Perspective

55- That's embarrassing

"How do you feel, Ash?" I ask him as he sits up.

"My cheeks hurt so bad," He tells me.

I pass him the ice pack and he presses it against his swollen cheeks.

"So you want to have two weddings?" I ask.

His eyes widen. "How do you...oh my god. That's embarrassing."

"You also nearly told your mom what happened the morning after my birthday."

He moans. "I'm so sorry. What else did I say, yesterday?"

"You just kept talking about me and then talking about our future."

"Our future?"

I nod. "You want to have two million kids."

He sets his ice pack down and pulls me onto his lap.

"Yeah? We totally can," Asher says with a half smile.

I take one look at him and burst out laughing. His cheeks are puffy. His hair is messy from being slept on.

"When's the swelling going to go down?" He asks, pressing the ice pack to his cheek again.

"The nurse said 5 days and then you have to go back in to get the stitches out."

Asher goes pale. "Stitches?"

Oh shit. Needles.

"Sorry, I meant scanning," I lie.

"You're a bad liar."

"Yeah, I know. I'm trying to help the situation."

His lips tug upward and his eyes twinkle.

"Do you want to go out for breakfast?" He asks.

"Sure."

Our lips meet and Asher lets out a sigh. Once we pull back for air, he rests his forehead against mine.

"I'm so glad I can feel my lips again. I missed that."

"It was only for a day." I remind him.

"It felt like years."

I love you.

"We should go," I say, trying to distract myself from saying the three words out loud, again.

:::

"Pancake!" Harper squeals happily as we pop open our menus.

He's 27 months as of today and his vocabulary has expanded, greatly.

Asher smiles and leans his head against my shoulder.

"Dada look funny," Harper giggles.

I reach my hand up and touch Asher's face. "Yeah he does," I agree with Harper.

"Stop making fun of me," Asher whines.

I pat his cheek making him groan.

"Pancake! Pancake!" Harper starts chanting as a waiter walks up to our table.

Asher lifts his head off of me and orders for the three of us.

The waiter goes to get our food and Harper plays with the syrup that's on the table.

Whenever he pushed down to open the flap, Asher would say something in a weird voice. Harper thought this was hilarious.

I watch as they both mess around and laugh. Asher—he's just perfect. The more I'm around him, the more I fall in love with him.

"Mommy?" Harper calls, breaking me out of my trance.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Hi."

I smile and give him a small wave. "Hi."

The waiter gives us our food and leaves.

"Dada, it as face!" Harper exclaims.

"Yeah! It has a face!" Asher encourages him.

Harper picks up the fork and smears the whipped cream on his pancake so that the smile is a frown.

"Mommy," Harper says pointing at the pancake in front of him. It's a chocolate pancake with eyes and a mouth made out of whipped cream.

Asher lets out a loud snort as I stare at Harp in shock.

Harper notices my expression and his face drops. "Oops. Sorry, Mommy."

I reach over the table and touch his tiny cheek, "It's okay, I'm not mad."

"He got your expression pretty accurately," Asher says as Harper is enjoying the feeling of my thumb gently rubbing his face.

I shoot Asher a glare. "You look like an albino chipmunk."

"I'm not that pale."

I put my hand beside his. "Compared to me? Yes."

"Okay, good point."

I kiss his lips. "You're still cute."

His lips tug upwards. "Thanks, beautiful."

"Anytime, flower boy."

I let go of Harper and pick up the little bottle of Tabasco instead.

"I want that so bad," Asher moans, longingly looking at my chicken and waffles.

Now I feel bad for ordering it. He can't have crunchy or spicy food for about a week until his teeth heal.

"Sorry," I apologize, reaching under the table and squeezing his hand.

"It's okay," Asher assures me, his blue eyes piercing into my dark brown ones.

I look away and shake some hot sauce onto my chicken. After I cut a small piece that doesn't have hot sauce on it, I offer it to Harper. He leans forward and takes the piece off my fork.

 Asher has his arm around my waist as he stabs at his scrambled eggs with the fork.

"Want some more, Harper?" I ask once he swallows. 

"No thank you," He replies. 

Asher nudges me with his elbow. "How come you never feed me?"

I can name plenty of reasons. 

"God gave you two perfectly good hands with perfect arms," I say, "You can eat by yourself."

"So does Harper but you fed him."

"He's a kid."

"I'm a kid, too."

"You're 18. You're an adult."

"But you call me baby."

"I also call you dumba—butt, that doesn't make you one."

"You could still feed me."

•••

Thanks for reading :)

~M