He is sad, he says. Sad because we cannot marry. Not ever.
And I nod. Because it’s true.
Still his backyard confession pours out, “but I love you so much, mommy.”
And my smile works its way from the depths.
“It’s just…” he says.”It’s just I don’t think I could ever marry anyone else.”
I grin from my lawn chair. He spins his sister’s broken umbrella with one hand, then tosses it. Words fall from my lips, but he isn’t listening. “Because if I can’t marry you,” he breaks in, “I just want to be a little boy forever.”
His face is asking my permission. And my heart is answering what he doesn’t know. Cannot know. Could not conceive.
That he’ll always be my little boy.