry, dragon—and thinking about it as a place he did work felt all wrong. I hadn’t thought Grayson would want to be reminded of the adult world at the moment, so I'd gone with room.
It might have been subconscious, but Grayson squeezed my hand just a little tighter, and I chose to take that as a silent acknowledgment that I'd said the right thing. I guided him toward the office down the hall and found his pile of stuffed animals in the corner, just like always. Of course, it was substantially smaller with half of them downstairs already.
The last few months, I'd found him working with a dragon on his lap more often than not. I hadn't thought anything of it, but now I saw it differently. He'd been figuring out this side of himself, probably working up the courage to talk to me about it, for a long time. Personally, I was happy he'd finally figured out a way. Even if that way had been throwing us both in the deep end and nearly giving me a heart attack in the process.
Gray tugged gently at my hand, quietly pulling me closer to the pile. "Which do you want to take?" I thought the question was straightforward enough, but Gray stood and examined the pile for nearly a minute without moving. When his big brown eyes met mine, I could see he was confused.
"Let's both grab a handful?"
It must have been the right answer because he finally let go of my hand to grab some of the stuffed animals. I watched as he bent down and started to pluck different animals out of the pile at random. I'd thought he was done when his arms were full, but he turned and thrust them into my arms and went back to the pile for more. Most of the remaining pile ended up in his arms before he finally nodded that he was done. Part of me worried about his going down the steps with so many stuffed animals in his arms, but Gray didn't bother to pause at the top of the steps and hurried down and toward the living room.
When I made it all the way down the steps, Gray was already arranging the stuffed animals around him. His thumb had found his mouth again, and I went over to deposit the armload of dragons I'd brought down with me. There was a chance I'd gone overboard throughout the years. Gray seemed to have more dragon stuffed animals than Mia and Jayden had stuffed animals… combined. The way his legs bounced excitedly as he set them all just so had my brain thinking about where I could buy more.
"Juice?" I asked when my arms were finally free.
He nodded without looking up at me. Gray quiet was not something I was used to, but he seemed to be lost in his own world, so I left him alone and went to make him a small snack.
Me: Gray's hardly said two words in the last thirty minutes. I don't know what to make of it.
I set the phone down on the counter and headed toward the drying mat where I had placed the bottle, sippy cup, and place setting I'd purchased. The little green-and-purple cup with dragons printed across it got my attention first, so I picked it up and headed to the fridge to find juice for my thirsty dragon.
My phone buzzed just as I capped the cup. I glanced at the large window over the sink and was surprised to see the snow had stuck much faster than I'd expected and the ground was already covered with a few inches. It wasn't even four in the afternoon and I knew the roads would already be a disaster. Living on a county road outside of the city, it would be a while before it was passable.
I said a little thank you to whatever deity might have been listening.
Trent: Is he still wearing his hood?
Me: Yeah….
What the hell did the hood have to do with him not talking?
I went to the pantry and dug out some graham crackers and peanut butter to make little sandwiches. Gray would be getting hungry soon, and I hadn't even thought about making dinner yet… Well, I knew what I was going to make, but I hadn't started it. This would at least keep him full for a little while.
My phone buzzed again as I was screwing the lid back onto the peanut butter jar. I put everything away, then checked the message.
Trent: Then not surprising. If he's more dragon than boy, he's probably not going to say much, if anything. When Logan's really immersed, he goes hours without saying a thing. I know when he starts shifting back to himself when he starts talking.
Hours without talking? Wouldn't that kill Gray? I swore the man talked just to hear himself.
Trent: Then again, I don't have much experience with age play and puppy play combined. Maybe Grayson is different and will talk more than Logan does.
As I was mulling over what Trent had told me, my phone buzzed again.
Travis: Cal is quiet when he's little. Very quiet. I know, I know, he always seems quiet, but I swear, he talks a lot when it's just the two of us, or if Dexter's around.
I smiled.
Me: So quiet isn't a bad thing. Good to know.
Travis: Yeah, I wouldn't worry about it. You'll pick up on his cues quickly, and he'll figure out how to let you know what he wants. Human words or not.
Trent: Yes-No questions are going to be your best friend. And don't give a lot of choices. I figured that out the hard way. Ask a hyper pup what he wants for dinner. Ha! Now it's, "Curious, we can have spaghetti or meatloaf for dinner. Do you want spaghetti?" If he shakes his head, then I go with meatloaf. You get the point. But then again, with Aiden around, he usually speaks for them both.
I couldn't imagine living in their house. A pup and a little would be a handful. A little dragon was enough for me.
Me: Thanks.
I pocketed my phone and headed toward the living room with the cup and the plate of cracker sandwiches.
"Here ya go, baby," I said as I placed the items in front of him.
Gray's head popped up from where he'd been playing and he let out a little roar sound that I think surprised him as much as it surprised me. I found myself grinning at the noise—it sounded like pure joy. Knowing that I'd helped bring that to Gray had me fighting the urge to give a roar of my own.
Instead, I patted the top of his head and watched with contentment as he picked up the first sandwich. He was truly happy; everything from the set of his shoulders to the smile lines by his eyes told me as much.
He didn't seem to know if he was hungry or wanted to play, though I didn't mind. It was nice to sit and watch him in whatever it was he was doing. Then I remembered the cartoons when I'd come home, and grabbed the remote. "Want to watch a cartoon?"
Gray nodded again, excited enough that the stuff on his head flopped back and forth. I thought I remembered Gray calling them frills, and I suspected the slightly floppier things were ears, but I couldn't swear to it. I still had a lot to learn. In the meantime, I'd enjoy how cute he looked in his hood.
I pushed the mushy feelings down in order to turn the TV on. Thankfully, it was still on the show they'd been watching when we'd walked in, and Gray's attention got pulled toward the TV quickly.
I took the time to take my husband in. Stuffed dragons were piled around him, no less than three blankets wrapped around his shoulders, and his fingers wrapped tightly around his cup. Any signs of worry or uncertainty about the weekend had left his body and all that was left was a happy, bouncy dragon.
The cartoon was mind-numbing, but Gray didn't seem to mind. He giggled as he ate his snack, and I took the distraction to slip away to start dinner. I'd already planned on making homemade macaroni and cheese with chicken and peas. My first instinct was to mix the peas into the macaroni like we always did to "hide" them from the kids. I was pretty sure that Gray preferred them hidden as well, but that defeated the purpose of nothing touching on the divided plate I'd bought him.
Gray came shuffling into the kitchen with his sippy cup in one hand, the dragon blanket in his other, and a dragon stuffed animal tucked under his arm. His
head twisted from side to side as he studied what I was doing. "Dinner?" he asked, his voice quiet but curious.
Part of me was surprised he'd even asked. Was he not feeling as little as he had earlier? That didn't fit with what he had in his arms, but he'd spoken, and my dragon didn't seem to say much. "Yeah, baby. Dinner. Are you hungry?"
His head went up and down again. "Can I help?"
The question was something my husband would ask, but his voice was soft and it didn't sound like it was something he thought he was expected to do. There had been a hopeful quality to his voice that wasn't normally there when he was asking if he could help me make dinner.
The macaroni and cheese was already in the oven, so I didn't know what he could help with, but I could see he wanted to. "I'm sure I can figure out something." I thought a few seconds before remembering the peas. "Can you find the peas in the freezer for me and pour them into a bowl so I can warm them up?"
Gray's eyes lit up and he hurried toward the kitchen, dragging everything with him.
"Easy there, baby. You're like my own little storm, blowing in here at full force, just like the snow outside."
Gray's head shot toward the window, and I saw the surprise in his eyes. "Daddy, snow!"
Warmth spread through my chest at the ease with which he'd called me Daddy. Each time he'd said it that afternoon, it had come out with less of a hesitation, but that time it had slipped out easily—no hesitation, no pause, no second-guessing.
"Yeah, it's snowing… still."
I started to tell him to set his stuff down, but Gray turned around suddenly. "You called me your little storm, like a name."
I thought back to a moment before, then nodded. "Yeah, I did. It fits you." I smiled at the thought—he really was a little storm.
The skin around Gray's eyes pinked slightly. "I like it."
I kissed the top of his head, the neoprene feeling foreign under my lips, much like the way I'd think a real dragon would feel to kiss. "I like it too. So does that mean you're my Storm?"
Gray thought about it for a moment then nodded. "Yeah, I think so."
Was it okay to ask questions at this point? Or should I put them all in a little file in my brain to ask when Gray was big again? I seemed to have so many questions without answers. I would need to text Travis and Trent again. They'd know.
"Are you Storm just when you're my dragon or when you're just little? Are you ever just little and not a dragon?"
Shit, I hadn't meant to ask, but my brain wasn't stopping.
Gray looked thoughtful, and I heard him hum. "I think there are times that I feel more little than dragon. And there are times I feel more dragon than little."
I knew enough to know that I was going to pull him out of whatever headspace he'd found if I kept asking questions that made him think about feelings. "We can talk about that later. Do you want to keep your dragon hood on or take it off?"
"Off, please." He didn't make a move to take it off himself, so I worked it off his head and set it carefully on the table. The smile that spread across my face when I saw Gray's was unintentional, but I felt my eyes crinkle at the corners.
He was beautiful with his hair rumpled from the hood and his cheeks pink from the warmth of it pressing against his skin. "There's my beautiful boy." I nearly cooed the words and got the added bonus of a bashful smile. "Put your stuff down before you help make dinner. You don't want your blankie or dragon to get food on them."
Gray's eyebrows pulled together at the thought of putting his stuff down, but he set them on the barstool and headed over to me.
"Whoa, baby. Wash your hands." God only knew where they'd been at that point. His one thumb had been in his mouth half the afternoon—there was no way his hands were anywhere near clean. "No dirty hands in the kitchen."
This was the point when I'd expect my husband to make a comment about my being a paranoid doctor. Instead, he headed over to the sink to wash his hands. He reached for the handle, then paused and looked back at me. It took longer than it should have for my brain to kick in and realize he was waiting for me to help him.
I'd helped him wash his hands at DASH—he expected that Daddy did those things. "Let me help," I said, coming up behind him and taking his hands in mine. I took my time lathering his hands with soap and rinsing them under the warm water, enjoying Gray's giggles as he let the water run between his fingers.
I couldn't count the number of times I'd been in this same position with our kids, but until that moment, it had always been a chore. This was simply fun and relaxing. I couldn't explain why or what was different, just that I knew it was. Maybe this is what Daddies felt like, or maybe it was because Gray had relaxed into me and was seemingly having the time of his life, just getting his hands washed and nothing else.
The process made me excited to give him a bath before bedtime. It had been in my plans all along, but now that I'd seen just how much he loved my washing his hands, I knew he'd enjoy bath time.
When I finally turned the water off, I was pretty sure Gray was wearing almost as much water as had run over his hands, but he was still laughing. I grabbed the hand towel to pat the sleeves and front of his sleeper dry, then wrapped his hands in the towel and dried them off. Gray had relaxed into my hold, not eager to leave without a little prodding. "Okay, baby. Go get the peas. I'll get a bowl down for you."
I pushed gently on his back, and finally Gray moved away. I had to force myself to go to the cabinet to get the bowl for him, and the erection in my jeans made the movement uncomfortable.
"Peas," he announced a moment later, the bag of frozen peas dangling from his hand.
"Good job. Can you open the bag?"
I watched as Gray nodded and reached for the scissors. He was taking his job seriously, and his tongue poked out between his lips as he carefully cut the top off the bag. I was starting to learn that everything was different when Gray was little. It would have been impossible to guess the number of bags of frozen vegetables I'd watched Gray open over the years. He was normally talking on the phone, helping a kid with homework, or doing any of a hundred different things while opening the bag. Tonight, it was given his full attention.
"Did it!" he said, happily holding up the piece he'd cut off.
"Perfect. Now, dump them into the bowl for me."
Every step was carefully executed with me guiding him through the entire process but then nearly forgetting about the chicken I had cooking on the stove. I remembered to flip it just before it burned, and my attention was immediately drawn back to Grayson pulling the bowl from the microwave with pot holders.
The bowl was placed in front of me, and I looked over to see a beaming Grayson. "I did it, Daddy."
I kissed the tip of his nose. "Yes, you did. And you followed directions very well. I think there may be a dessert for you if you eat your dinner well."
Gray squealed happily and danced over to his blanket and stuffed animal. He was back in a few seconds, holding his cup out to me. "It's empty."
I should have known that getting dinner ready with Gray little would be almost as slow as with the kids home, but I wasn't annoyed or frustrated with it. I didn't feel rushed or harried. I liked knowing he was nearby, and I liked hearing him ask questions and interrupt me. It was all so different from our normal dynamic, yet I felt like something had slotted into place.
I filled his cup, pulled the chicken off the stove, and began cutting the pieces up for him. Gray watched my movements, excited to get his cup back with milk in it, and just as happy to watch me pour ketchup in the well beside his chicken. How the man dipped all chicken in ketchup was beyond me, but he always did. Well, he had until about four years earlier when he'd become self-conscious after a colleague of mine had laughed and told him that adults shouldn't do that.
I'd gotten frustrated with the older doctor and had told him immediately that it wasn't his chicken, so Gray could do whatever he wanted to it. "Well, choke on your own chicken," I'd testily said to the man when he scoffe
d at my words. "Sometimes, you need something to make it easier to swallow." The man had nearly choked on his chicken at that point.
In the end, my defense of Gray hadn't mattered because he'd taken the old man's words to heart, and he'd stopped putting it on anything but breaded chicken. Now, I saw the guy who liked to dip his chicken in ketchup and lick canned icing off his fingers as the little side of my husband that never fully went away. The boy who sometimes wanted an escape from the adult world. The same boy who still thought ketchup was a food group.
"Careful, it's hot," I said to him as I slid a plate of steaming macaroni and cheese, chicken, and peas toward him.
He nodded and picked up the little fork beside his plate. He took all of a second to study it before giving a slight shrug and stabbing a piece of chicken with the tiny fork. He blew on it a few times before dunking it into the ketchup. A look of pure bliss crossed his face as he put the chicken in his mouth, and I was angry at the old doctor all over again.
I focused my attention on my boy and my dinner, reminding myself that wishing the old man had choked on the chicken that night was not very doctor-like of me. Then again, it was probably something a Daddy would wish, and I found myself smiling at the thought. I really had always been protective of him, just like a Daddy would be.
"Is it good?" I asked, trying not to wince as I watched Gray dip a spoonful of peas into the ketchup.
Gray's head bobbed up and down as he shoved another bite of ketchup-ed peas in his mouth. I tried to smile, pushing a bite of macaroni into my own mouth, knowing full well I wouldn't be able to hide my wince otherwise. If that wasn't the grossest thing I'd ever seen, I wasn't sure what was… and I was a doctor.
By the time we'd finished dinner, Gray's mouth was covered in ketchup and he was wiggling in his seat. If I had to guess, he needed to go to the bathroom, but he needed to be cleaned up first. "Let me wash your hands and face, then you can go potty before we get you in the tub."