I lean back on my palms and proudly admire my handiwork.
Of all the things I saw myself doing in the future, building a wooden rocking pig was not one of them.
Turning my head slightly over my shoulder, I call out, “What do you two think?”
Hudson lifts one finger while continuing to type on his lap top with the other hand.
“Redecorated the entire office for you to work in yet you rarely do.”
“Too far from you,” he flirts.
The task of repainting the office and the furniture in it was obviously one they conspired to give me in hopes I’d feel more useful. It was so transparent it was borderline insulting, but the want for me to have something to work on, something I would be comfortable contributing with in a conversation, spoke volumes. Like cooking, the projects, changing up the office environment became something we did together, not only because they had to move most of the furniture but because we had so much fun any time we worked as a whole. Arguing over décor. Fighting over who should be paying. Dripping paint on one another until the only option was to stop and share a long, hot shower. Yeah…fixing up the office was a fun adventure for a few months.
Gwen settles herself at my side. “This is amazing, Jason! Did you really do all this by yourself?”
“Hudson had to take me to the hardware store and help me with a couple of things, but all the craftsman shit is completely me.”
Our little office project inspired me to create a work space in what was the empty portion of our three-car garage. I’ve got tools, a work bench, and other supplies spread out in the area all at convenient chair level. I know I won’t always be in it, but I also understand it’s most likely going to be awhile before I won’t. Even with the constantly increasing sensations in my legs, learning to walk again will be a completely new mountain to climb.
“How did I not know you were this good with your hands?” my wife coos, fingertip brushing the darker painted tips of the pig’s ear.
“Good question, Gwenny,” Hudson chimes in, plopping down on the other side of me. “Did you forget already how hard he makes you come using just his fingers?”
That should be an impossible thing to forget considering most mornings she wakes up with them wedged between her thighs.
“I meant outside of the bedroom you, asshole.” He chuckles at the same time she adds, “I don’t remember you ever building shit like this before now.”
I shrug. “I didn’t.”
“Why not?” Hudson quickly asks.
His question furrows my brow as I’m forced to actually think about the answer. Another shrug escapes. “I don’t know. I guess…it was just one of those things I didn’t have time for. Growing up, you know, my mom taught me how to garden, and my dad taught me how to do shit like this. They both felt obligated to instill in me to do things that required I use my hands. That a real man knew how and wasn’t afraid to.”
“Which is how you ended up in construction,” my boyfriend points out.
“Easy fit. But doing that shit didn’t exactly leave me feeling inspired to wanna come home and do more.”
“I like that you do this now,” Gwen states warmly. “I think even once you’re back on your feet, you should keep at it.”
My attention shifts to her. “Really?”
“Absolutely. People love ordering shit like this for their kids. Plus, you get to work from home. Make your own hours. Your own prices. You get to be your own boss, which I know is something you always hoped you’d get to do one day.”
I hum my consideration over the idea.
Maybe it’s not a bad idea. I do like all of those things. Plus, it would be nice to be able to have something to focus on when both of them are working late nights at their jobs.
Gwen quietly questions, “Think you’ll make one of these for our kid some day?”
My heart slams unexpectedly hard against my chest.
That is not a conversation we’ve had since…well since my dick took a vacation, a vacation might I add it’s now trying to return home from. While I’m still not sporting full functioning wood, I’m in the fucking vicinity. Having their hands graze and squeeze on my cock for the few seconds it shows itself have been heavenly. Like my legs, I now expect it to fully work again someday.
“Our kid isn’t having a fucking wooden rocking pig,” Hudson declares. “It can have something normal like a wooden rocking horse or sports car or some shit.”
I’m not given the opportunity to retort.
Gwen’s face leans forward to peer around my body. “You want kids?”
“I want them with you,” he replies and lets his eyes wander to me. “And you. Not this very second, but down the line? Yeah.”
She begins to beam. “You still want kids, babe?”
My face tries not to glower from conflicting thoughts.
Did I used to see myself chasing my kids in our backyard, teaching my son to throw a football, and suffering through ballet lessons with my daughter? Without a doubt. But what kind of a fucking father would I be now? How can I play catch when I can barely move quick enough to retrieve the ball? How can I pick her up from practice when I can’t even drive? And then there’s the idea, the very fucked up idea, that I don’t have any right to call them mine when it’s not my sperm who made them. I know deep down inside it takes more than just knocking a woman up to make you a father, but part of me wonders if I would resent Hudson because it was him who got Gwen pregnant and not me. If the possibility for us both to knock her up existed, that would be one thing. That could be an idea, a reality I could learn to adjust to. I could learn to adapt around that. Knowing it’s their child and I’m only around as a spectator? Not sure I could live with that.
“We can adopt, Blondie,” Hudson announces as if he can hear the war waging inside my head. He bends his legs and lets his arms drape over them. “They don’t have to come from us to be ours.”
“I was adopted,” Gwen sweetly reminds us. “And I turned out to be kind of a badass.”
“With a bad ass.” Our boyfriend wiggles his eyebrows.
We lightly laugh, and afterward, I say, “I wouldn’t mind our family expanding someday….But, I’d like to hold out until….Well until there’s been a little more progress with me.”
They nod their understanding.
All of a sudden sharp pains race through my left leg causing me to cringe.
The idea of getting the feeling back in my body is one thing. The actuality of it is an entire other. It’s much more fucking painful than I pictured. Ever since the spark we experienced at physical therapy two months ago was ignited, we’ve done everything we can to flame it. I can now wiggle my toes, though holding anything between them is still a challenge. I can feel most sensory applications on my feet, but my legs themselves are infrequent in response. My legs now spasm, twitch, and occasionally allow me to move them at random intervals. Gretchen is excited and impressed just like we are. As much as I hate the random pain, especially the days it brings tears to my eyes, I appreciate what it implies.
Two hands land on my shoulder blades and stroke simultaneously. Their solidarity in support of me swells my heart.
Luckiest. Man. Alive. Even without fully functioning legs or a dependable dick.
I let out a deep exhale in an attempt to push past the pain. “So, you two think I did a good job then?”
“Oh yeah,” Hudson swiftly says.
“Whoever this Clint Shaw kid is, I’m sure he’ll love it,” Gwen agrees.
“But why the fuck a pig?” Our boyfriend grumps. “Seriously.”
“I don’t know.” More chuckles are exchanged. “I just did the job I was asked.”
“This was...the neighbor at the end of the block, right?” Gwen’s free hand gestures. “Blake?”
“Yeah. He was jogging by one morning a few weeks back, saw me in the garage messing around, and stopped to chat. One thing led to another, and he was asking if I could make this gift for his nephew.”
“He’s a nice guy,” Gwen hums. “He used to offer to help me bring groceries in when I was struggling.”
Hudson’s grumble is audible. “Should I be fucking worried this guy is trying to steal you both away from me?”
Gwen and I laugh over the idea, yet it doesn’t ease the concern.
I playfully bump into him. “Relax. Blake’s married.”
He gives me a pointed look. “So were the two of you.”
Nodding at his fair point, I offer, “Happily. He’s a happily married man.”
“How do you know that?” Hudson inquires. “Some people are really good at pretending. Keeping up appearances.”
“Because you can see it in his eyes. Hear it in his voice when he talks about her.”
“Which he does almost anytime you talk to him,” Gwen interjects.
“Just like you can see it in our eyes and hear it in our voices any time we talk about you.”
“Which again, we do almost anytime you talk to us,” my wife slyly adds.
Hudson smirks and tucks his jealousy away. “Want me to help you take it to him?”
“Depends. Are you offering to help because you wanna actually help or offering to help so you can threat assess?”
His laughter returns. “Little bit of A….Little bit of B.”
“We can all go together,” Gwen suggests at the same time her head rests on my shoulder.
“Together,” I echo seconds before his does too.
Together. The way our lives should always be.