17 BLACK | HS

EIGHT

Harry Styles

Turning the corner back into our living room, I see Phineas sitting —he's got his plush Woody in one hand, and his dirty old crochet cow that Ange made him in the other— while he focuses on Toy Story playing on our tv. "Alright pea, say hi to mum," I smile while moving closer to him, zooming in the camera to focus on him.

He looks up from his toys, his tear stained cheeks are still flushed, but dried up by now. He's not crying anymore, but it's still very apparent that he just was.

"Hi mumma," his big green eyes meet the camera's lens –his left hand drops Woody while both of his little hands now clutch so hard on his crochet cow– my heart tensing up a bit. He clings to his cow when he misses Evangeline, knowing that it's one of the last pieces of her he has. So when he squeezes it extra hard, my heart yearns for her a little bit more than usual, wishing she was here for him even just for one more hug.

"Can you tell mum what we did today, buddy?" I ask, urging him to keep talking to her.

His little lip starts quivering only very slightly at the thought of the task we just completed. His eyes shift from the camera, to mine. Biting his lip to stop the trembling, he begins shaking his head slightly, refusing to speak anymore. The corner of my lip turns up slightly at the thought of how he was so nervous, but proud of himself for doing it.

"What did daddy and his little pea do?" When he still doesn't answer, I continue for him. "Daddy just cut your hair today, didn't he."

His little face screws up in thought as he slowly nods his head, his left hand leaving the cow once more and coming up to grab his blonde curls atop his head. "Do you like it?" I ask, knowing he said earlier he did. Almost as if feeling the curls in his hand reminded him he was happy with the result, a cheesy little smile replaces the melancholy look that was just there. "Yup," he admits matter of factly. Before I can say anything else, he's jumping back into conversation. "I cried," he states, almost proud of himself, while a small continues to house itself on his face.

A slight chuckle leaves my lips at his small change in attitude. "You did cry, didn't you?"

Turning his eyes away from the camera, he refocuses on Toy Story playing on our tv, "I cried," he speaks again, this time a little softer– not sad that he cried, more so just stating a fact.

"You know that's okay though, right buddy?" I ask, making sure he knows it's okay to cry when he's upset or sad. "You were nervous about cutting your hair, and it's totally okay that you got a little sad and scared because of it. Crying is good, yeah?" I've always stressed how important it is for him to communicate his feelings to me —whether it's purely spoken or through tears— it's important he learns to communicate his emotions.

"Yeah, daddy!" He announces loud and proud, pushing himself up to stand in front of me as he smiles at the camera again. "Crying is manly." He says while pursing his lips and showing his muscles to his mumma.

I can't help but let out a small chuckle at how cute my son is. "That's right, pea. Being vulnerable is manly." I respond. "And even though you were nervous, your hair turned out so handsome. I think daddy might've found a new talent, what do you think pea?" I reach down and mess up his blonde curls with my hand, earning the sweetest little squeal to release from his lips.

"No, daddy, noooo," he laughs while trying to push my hand off of his head. Our laughter fills the living room, and for a moment I forget about any piece of sadness in our lives. It's just Phineas and I, laughing while recording a home video, the thought of Ange not being here isn't even on our minds– everything is perfect.

However, it doesn't last long, the pure bliss of my imagination being wrecked at the sound of my front door opening.

A dramatic gasp leaves Phin's mouth, his eyes going wide at the sound. "Nannie!" Phin yells in excitement –knowing my mom was coming over to watch him today– as his little feet carry him down the hall and to the door.