i love you so • tate mcrae

Chapter One

On the nights that I got to be home, I would play video games with my son, and whoever lost was forced to clean up the living room. I always lost. My son was way too good.

"All right, kid, you know how it goes. Go brush your teeth and wash your face while I clean."

He stood up instantly and trudged to the hallway behind the couch. He didn't complain like he usually did, which meant he was trying to get one past me.

"Go to the bathroom," I cried over my shoulder.

He groaned. "How can you always tell?"

"You know what they say – moms have eyes on the back of their heads." I chortled, hearing him complain to himself before I heard the bathroom sink turn on.

My son was eight years old, and looked nothing like me. He had dark brown, curly hair and eyes to watch his hair, polar opposite from my straight, blonde hair and azure eyes. Everyone always assumed I was his babysitter, and I could see why.

While he may not look like me, his personality was like someone had taken mine and shoved it into him. He was just as sly and obstinate as I was. It drove me nuts most of the time, but now I knew how my mom felt while raising me. My mother found it absolutely hilarious that I was raising the male version of myself.

But even though he was obstinate, he was such a pleasant kid. He loved to hike and explore. He was also happy to sit on the couch and watch movies with me. I was very lucky.

I picked up the pillows that were thrown all over the floor from our pillow fight earlier.

He walked out while I was cleaning crumbs off of the coffee table and fixing the rug.

"That was quick. Did you wash your face?"

He "unexpectedly" rolled his eyes. I wasn't looking at him, but I knew he did it. "Yes," he said, dragging out the word.

I peered up, narrowing my eyes at him. His skin wasn't damp and his cheeks weren't pink. "Are you lying to me?"

He stared at me silently for a moment before turning and tramping back to the bathroom.

"Come on, let's go out," I said to the lump on the floor next to me. No movement at all. I shook my head, lifting the blanket off of my black dog. "Don't ignore me."

Said black dog gave me a glare, and if she could talk, I know she would be telling me to go fuck myself. My girl was like an angry elderly woman. She never cared about anything unless there was food involved.

When we first got her, I had absolutely no idea what to name her. And since I couldn't, I let my then-two year old son name her.

He came up with Eve. It wasn't terrible, for a two-year-old. I don't even know where he heard the name.

I tapped Eve's butt. "Come on, Evie, you have to go potty."

She rolled off the couch lazily, looking like a potato. Her little legs rushed to the patio door. It was a mere two feet away, yet my dog still managed to yawn, as if it was a mile long walk.

I had to forcefully open the door, but even then, I was only able to get it open so much. I had to call the landlord to fix this.

Eve gave me a sassy look. "Don't look at me like that. I can't open it anymore. You'll fit. Suck in." I nudged her butt to help her out, leaving the door open so she could just walk in when she was done.

I walked back to the couch, flopping down on it. I closed my eyes, the sound of cicadas the only noise. I hoped mosquitoes didn't fly into the house.

Connor was going to come back in here with a book and I was fearing it. I loved to read with him, don't get me wrong, but once we read, he went to bed, and that meant I had to do schoolwork. The evenings always flew by.