Gifted

Steve stretched out like Henry, rapping his knuckles sharply against Peter's door.

“Hey! Come on. Let's move!”

A loud groan erupted from inside, “No!”

This prompted Steve to smile as he moved away from the door, glancing at the mirror on his way to the kitchen. “Let me see.” He said, cracking an egg into a bowl.

“No.”

“Come on, Pete, I made you special breakfast.” Steve wasn’t much of a cook but he knew how to keep the little boy happy.

“You can't cook.”

Sighing, Steve walked back over to his door, knocking again. “Hey, Peter, open up.”

Finally, the seven-year-old stepped out with a huff, decked in a little checked shirt and matching khakis.

“You look handsome.” Steve grinned at him, picking him up and placing him in his chair.

“I look like a car salesman.” Peter pouted at the bowl of cereal Steve placed in front of him. “Where's the special?”

“What?”

“You said you made me special breakfast.”

Steve quietly held up the box of Special K, earning another groan from the little boy. He couldn’t help but take a moment to stare at him. A strange feeling settled in his gut as he ran over the pros and cons of actually sending Peter to school all over again. The boy was too sharp for Steve to homeschool anymore and was going to grow up a recluse without other children to play with.

“Please, don't make me go. You can keep homeschooling me!” Peter piped up as if he’d read Steve’s mind for a moment there.

“I've taught you everything I know, Pete.”

“But I don't want to go.” Peter was stubborn. Just like his mother. And just like that, the feeling was back in Steve’s stomach.

“Well... I don't want to go to work, but I do.” He reasoned, flipping his eggs in the pan.

“You don't go to work ,” Peter mumbled, stabbing at his cereal with his spoon. “You fix boats on the dock.”

“Okay, it's a poor example, but you are still going.”

“But... But what about Henry?” Peter pouted again, looking over at the ginger cat that was eyeing Steve’s omelette. “You won't take care of him. You don't like cats.”

“I don't like two-eyed cats. Henry is, as you know, monocular.” Steve countered, scooping the cat up and placing him on the floor before he lost his breakfast.

“ Who's gonna throw him his ping pong ball? ” He whined.

“Peter, Henry's gonna be fine, no more argument, okay? We've discussed this ad nauseam.” 

“What's ad nauseam?”

“You don't know? Looks like someone needs school.”

And Peter was only seven. Steve could hardly keep him cooped up, safe from the dangers of the world at the age where he was supposed to be out there exploring and playing silly little games with his silly little friends.

He helped Peter up, cleaned up after him and slid his backpack onto his shoulders. Walking him out, he just couldn’t shake off the jitters.

“This is gonna be fun.” He tried, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself. “You're gonna meet kids today you’re gonna borrow money from the rest of your life.”

“Come on, Pete,” Steve sighed, helping him into the school bus. “You’re gonna be great. You know, just… I don't know. Try bein' a kid.”

As the doors closed, he could see Peter’s little huffs as he stomped over to his seat. Please, God, let him be okay. Steve had no idea where that was coming from. He hadn’t been anywhere near a church since Peter’s christening.

“Steve!”

And that was May. She sounded real mad, too. Steve sighed and pretended not to hear her, making a beeline for his house. The green grass under his feet smelled freshly mowed, so that was a plus.

The first time he had met May was when he’d brought little Peter all the from Boston to St. Petersburg, Florida. He had little cash in his pocket and the kind middle-aged woman had let him go rent-less for months until Steve put his foot down. The series of poorly made row houses in a tiny coastal town had been more than a downgrade for Steve and a less than ideal setting for what Peter’s mother would’ve wanted for him but they had to make do.

“Steve, I know you hear me. Steve!” May shouted, yanking Steve out of his thoughts. “There's still time for you to undo this nonsense.”

Steve quickly shut the door to block her out but she had come armed with the backup keys she kept as the landlady. He watched helplessly as she opened the door and gave him a warning glare.

“Go get in your car and go get that child.”

“Are you technically allowed to use these keys whenever you want?” Steve asked, mouth quirked up on one side in amusement.

“How you can stand there... acting all calm and all of that making light out of this?” She chastised, wiggling the keys in Steve’s face. “Now, go get him back before it's too late.

“He’s gotta go out in the world.” Steve sighed, sitting down with his omelette. May was seriously not helping calm Steve’s nerves.

“He has not friend her age.” He tried to explain, looking up at May like a kicked puppy. “No social skills. He doesn't know how to be a kid. Two nights ago He told me that even if Germany bails up the euro, there could still be worldwide depression. I was staring at the ceiling for three hours. I'm so worried.”

May didn’t look any better than she did a minute ago, so he added with little enthusiasm, “Come on, May. If you start crying, I will have to pretend to start crying.”

He took her hand and squeezed it gently. “You know there's something you can be overlooking. This could work out.”

“Maybe.” She huffed, eyes glittering with tears of frustration.” But if anybody takes that baby away... I'll smother you in your sleep.”

Steve blinked at her, genuinely considering her threat as she yanked the door open and looked over at Peter’s cat.

“Morning, Henry.” She grunted, storming off, making Steve hide his face in his hands and force himself to breathe against the anxiety attack.