Tied in Knots: A Tied Together Novella by Z.B. Heller Read Free Book Online

whole car and I would try to make a claim with the insurance company.
    “Daddy, are we going to see Quinn?”
    “Well, I hope so. That’s where the baby is—in Quinn’s tummy.”
    Ethan’s nose scrunched up like it normally did when he was confused. “Did she eat the baby?”
    I smiled. Kids came up with the strangest reasoning for things. “No, that’s where the baby grows, inside a woman’s tummy.” I didn’t think going through the whole explanation of the difference between a uterus and a tummy would be suitable for a four-year-old. Then again, I wouldn’t have been surprised if this whole conversation came up again the next time Ethan saw a man with a beer gut and insisted there was a baby in there.
    “How does the baby come out? Does it come out like poop?”
    I snickered, and Ethan pouted his little lip at me, annoyed I found his logic amusing.
    “No, buddy. The baby comes out of a woman’s vagina.”
    “What’s a bagina?”
    “You know how boys have a penis?”
    Ethan looked down at his favorite play toy.
    “Yeah,” he said, as he poked his penis through his pants.
    “Well, girls don’t have a penis; they have a vagina. And when the baby is ready, the woman pushes the baby out.”
    Ethan laughed. “It’s poop. Poopie baby.”
    Why I even thought I could explain this concept to a kid who was obsessed with his own penis and poop was beyond me.
    I took his hand as we made our way out of the parking garage and into the hospital, Ethan’s little feet trying to keep up with me as I pulled him along. Finally, I hoisted him up into my arms, and he rested his head on my shoulder. I loved this little boy with my whole heart and soul. Sometimes I wondered if there would be room in my heart for another child. I’d talked to a few moms in the playgroup who had multiple children, and they all said you come to love your children equally. Except for Rosie, who admitted to me that she preferred her son Kaleb to her daughter Samantha just a touch more. I couldn’t really blame her since Samantha was a booger eater.
    We approached the elevator bank, and Ethan started to wiggle in my arms.
    “I want to push the button,” he squealed.
    I put him down, but before he got to the button, another boy—maybe eight or so—got to it first. Oh shit. Ethan’s eyes turned as large as saucers, and tears welled at the brim. The boy started doing a victory dance like he had just scored the winning touchdown at the Super Bowl. I glanced around to see if his parents were following him, but no one else seemed to be around.
    My inner demons kicked into high gear.
    Steve Buscemi: Do it, Ryan. You know you want to.
    Brad Pitt: Ryan, you’re not a child, nor should you act like one. You need to show your son how to handle situations like this in a responsible manner.
    Steve Buscemi : Fuck that! The little shit made our boy upset. He deserves to be drawn and quartered.
    Brad Pitt: Why do you even speak? This is not the Middle Ages.
    Steve Buscemi : Fine. How about taken in front of a firing squad?
    Brad Pitt: It’s time for therapy again.
    I looked at Ethan again. His little lip pouted and quivered; he was getting ready to cry. I bent down to kiss the top of his head and whispered into his ear, “Everything I’m about to say isn’t true. Just remember that.” He nodded and took my hand.
    “Hey, kid,” I called out to the kid who was in the middle of this pathetic victory dance. “Wanna know a secret?”
    “I don’t care,” he replied in a high-pitched voice.
    “Oh, I think you will. Santa Claus isn’t real.” I stood nice and tall, proud of my disclosure.
    “Mister, I’m not a baby. I know Santa Claus isn’t real. You’re so lame,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.
    My face fell, and I tried to think of a quick rebuttal, but Ethan’s hand slipped out of mine and he strolled up to the punk and kicked him in the shin. “My daddy isn’t lame!”
    “Ow!” The boy hopped on one foot, holding his