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Chapter 189

Hey, that's my man 

— Taylor Swift, Willow

. . . .

"Mummy!" Max yells for me while he sits in his high chair in the kitchen playing with Play-Doh and squeezing the yellow mixture in his hands. He's grown so much. His eyelashes are long like his father's. Dimples pinching his cheeks like his dad, too. He has my eyes though. A current of rust mixing with the slightest hint of a beautiful shade of green. Despite them being like mine, it's almost as if he has a bit of both me and his father in his eyes. He's the sweetest, most gentle little boy in the world and I could cry from how much love I have for our baby.

"Hi, Baby!" I cheer and ditch my things on the recliner in the living room and join Max and his father in the kitchen. "Are you playing?"

"Yes," he says and holds a clump of yellow dough up to me and trying to shove it in my face.

"Keep playing so I can talk to Daddy."

"No," Max whines and reaches for me.

"I'll play with you in a minute, buddy."

Harry sets down Max's sippy cup on the tray and swipes over our two-year-old's soft, willowy hair. Meanwhile, I tug on Harry's hand and pull him close to my chest.

"How was your day?" I ask him.

"I had a really nice day with Max," he responds, holding me to him and swaying us back and forth. "We read, we took a short walk with George, we played with some of his toys, we both had well-needed naps—it was a pretty good day."

"Good," I say to him. "I love seeing you two together."

"He's half me. What's not there to love?" He jests and pulls me even closer to him when I roll my eyes and refrain my laughter from stroking his ego.

"Well, he's also half me, so I think that's why you love being around him so much."

"I don't know about that," he says, making it seem like he's unsure but smiling nonetheless.

"Daddy!" Max waves his Play-Doh around. He's kicking his legs furiously, the clattering of his limbs banging against the plastic drawing our attention.

"He does not want us paying attention to anyone but him," I point out and give Harry a quick kiss before kneeling down to pet George.

"No, he doesn't."

"Just like his daddy."

"No, that's not true. Right, Max?" Harry pulls out his chair at the kitchen table and pushes his thumb in the mound of dough on the tray.

I move through the kitchen to change out of my work clothes but I don't make it very far. Max notices me leaving and starts whining for me. Harry's trying to calm him down, but Max isn't having it. Harry gives in and scoops him out of the high chair to carry him back to our bedroom with us. They play on the bed together, Harry singing a song to Max that voices the sounds of animals. We both get a kick out of it when Max repeats them as best as he can with his level of speech capabilities. I change from my clothes then lie down behind Harry on his side of the bed, cuddling him close and enjoying the two of them interacting. Max moos like a cow, looking down at the black and white animal standing in the pasture, and completely unphased with how amused we are by this beautiful child.

They get through the rest of the book together and then Max stands up uneasily. He tumbles down over his father's body and considering I'm cuddled up behind Harry, Max climbs over me too. He climbs all over us—planting a fist into Harry's rib cage, kneeing my thigh, and accidentally pinching us in his grasp. He giggles while he does it until he's attempted to sandwich between the both of us.