Calling Him By My Name [Armie Hammer + Timothée Chalamet | Charmie | mxb]

27 | Armie

"Mama," Ford says glumly.

"Yeah, baby; mama's here. Now eat up, buddy." Liz tries to coax the little plastic spoon of cereal into Ford's mouth. He loves this cereal, but today he's not eating. He put up a fight over every morsel of food Liz forced him to eat since he woke up this morning.

"Mama," he pouts, bottom lip quivering in a telltale sign of distress. Crap. I reach over to swoop him up, lifting him out of his highchair. Gently rocking him, I try to distract his attention with humming and silly faces, anything to keep him from crying. I hate when he cries.

"There you go, bubby; it's okay..."

Ford's little hands fist in my sweater drawstrings, bottom lip protruding between his chubby cheeks. He looks so damn sad it's making me want to off myself.

"What's wrong with him," Liz murmurs, forehead creased with concern.

"I don't know. I'm gonna go put him back to bed..."

"Okay. Call Harper down for me while you're at it, too; she hasn't eaten breakfast yet."

Ford drops his head glumly onto my shoulder and lets me carry him back up the stairs. Harper trudges quietly down the stairs when bid.

In the nursery, Ford points wordlessly to the floor by the crib where his sleeper is lying discarded. It's a one-piece pyjama frog suit, bright green, and looks more like a Halloween costume than anything. His head protrudes through the mouth and there's a big hood with eyes and stuff. It's fucking cute incarnate. Timmy had it mailed to us for the little boy's third birthday. He hasn't and probably never will forget the kids, even if he's determined to push me out of his life.

It's been a month of trying to reach out to him, weeks of calling and getting his voicemail, having my emails and texts and even in-person visits ignored.

"There you go, bub." Ford lifts his arms cooperatively when I help him into the frog PJs. As soon as his head pops through the opening, he falls onto his side and closes his eyes.

My chest aches with a pang of heartbreak. I wish he'd tell us what's wrong, but he hasn't been talking much lately. It could be that he's coming down with something, but Harper hasn't been the same recently, either. I'm scared out of mind that he isn't taking Timmy's departure very well.

I'm not the only one who needs him; the kids do, too. I just don't understand why he left when he promised me he would stay as long as he was needed...

He promised.

I kiss the sweet toddler's forehead and tuck a stray wisp of golden hair behind his ear, resolving to sit by his side in case he wakes up needing something. My eyes brimming with love, I watch the green lump lying still on the bed and hope that he feels better when he wakes up.

It's not difficult to imagine Timmy into the picture, the way I've seen him watching over Ford's crib so many times in the past. He liked to put the baby to sleep by walking around the nursery, rocking him gently and humming tunelessly until my little boy stilled, out like a light.

It's hard to imagine that that's the same Timmy that I hear about through the celebrity grapevine these days. Though he won't talk to me, I've managed to stay up to date on Timmy's life by talking to other actors and watching the news.