Mustache Man
Something is wrong.
Remy knows it in his little heart.
Papa is weird now. Different. Not fun-different like when Papa makes pancakes with smiley faces or carries him upside down and calls him a sack of potatoes. No, not like that. This is bad-different. Scary-different.
Papa doesn’t smile as much. Not really. He tries, but it’s not his real smile. It’s his teacher smile. The one he does when he’s talking to other grown-ups and not playing Legos or reading stories.
And Papa doesn’t like Mustache Man. Remy sees it. Papa keeps holding his wrist a little tighter when they walk past him, keeps pulling him away, even when Mustache Man says hi. Papa doesn’t say hi back. Just holds him tighter and looks... not happy. Not mad either, just... wrong. Like the time Remy fell off the swings and hurt his knee, and Daddy kissed it but still looked sad.
And Remy can’t call Papa, Papa at school. Rude.
He tried. He said, “Papa, look what I drew!” and Papa didn’t even look. Just got all stiff and weird and said, “Remy, not here, okay?” And his voice wasn’t soft, wasn’t kind. It was sharp, like when Daddy tells him not to run with scissors.
It was scary.
And now Daddy is weird too.
Daddy doesn’t go inside the school anymore. No more waving at the teachers, no more hugs at the door. Daddy just stops the car and lets him out, always looking around like he's waiting for a monster to jump out. And Papa is always there, always waiting, but he’s not really waiting for Remy. He’s waiting for Daddy.
And then Daddy and Papa talk. By Daddy’s car. Every morning, every afternoon. They talk and talk and talk, but not in the fun way. Not like when they played with Remy’s trains and Daddy and Papa pretended to crash them on purpose and laughed and laughed. Not like that.
Now, it’s whispering.
Now, Daddy holds his arms around himself like he’s cold, even when it’s not cold.
Now, Papa rubs the back of his neck and looks at the ground a lot.
Now, Papa leaves at night, and Daddy cries.
Remy knows Daddy tries to be strong, tries to hide it, but Remy hears him. Hears the sniffles from his room when he’s supposed to be sleeping. Hears the bed creak when Daddy sits there too long, not moving. Hears the way his voice sounds funny in the morning, like he’s been talking to himself all night.
Something is wrong.
Remy knows it.
And he doesn’t like it. Not one bit.
Remy doesn’t like feeling like this. It’s too many thoughts, all jumbled up, running too fast for him to catch. He doesn’t understand them, not really, but they’re there, whispering, creeping, making his tummy feel weird and his heart feel small.
He’s tried to be good. He really has. He’s made a friend. Kyla is nice, and pretty, and she shares her crayons with him. That’s good, right? But Ryan doesn’t like him, and Remy doesn’t know why. Ryan is pretty too, but Ryan doesn’t want to play trains or sit next to him at lunch. That’s bad, right? Bad boys don’t have friends.
And Mr. Mustache Man—can he still call him that? He doesn’t have one anymore, probably because it looked silly, like a caterpillar crawling on his face. But Mr. Mustache Man—Ben, that’s his name—he talks to him a lot now. He smiles at him in the morning, ruffles his hair, pushes him on the swings at recess. That’s nice, right? That’s good?
But Papa—Mr. Nick—always comes and takes him away. Tells him to put his backpack away, tells him to go play with the other kids. And Papa’s nice, so nice. Remy loves Papa. But maybe... Maybe Papa doesn’t love him back. Maybe Papa only loves Daddy.
Because Daddy’s been sad. Remy sees it. Even when Daddy smiles, his eyes are tired, and he hugs Remy tighter, like he’s afraid to let go. And maybe—maybe it’s because of Remy. Maybe Daddy is sad because of him.
Mr. Mustache Man said something yesterday at recess. He crouched down, real close, his voice soft but strange, not like Papa’s or Daddy’s when they talk to him. He said something about how Daddy is slipping away, how things are changing, how Remy has to be a good boy so Daddy doesn’t leave.
And that’s true, isn’t it?
Because Daddy doesn’t push him on the swings anymore.
Because Mr. Mustache Man smiles at him in the morning, but Papa comes and takes him away.
Because maybe Remy isn’t enough. Or maybe he’s too much.
Maybe—maybe he’s the problem.
Maybe Papa sees it too, but he doesn’t say it because he’s nice.
Maybe Daddy knows it, and that’s why he’s sad.
Maybe—maybe if he tries really, really hard to be good, Daddy won’t leave. Maybe he’ll smile for real again.
Maybe Papa will stay.
Maybe Mr. Mustache Man isn’t bad after all.
Maybe Remy just has to listen.