Jacob’s in the throes of a superhero phase. His bedroom resembles what I would imagine a conference room would look like in the Justice League. A fathead Batman is on one wall, staring down Superman on the other. His linens depict Ironman, and his pajamas tonight are Spiderman’s costume.

I never thought I’d have a child. In large measure, that was because I never thought I’d marry. I can’t imagine what my sixteen-year-old self would think if she could see me now. In fact, I’m sure that my thirty-year-old self would be disappointed too. But I’m certain that every iteration of me would love Jacob with the same type of reckless abandon that I do.

I kick my shoes off and lie next to my son. I take in the floral scent of his hair and feel the curly wisps against my own cheek.

My presence causes him to stir, and he softly says, “Mama.”

“Shh,” I whisper into his ear. “Stay asleep, my sweet boy.”

I want to stay like this forever, to hold on to the person I love most in this world. I know hoping that my five-year-old can protect me is as misguided as his faith that Superman would come to his rescue if monsters appeared from under his bed. But I shake away rationality and wrap myself in the security of his Ironman top sheet.

15. ELLA BRODEN

15.

ELLA BRODEN

Since my return to the apartment after lunch with my father, I haven’t left the piano bench. At first I wasn’t very productive, just playing with a few melodies and every once in a while going through the chorus of “Never Goodbye.” But after a few hours, I came upon an arrangement of chords I liked, and then I started adding some lyrics.

Gabriel opens the door moments after I’ve done a run-through of what I have so far. I’m certain the timing is not coincidental. He was undoubtedly lingering in the stairwell, not wanting to interrupt me because he knows I’d stop playing as soon as he entered.

Recently, he told me that this is the closest he’s ever come to living with someone, the four nights or so a week that we cohabitate. He also shared that he’s already broken his personal record for relationship length. I knew better than to ask him his number, assuming that he’d lie, or worse, tell me the truth—which must be that he’s either in or approaching the three-figure range. I wonder if these are things that should give me pause about considering a lifetime of monogamy with him. There are certainly aspects to Gabriel that read as if he’s untamable. Nonetheless, whenever we’re together, I don’t sense longing on his part to be anywhere else.

We kiss on the lips.

“New song?” he asks.

“Just something I’m playing with.”

“I like it.”