Push

14. He Shared the Load

TOBY

Noah's chubby fists clenched around his banana for dear life and his red, puffy eyes watched me like a hawk from his highchair. Zero trust. If we were counting the casualties of World War Fruit, there were big losses for Team Daddy.

I ripped off some paper towels, dropped to my knees, and got to work wiping up the mess splattered all over the kitchen floor.

What. A. Morning.

Wake-up time, cuddles, changing Noah's diaper, and stuffing his chubby butt in a onesie—that was all easy peasy. I'd done that routine a thousand times. No dramas.

Everything went like clockwork until I hit the scrawled note on Gwen's daily planner that said: 7.30 am - Breakfast Fruit.

Feeding the little dude some fruit was a no-brainer, right?

Wrong.

I'd plopped Noah in his highchair. Pulled out one of his bowls with the monkeys on it. Filled it with blueberries and mashed them flat so he could scoff them down. Popped the bowl on the tray in front of him.

Noah took one look at those blueberries and it was on like Donkey Kong. The bowl went flying. His sippy cup—Bam! See ya later!

Guess blueberries weren't his favorite anymore.

His little face burned red. He strained forward in his highchair, chubby fingers snatching at the air toward the fruit bowl on the counter. After getting the stink eye for showing him an avocado, I eventually figured out he wanted a banana. Awesome. Ten points to Team Daddy, right?

Wrong.

World War Fruit raged on because I made the mistake of cutting the damn banana into chunks. Bam! Bowl back on the floor. Then came the tears. He wanted it whole.

Once his pudgy fingers curled around his peeled banana, the tears stopped, but he kept a wary gaze on me.

"Your banana is safe, NoBo." I gently palmed his fuzzy head. "Promise."

I unclipped the pen from Gwen's planner and finally struck a line through Breakfast Fruit.

What next?

Gwen had the entire day mapped out. Baby Rhyme Time at the local library. Morning tea. I rolled my eyes. Definitely no fruit happening. Then there was Noah's swimming lesson. Lunch. Nap. Stroller Squad—whatever the hell that was.

I reached over and tickled Noah's foot. "For a little dude who can't talk yet, you sure have a hectic social calendar," I joked.

He stared at me with big red eyes. Ouch. Tough crowd.

"You miss your mummy?" Noah blinked at me. "Yeah, me too." I rested my chin on my fist and watched him gum his banana. "She's pretty awesome, your mum. She gives good cuddles. I used to cuddle up with her and watch TV. She liked a show about an old lady who solved murder mysteries. She always guessed the murderer in a second, but she never spoiled the ending for me."

The weight of a simple memory dragged me all the way down. I slumped on the stool next to Noah's highchair.

He held out his banana to me. "Ba?"

His pudgy little fist was squeezing my heart and not just that banana. He was the best little dude. A grin plastered on my face, I leaned over and pretended to gobble a bit off the end. He snatched it back with a giggle.

My sigh was so heavy I felt it in my bones. "God, I miss her. I don't know how I let everything run so far off the rails, NoBo. She's all I ever wanted. I love your mummy... So fucking much." Noah blinked. "Ah." I darted a guilty look around the kitchen. "Don't tell her I said a curse word in front of you, okay? I'm already in big trouble."