He had a few hours of home work, and so he spent those hours upstairs in his room. When he finally finished, he found his way to my room and sat with me. Getting Wade to talk is usually not an issue, but lately I have to be a little more patient before that door opens. We didn't have a deep conversation about anything, really, I asked about English and math; we talked about Homecoming week and Leadership; we talked about girls.
I paused the television as the conversation took its own organic direction, aware of this moment in time I'd been given. I looked his long legs covered with hair; I studied his side burns and the thick brown hair that has taken the place of the white blonde hair of his child hood. I listened to the deep tones of his voice. For those moments, just being Wade's mom was enough. I knew I was thankful during every single minute.
His daddy came home during the conversation, and once dad had changed clothes and kissed his son's mother, both my boys escaped with each other to the living room. I feel asleep to the sound of their friendship.