Papa
Remy likes Papa.
Papa is nice.
Papa takes care of Daddy.
Papa cuddles and holds him.
Papa gives him chocolate milk when he's upset, just the way he likes it, with the special chocolate straw that makes it taste even better.
Papa reads bedtime stories, even when Remy picks the same one three nights in a row. Papa does all the voices too, even the silly ones that make Remy giggle until his belly hurts.
Papa protects him.
Papa protects Daddy.
Remy watches, even when Daddy thinks he isn’t looking. He sees the way Papa puts his arms around Daddy when Daddy looks tired or sad, whispering things that make Daddy breathe slower, softer. He sees how Daddy leans into Papa, like he feels safe there.
Papa is more than Mr. Nick.
Mr. Nick is for school, for the other kids. Mr. Nick reads stories at storytime and helps with numbers and letters and gives stickers for good work. But Papa is different. Papa is just his. His and Daddy’s.
Papa doesn’t like Mr. Mustache Man.
Remy doesn’t like Mustache Man either.
Mustache Man scares Daddy.
Daddy looked small when Mustache Man showed up. Daddy is never small. Daddy is strong, like a superhero, like the ones in his books. But Mustache Man made Daddy quiet, made Daddy shake. Made Daddy hold Remy’s hand too tight, made Remy’s wrist hurt.
Men that scare Daddy are bad men.
Papa doesn’t scare Daddy though.
Papa holds Daddy when he cries, whispers soft things that make Daddy breathe better. Papa stays. Papa makes the bad things go away, makes Daddy smile again.
Papa isn’t scary.
Papa is warm. Papa is safe. Papa smells like cookies sometimes, and Remy likes that.
Remy thinks he might love Papa.
No—he knows.
Remy loves Papa.