She remembers when he was small and quiet. When his little fists would reach into the air and grasp at nothing but passing dust motes. He would lay in his bouncing chair for hours, discovering his fingertips and his toes. He hated being on his belly because he could not see the world as well. She remembered that his eyes were always wide and curious, and when he did finally cry, his long eyelashes would clump together in little black spikes. She loved him when he would laugh and when he would fuss. There was so much to love about him from the moment that he was born. He was, all at once, a surprise and a balm.

Before him, she would stay out late every night. It was what she took joy in. She would extend long work nights into changing in the back of a taxi, a drink with friends, kissing strangers in barstools with a wide, toothy grin on her face. She was never tired or worried. As independent as she’d been, she was more willing to accept money when her parents offered it, spending it on t-shirts made of paper-thin cotton and good highlights in her hair. But she was also searching for something intangible in all of these things. Her taste in men was deplorable at best. She would allow men to take things from her for sport, grinning when they were gone because everything was replaceable in those days. She had what she needed. She knew who she wanted to be for the rest of her life. And what did it matter if men broke her heart a little bit when they became unreliable or unrelentingly shitty? She could cry about it for a week, her friends would come to tell her that she was beautiful and smart and that there was someone in her future that would be both kind and good-looking. That was her dream. Uncomplicated and two-dimensional.

When he was born, the world grew. Her mind could see a hundred outcomes, a thousand possibilities in those blue-grey eyes. She would study him when he was sleeping, asking herself if she would be happy if he were independent like she was. If he stayed out until three o’clock in the morning and came home laughing and smelling like alcohol. If he never left the house, playing video games. If he broke other people’s hearts for sport. If he allowed other people to break his heart. She decided, with no trepidation, that she would love him because of all of these things.

Now, he is sleeping in her bed. She’s just woken from the deepest dark of Jessica’s weeks, and she has curled around Gerry, leaving Jules curled around Jeremiah. She remembers what it was like before Cooper moved in with her, before she needed help around her apartment. When it was quiet and the baby moved in the middle of the night for the very first time. There had been a small slip of loneliness when she had no one to turn to about it. When all she had was her own excitement to keep her company. Soon, that became how she preferred it. After Cooper moved in to help, she would still take long baths and sleep alone just so she could have little moments just like this.

With Jeremiah curled against her, his long blond hair tickling her chin, she feels that again. His little hand moves instinctively to her arm, five little fingers stroking her wrist even while he is sleeping. She pushes his hair aside to reveal a warm temple where she presses a kiss. She wants him to know that she made it home to him, but he doesn’t deserve to be woken up. Even if he did, though, he wouldn’t ask her any questions about what happened that week. He doesn’t care much what happens when Gerry and Jessica take over. All that matters is that she is there with him now. She thinks of what a friend told her about growing up without. That, even though he’d had to make sacrifices, he didn’t think poorly of his childhood. She wonders what her friend’s mother thinks of that time in her life. If she is embarrassed of letting her children live on junk food and ride in dangerous cars. Jules thinks that she probably would be, but she decides that that mother doesn’t deserve to feel shame. It doesn’t keep the shame from her own head, however. She thinks that she’s raising one child and works in a field that, in any other city, would be respectable. Would be enough.

Maybe it’s the city that’s toxic. These things, these strange occurrences found her here because she happened to be in the city. Even if she is willing to give the person in her head some freedom to do what she needs to do, she can’t help but think that all of this could have been avoided if she’d moved back home to Texas. If she’d allowed her parents to take her and her newborn in. Or if she’d convinced Cooper to move to her hometown when he was willing to work on something with her.

She knows that, in that scenario, none of them would have been particularly happy. It almost assured that her son would grow up just like her. Or, more likely, just like her father. She would watch her son pick up where his grandfather left off, joining the military too young, going off to fight in hellscapes, coming home quiet. Getting married at nineteen because he knows now that life is short when there are battles to be fought. He would bounce from station to station, post to post, his feet barely touching the ground. He would have the kind of nightmares that would keep him out of bed for days. He’d make indentations in the corners of couches or on patio chairs, sleeping but never making it to REM without drugs or therapy.

There is a tiny whimper next to her as if Jeremiah can sense that her head has traveled further than her body. That she is succumbing to her most ridiculous side. His fingers finally curl around her wrist and stay there even after he burrows in closer to her side like he did when he was small and nestled around, looking for warmth or food. She wishes that she could still tell him stories and sing him songs and his only reaction is broad wonder. Though she has to admit it’s pretty nice when he asks her questions or prompts she when she gets stuck in the plot of stories.

She thinks of the way he’s adapted to this life so easily. He shares headspace with Jessica’s son so well that she never notices any pain or confusion. There had been so many hard days in the beginning, and now Jeremiah has his time and Gerry has his. There is no arguing, only sharing. She wonders which of the boys came up with their system or if it has all fallen into place naturally. What does a four-year-old know about negotiation, anyway? All she knows is that when she looks at her son, she only ever sees her son. And she is glad because she doesn't know that she could handle any other outcome. She knows that she would protect Gerry should the time arise, but it would break her heart to see any other name inside those oceans of curiosity.

Taking another long breath, she wraps her arm around his little waist and finally closes her eyes. she thinks that, maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad if she ever had to change careers, to move out of the city, to share a room with her son while they got on their feet. She knows that he wouldn’t mind. She knows that he may even like it for a while. And then, maybe, a miracle could happen. Because miracles and curses looked so much alike these days that anything was possible.

“Mumma?” Jules startles awake when he speaks, her arm instinctively tightening around him. “What are you doing today? Go see the doggies?”

Her heart sinks at the question. She didn't know when she would have to have this conversation with him, and she's been dreading it even while she's been tucked away into the back of her own consciousness. He is barely awake, his little face still pillow-creased. She is glad that he is turning into the kind of child who asks how she spends her time even if she isn't very proud of the answer.

“Baby, Mumma isn't going to be seeing the doggies anymore. Donny is moving far away. Like Miss Darlene did. Do you remember that?”

Jeremiah nods solemnly, his mouth closed tightly. It had been difficult for him earlier in the year when his favorite teacher moved out of state. It was the first time she'd ever seen her son truly upset and frustrated about something out of his control, and she hoped that, while this moment is ripping handfuls of her heart muscle out, he will not be as deeply affected. There is a reason she had mostly spent time with Donny when Jeremiah was with his father. They had only started the process of going out together as a unit, and now… Jeremiah is quiet for a long moment before he puts his hand on Jules’s cheek, staring with those deep, blue pools. She feels the burning behind her nose and she gulps down the pain.

“Are you sad?”

Jules can only nod. She does not want to cry in front of her son. She tells him every day that it is okay to cry, but she was not raised the same way. Jeremiah's thumb brushes along her cheek and Jules gives him a watery smile because there are some floods that cannot be stopped. Soon, his fingers brush against a few tears and she sniffs, surprised. Scooting closer, Jeremiah curls against her, his head under her chin.

“I love you, Mumma.”

“I love you.”