Not All Bad

My mom walks out of the house carrying Tate when I pull up in the address she gave me, so I get out of the car and I walk to them, extending my arms to grab my son.

Today he's wearing a blue onesie that says “momma's boy” in it and it makes me smile. Anya is such a corny girl.

"Hey, man," I say, lowering my nose to his dark hair so I can scent him. He makes a baby sound when I do that and opens his eyes to look at me. His eyes look light, unlike mine. Maybe he inherited his mom's grey eyes.

"How have you been, son?" my mom asks as I’m looking at my son’s face, reminding me of her existence. I briefly lift my eyes to her and I have to stop my smile from appearing when I see her eyes studying my face and I realize she's ready to forgive me now.

But I'm not a kid anymore, she can't just freeze me out for months whenever she's mad at me and then slowly start talking to me again until things return to normal.

"Good," I say with a shrug and return my attention to Tate without even trying