Niall Horan—This Town
One Republic—Counting Stars
Owl City—Fireflies
The sound of children playing echoes around the expansive play park: laughter, cries of happiness and squealing. I smile and relish in the sounds as I look up at the bright blue sky that is dusted with clouds that look like big balls of fluff.
I watch them for a while, seeing them glide across and erupt into new shapes and figures. I lift my hand to shield my eyes as two clouds separate and the sun blinds me for a second before a cloud covers it slightly, giving me a brief reprieve.
Anyone else would only see the blue of the sky and the white of the clouds, but I see more than that. I see the different shades of blue, how it gets lighter the closer to a cloud it gets, slowly transitioning lighter and lighter until eventually it turns to white.
My mind starts to wander, remembering how I was taught to spot the shades and colors from something as simple as the sky. My eyes close slowly and my head leans back as I shuffle down the bench and stretch my legs out in front of me. Basking in the warmth and the sounds around me.
I can see her honey eyes now as if she’s right in front of me, watching the yellow swirls that run through them intently and change with each emotion that she feels.
I’ve never seen eyes like it before and the first time we met in college, even though she was one of the “poor scholarship” kids, I couldn’t deny the pull they had on me. The first time I saw her in the quad, everything slipped away and nothing else mattered. Then she covered me in paint—head to toe—when she tripped and dropped her box of art supplies. We stared at each other for what felt like hours but it was in fact only minutes. Her with a shocked, wide-eyed look and me with a smirk.
Her eyes were windows to her soul back then and I could always tell exactly what she was thinking from the color of her eyes. For weeks all we did was stare at each other and she would always break the stare first, a blush rising up her cheeks. Back then I had no idea what affect her eyes would have on me, it wasn’t until later that I realized how much they captivated me.
My favorite was when she would get mad: the green would brighten and look almost otherworldly. They’d darken as she calmed down, the yellow muting in color, just to pop to the surface again when she was happy or excited—which was a lot.
My heartbeat picks up when her eyes slowly turn into Natalia’s blue ones. They stare at me unblinking, sadness shining in the orbs with a blank expression on her pale face. Goose bumps scatter over my skin and my eyelids spring open as I start freaking out, feeling like she was right here with me.
The guilt consumes me at thinking of her. I’d never regret marrying Natalia because she gave me two beautiful children, but I do regret leaving her to do it. If I would have been more of a man back then and stood up to my dad and his threats, then maybe I would have a completely different life right now, but the thought of not having Clay and Izzie guts me to the core.
I keep telling myself that we all have a path that we have to walk down; people come in and out of your life for a reason, and maybe she came into my life to show me what real love feels like? Maybe I had my true love back in college and that will have to be enough to last me the rest of my life.
But if that’s true, then why would Natalia be taken from us so cruelly? There’s no sense in that happening; she left behind two kids who needed her.
My head whips around as I hear a scream of pain and I know instantly that it’s Izzie. I’m up off the bench and running toward her immediately, weaving around children who are playing and finally getting to her where she’s sitting by the swings, holding her arm.
“Pumpkin?” I kneel in front of her, holding my hands out, not knowing whether to touch her or not.
“I got hurt.” She sniffles, bringing her arm up to her face and wiping at the tears that stream down her cheeks.
“Where?” She points to her elbow, lifting it toward my face. “Oh, that looks sore.” I lift my gaze back to hers, wiping away more of her tears with my thumb before looking up as a shadow comes over us.
“She tried to swing too high, Dad,” Clay huffs. “I did tell her not to.”
“I wanted to go all the way over the bars!” Izzie shouts, her face screwing up as she looks down at the graze on her elbow. “Maddie at school said she did it.”
I lift my hand, coughing to cover up the laugh bubbling up my throat, and trying not to let my grin show. Some of the things Izzie comes out with are too funny.
“Let’s get you home and cleaned up,” I say softly once I’ve finally got myself under control, putting my hands under her arms and picking her up off the ground. “Let’s not do that again though, okay, pumpkin?”
She nods at me slowly.
“Great! Now we have to go, all because you wanted to go over the top bar,” Clay moans, scuffing his shoes as he follows behind us.
“Clay,” I groan. “Leave your sister alone.”
“Ugh!” He throws his hands up in the air, his head tilted back as he stares up at the sky.
Izzie rests her head on my shoulder and hiccups a sob, whispering, “Love you, Daddy.”
And that right there is everything. To hear those words come out of her mouth and feel her in my arms. Nothing compares to hearing your child say those three words to you. I want her to stay small forever, to always be my little girl, but that won’t happen and I’ll have to deal with her growing up at some point. But right now, I’ll relish in her being this age, because they grow up too fast; I’m afraid I’ll blink and they will be adults themselves.
“Love you too, pumpkin.” I place a kiss on the top of her head and pull the car keys out of my pocket, unlocking the doors.
I place a plate of eggs in front of Izzie and lean back against the counter, picking up my cup and taking a sip of the dark, bitter coffee.
She talks nonstop as she’s eating and I have to tell her several times to use her mouth for more eating and less talking. It works for two seconds before she’s turning to face me and opens her mouth again.
“Did you get the jars, Daddy?”
“I did,” I chuckle. “I told you that five minutes ago. Amelia washed them all out and put them by the front door.”
“Just checking.” She shrugs.
I chuckle at her and shake my head. Ever since she walked out of art class last week, all she’s been asking for is jars. Clay told her furiously that she only needed to take one in with her but she said she wanted to take extras “just in case.”
He tells her this again with a shake of his head to which Izzie sticks her tongue out at him, scooping up a forkful of eggs and trying to fit it all in her mouth. She fails, covering herself in eggs and giggles as she picks them up, eating them off her lap.
“Come on then,” I say after watching them for a few more minutes. I rinse my cup out and place it in the sink. “Time to get ready.”
They both jump down off their stools and barrel forward as Amelia walks through the kitchen door.
“More jars,” she says with a big smile on her face, holding three up in the air.
“Yay!” Izzie shouts, running toward Amelia and inspecting them. “They’re good, nice and clean.”
Amelia chuckles and shakes her head as I step forward, taking the jars out of her hands.
“Go on then,” I tell Izzie. “Go and get ready.”
She huffs out a breath and spins around, running out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
“Do you know what they’re for?” Amelia asks.
“Nope,” I reply, popping the p as I walk into the main entrance and add the jars to the box by the front door. “All I know is they need them for the art class.”
“Ahhh,” she says, a thoughtful look on her face as we listen to both Clay and Izzie run around upstairs as they rush to get ready. “They really love this art class.”
“They do. I never thought something so simple would have such an effect on them.”
“Yeah, me too.” She worries her lip and looks away before catching my gaze again. “Especially with Clay.”
“Yeah.” I nod in reply, my eyes wandering up to the stairs as my mind drifts off to somewhere else.
He’s coming out of his shell more, I don’t know what happens in that class but whatever it is, it’s a good thing; a really good thing.
“Who’s ready for art class?” I ask when they start running down the stairs.
“Me!” Izzie screams, running right past us and opening the door with Clay on her tail.
“Have a good time!” Amelia shouts out the door as I spin around and pick up the box, following them out to the car. “I’ll see you later,” she says to me.
“Later.” I smile, attempting to shut the door.
“I’ve got it,” she chuckles, taking a couple of steps forward and gripping the door handle.
“Thanks.”
I press the button on the fob, unlocking the car as I walk over. Placing the box of jars on the floor of the passenger side of the car, I check they’re both strapped in before sliding into the driver's side and starting the engine.
They both talk nonstop on the way to the studio, and their back-and-forth banter has me laughing the whole way. One thing is for sure, I never get bored around either of them.
They’re still bickering as we walk up the cobblestone path to the art studio, Izzie barging through the doors first, followed by Clay.
I balance the box under one arm as I hang their coats up on the rack and watch Izzie skip into the main area.
“Dad?” Clay asks, his voice unsure. I turn to face him, seeing his gaze fixated on something across the room before he turns his face toward the floor.
I narrow my eyes and turn to see what he was staring at and watch as a little boy gives his mother a hug and she kisses him on the cheek. Both with big smiles on their faces.
A lump forms in my throat as I crouch down, placing the box on the floor next to me and ask, “Yes?” trying to gain his attention.
“Will I ever have a mom again?” His voice is so sad as he brings his gaze back up to mine. I almost can’t look at the heartbreak shining through his gray eyes. My stomach bottoms out but I pull my shoulders back, determined to give him an answer.
“I… erm…” My words get caught in my throat, I don’t know what to say—what to do. My eyes flit about the room while my mouth opens and closes, trying to form words but none of them seem like a good enough answer. “Why don’t you go and set up and we can talk about it later?” I say instead, picking out one of the glass jars and handing it to him.
He stares at me for several seconds before he whispers, “Okay,” his voice a mere croak as he takes it from me and clutches it to his chest, hanging his head and walking over to the tables.
I stare after him, astounded by his question and the randomness of it as guilt consumes me for not being able to answer him.
Shaking my head, I try to distract myself by lifting the box up off the floor and walking over to where Izzie sits. “There you go, pumpkin. Five jars, just for you.”
“Thanks, Daddy!” She grins. I turn around, my skin prickling and my senses screaming at me as I catch sight of a woman walking toward the back of the room. “You have to go now.” I startle at Izzie’s voice and look back down at her, seeing the stern look across her features.
“I’m going, I’m going.” I chuckle, lifting my hands in the air in surrender and backing away. She throws her hands on her hips and shakes her head at me.
“Bye, pumpkin,” I say before turning around.
I catch sight of Clay, sitting on his own and clutching the jar to his chest, staring into it like it holds all of the answers he’s looking for.
I failed; I should have had an answer for him, I should have been able to explain it. But when it comes to talking about that kind of thing with him, I can never find the right words to say.
“Wow, that’s a lot of jars,” I quip, looking down at Izzie.
She nods enthusiastically. “My daddy got them for me.”
I smile at her; she’s always talking about her dad and I can tell that she’s a typical “daddy’s girl.”
I do a double take as I stand up, spotting a tall, well-dressed man with sandy-blond hair walking out of the doors. My chest tenses at the familiarity that swarms through me like bees in a hive, making me feel off balance, but I right myself because I’m definitely seeing things. There’s no way.
I turn as I shake the familiar feeling off and clap my hands in my usual gesture to get all of the kids’ attention. “Can you all bring your jars and put them in front of you at a place on the tables?”
They all find their way to a seat noisily while Mom and I put out the paint and paintbrushes in front of them.
“We’re going to make firefly jars!” I exclaim excitedly.
They all look between themselves and then back at me with confused looks on their faces.
“Can anybody tell me what fireflies are famous for?” Mom asks them.
Rachel throws up her hand and gets out of her seat, flapping her arms at her side. “They buzz around like this and have glowing butts.”
Everyone giggles, including me. “Alright, alright. Rachel is right, they do glow.” I pause for a beat before pointing at the supplies I’ve laid out on the tables. “What you have in front of you is glow in the dark paint. You can dot it around the inside of the jar or make patterns, that’s totally up to you, but it dries quickly so make sure you know where you want to put it before you do.” My gaze settles on Clayton before I say my next sentence. “When they’re dry, you can take them home and put them in your bedrooms so it’ll look like little fireflies are in there.”
He doesn’t lift his head but there’s no hiding his small smile that makes me want to do a happy dance where I’m standing. The slight show of emotion may not feel like anything to anybody else, but to me, it’s everything.
They all get started on the project and I watch everyone as they draw patterns on their jars with the glow in the dark paint. Once they’ve finished, Mom and I place them on the window ledge to dry so they can take them home before I call them all over to the beanbags.
I flop down into one and tuck my legs underneath me. “Did everyone enjoy today’s session?” They all nod and smile. “Great! I did too, it was awesome to see you all working together. Speaking of working together, we need to decide on the joint gallery piece. I know you all have your own pieces to show the guests you’re bringing, but I wanted to do one main piece.”
There’s a show of hands and I point to Ben, one of the older students.
“We should draw space aliens invading Earth!” he cries out.
Heads swivel in his direction before whipping to the other side as Jessica, another one of the older students, counters, “No, we should do a magic land.”
“I’m not drawing unicorns or pink fluffy things!” Ben scoffs back.
“I like unicorns,” Izzie interjects.
And that’s the start of all the arguing. I stand up and watch them for a few seconds before lifting my fingers to my mouth and whistling to get their attention. “You can all get your points across, there’s no need to argue.”
“I don’t want to draw unicorns,” Ben says, crossing his arms over his chest in a huff.
“And I don’t want to draw stupid slimy aliens,” Jessica says, sticking her tongue out at him.
As I’m about to try and calm the situation, someone clears their throat and I raise my brow as I look over at who it was.
“We… We could paint the people that are coming,” Clayton says nervously.
I tilt my head to the side. “That’s an incredible idea, Clayton,” I praise him, making him blush. I see Mom beaming out of the corner of my eye. “Is everyone okay with that?”
There’s a few murmurs of “yes” and “yeah,” most agreeing—apart from Ben who sulks as he slumps down in his beanbag.
“Okay, you don’t have to draw everyone that’s coming, let’s limit it to two people. If you’re brother and sister, that means you have four people to paint,” I say with enthusiasm.
Everyone starts talking between them again and I let them get all of their excitement about who they’re drawing out of the way.
Clayton taps his bean bag and Izzie scoots over, leaning into his side. I frown at the serious looks on their faces. Deciding to get a little bit closer so I can hear their murmurs.
“You can draw Dad, Izzie, I don’t mind,” Clayton says quietly.
“And Edward?” Izzie asks.
Clayton smiles slightly. “Yeah.”
Izzie starts to perk up, but then the smile drops from her face. “But… who will you draw?”
Clayton’s face screws up. “I… Maybe I can paint Nana and Amelia?”
“Or Mommy—”
“Miss J said family that’s coming,” he snaps and pulls away from her.
“But...”
He sighs, his eyes misting over as he swallows and pulls Izzie into him again with an arm around her shoulders. “Sorry, Izzie, I didn’t mean to be horrible. Amelia is family, I’ll draw her,” he reassures her for some reason.
Izzie looks up at the ceiling then taps Clayton’s leg excitedly, forgetting about her moment of sadness. “You can draw her making our favorite cookies!”
I smile at her excitement; I can tell that there’s a story behind the conversation that I was privy to, but it’s not any of my business.
“Try and keep this to yourself so it can be a surprise on the night,” I say to everyone. “It can be our little secret to reveal in two weeks on gallery night.”
I wait patiently on the cobblestone path with the other parents for the children to be let out of their art class. I can see Izzie from here through the black-framed windows, and when she notices me, she jumps up and down, waving frantically with a silly smile on her face.
I lift my hand and wave back, eliciting an even bigger smile as she sits back down and turns to face whoever is talking. I crane my head to the side, trying to see who it is but with all of the parents blocking the way, I can’t see a damn thing.
The elusive Miss J is becoming more and more a mystery, and I’m itching to see who the woman is that has both of my kids under her spell.
I turn away from the window, catching the eyes of several parents, though not one of them speak to me. I let it go, not minding that I keep myself to myself as I pull my cell out, making myself look busy, when in fact, I have nothing to reply to. Which is unusual because there’s always something I could be checking or responding to.
The sound of children’s squeals come through the door as they open and I spot Matilda handing them off to their parents. Izzie comes flying through the door and Matilda stops her with a hand to her shoulder, crouching down and whispering something to her. Izzie nods and steps back, looking around for something and then heading back inside before coming back with Clay by her side, both of them dragging the box of jars behind them.
I step forward, crouching down and picking the box up off the floor before standing back up.
“Wow! What are these?” I ask, looking down at them both.
Clay shrugs and Izzie jumps up and down on the spot. “They’re jars, silly Daddy!” She giggles and turns toward Matilda, shaking her head as if to say, “how does he not know this?”
“Oh.” I look down and pull one out, marveling at the painted patterns on them. “This is really good.”
“That one’s mine!” Izzie shouts, her face full of pride. “I made them for Clay, they’re firefly jars so he can use them for nightlights.”
I move my gaze to Clay and watch as his face heats, the red creeping up his cheeks. He finds it difficult talking about the fact that he can’t sleep without a light on and no doubt is embarrassed by it. I can’t remember the last time he didn’t wake up in the middle of the night because of a nightmare, he never tells me what he dreamed about, no matter how much I push him to tell me. Several times I’ve woken up to him having slipped into bed with me, one of his nightlights clutched to his chest.
I wink at him, trying to ease his embarrassment slightly then turn toward Izzie. “Did you make me one?”
“You don’t need one, Daddy.”
“What? Of course I do!” My hand flies to my chest in mock outrage and her eyes widen as she looks from the jars then back up to me and Clay.
“Erm…”
“You can have one of mine, Dad,” Clay tells me.
“Woo!” I throw my fist in the air, my lips spreading into a wide grin.
He chuckles and the red starts to fade as I peek into the box, mumbling about choosing just the right one to go in my bedroom.
I hear Matilda’s chuckle and I turn to face her, smiling and saying, “Thanks,” as I tilt my head at Clay and Izzie, signaling that it’s time to go. “Did you have a good time?”
“Yeah! Guess what? We’re draw—”
“Don’t tell him, Izzie! Miss J said it’s a secret!” Clay shouts, pulling the car door open and jumping into the back seat with a stern look on his face.
“Oh.” Her face falls and I run my hand over her hair.
“Clay,” I warn him before turning my gaze back to Izzie. “It’s okay, pumpkin, I’m sure whatever you’re going to be doing will be amazing.”
“You’ll see at the galy night,” she says, perking up as she climbs into the back next to Clay.
“Gallery night, Izzie,” Clay huffs. “Say it right.”
“She’s still learning, Clay. Don’t hound her for getting it wrong.”
He huffs long and slow, shaking his head and opening his book up, immersing himself in the pages and going off into his own little world.