Page 53 of Shatter

I rub the back of my neck and reply truthfully. "I didn't think so, but I dunno. Maybe."

It's a throw-away answer, but if I'm seriously considering a future with Mel, or someone like Mel... no. There's no one like her. It'd be her or no one. I could see raising a little family together. Maybe moving to the suburbs so they can have a backyard. It's not something I'd ever considered for myself.

But when Mel's blue eyes open again, and they're staring straight at me with a whistful, far-away look, I have the feeling she's thinking the same thing.

Chapter twenty-seven

Melody

Cassidy's boy keeps trying to sneak peeks at me without making it obvious. I smile at him whenever I catch him, and he blushes adorably.

I reluctantly give June back to her mother for a diaper change, watching the process and taking mental notes. I'm sure I could learn how to be a mom, right? If not from these women, then from the internet at least. I mentally add it to my list of things I want to learn.

Then, I turn my attention back to Elijah.

"Would you like to take a pic together?" I whisper, not wanting to embarrass him. "Just... maybe not post to socials or the location? I'm kind of on the lamb," I joke.

His eyes widen with excitement. "Would that be okay? And it'd only be for a couple of friends. I'm not allowed on social media."

I look up at Cassidy approvingly.

"Of course," I say, standing. We find the blank wall again, taking down the painting Harrison had replaced, and pose against it. Cass stands up and takes Elijah's phone from him, ready to take the picture. But before she does, she raises an eyebrow at her son, sending him a silent message.

Elijah clears his throat. "May I put my arm around your lower back and your side?" He asks, holding out his arm out to demonstrate a very normal pose for pictures.

I raise an eyebrow at Cass, who simply shrugs in return. "Consent is king."

My eyes burn as it dawns on me that this child gets it. He gets it so much more than any of the adults in my life do. He's only the second person in my entire life to ask for my consent. This literal child is asking for my consent to touch my body in the most innocent of ways, and it hits me like a truck straight to my chest. I blink back tears as my admiration for this kid grows. We need more men like him in the world. It's a strange feeling, but in an instant I know I would do anything for this kid. A wild surge of protectiveness grips me. Is this what being a mom feels like? Ready to protect your baby from anything and everything?

I clear my throat. "Of course." His small arm wraps around my waist, and I crouch a little to be on the same level as he is.

Cassidy takes a picture, but before she leaves, I say, "Want to really make your friends jealous? What if I gave you a kiss on the cheek? Would that be alright?" I want to give him the same consideration that he gave me when it comes to consent.

He nods eagerly, and I know I've just given him enough social clout to last a lifetime. I chuckle. If anyone deserves it, it's this kid. So I drop my lips to his cheek while we pose for the photo. He throws up some sort of hand sign, but I don't care.

He grabs his phone from his mother, and his fingers fly across the screen as I'm sure he's sending the picture to his friends.

I join Cass on the couch. "That was incredible. You're raising such a great kid. How did you teach him consent before knowing what... you know... is?" But then I drop my voice. "Does he know what... it... is? I mean, when do you teach that?"

Cassidy has the grace to shrug off my compliment and ignore my awkwardness. "When you live in the community, you learn some tips and tricks. He doesn't know what 'it' is yet because he doesn't want to. He knows he can come to me when he's ready and I'll explain it. Instead, we talked about tea."

"Tea?"

"Sure. You invite someone to your house, and that's awesome, right? Cool that they're even visiting you. So, you offer them some tea. They can say 'no', they can say 'yes', they can say 'yes' and then change their mind. You can't force the tea down their throat."

I slump back against the couch, completely dumbfounded. I'm twenty-five, and I'm just now learning how easy consent actually is. And how a woman taught her child about it in such a perfect analogy. That it can be given and taken away at any moment. And you have to respect it. Because she's making it sound like they're lucky enough to have a friend visit their home. I can't... my mind just can't wrap around how easy this explanation is. It frames consent as a living, breathing thing. Able to change in any moment, but also the thing that must be respected the most.

Because you're lucky to even be in the same room. No one in my life has ever made me feel like they were lucky to be in the same room as me. That my presence was somehow important or wanted. It was just always assumed.

I've never really had that. As a child, my consent was taken from me - my mother just implied that I was willing to act, be filmed, audition - and I never knew I could even question that.

A slap to my thigh pulls me out of my spiral, and I look down to see Cammy's slapped a Barbie onto my lap.

"Do you know how to play Barbies?" she asks, a cute little lisp to her voice.

"No," I answer honestly. If I had played Barbies as a kid, I don't remember it. "Will you teach me?"

"Sure," she replies, and I slide down the couch and onto the floor with the rest of the kids.