SEPTEMBER 1909

ERIK

I awoke to the sound of a tree branch hitting my bedroom window with such force I thought I would have to be cleaning up glass. I looked outside and my heart sank for the boy who was seemingly still asleep down the hall. We were supposed to go to the beach that day, but it seemed the weather had a much different plan. I hadn't seen it rain like that in a long time.

Once I had my housecoat on, I made my way over to Gustave's room, but given the fact that he was curled in a ball under his duvet I guessed that he already knew about the current weather situation.

"Look outside," a small voice grumbled beneath the covers, confirming my suspicions

"Gustave, don't be up-"

"It was going to be a perfect day and now it's gone because the stupid weather report couldn't get one thing right." He had a point. Gustave had been following the weather diligently for the past week in preparation for our day out, yet not a single meteorologist predicted anything close to the downpour outside. 

I sat down next to the mountain of sheets that somehow contained my son. "Come on, my boy. It'll be alright, we can still make it a perfect day."

His initial response was curling up tighter before mumbling, "I had it all planned. What could possibly be better?"

"I'm sure we can figure something out. Why don't we go down for breakfast to start? I'll make whatever you'd like."

Thankfully, that coaxed his head out from somewhere under the blankets. "I was really looking forward to the chocolate pancakes at the breakfast place we were going to stop at," he explained.

I couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of how in depth he had planned our day, even to the point where he had called ahead and planned his breakfast meal. "Well, I have what we need for pancakes, and I believe I have chocolate I can melt over them. How does that sound?"

"Can I flip them?" he asked tentatively, his words carrying a threat to go back under the covers, never to be seen again.

Knowing what the response would be if I didn't at least grant him some responsibility, I conceded: "Sure. I'll be right there to watch you and help if you need me to."

I barely had time to blink before Gustave flung the covers off, stepped into his slippers and raced downstairs. By the time I had made my way down to join him, I was greeted with the anxiety-inducing sight of him perched on top of the counter retrieving ingredients from the cupboards.

"You couldn't wait thirty seconds for me to come down?" The worry was clear in my voice, I could tell.

"Where's the fun in that?" he laughed.

I immediately got behind him to make sure I was there if he slipped. "Well, the fun is that you won't risk falling off the counter and cracking your skull, but what do I know? I'm just your father."

"I'll be fine, Papa. You worry a lot."

"That's basically second nature to me, my boy. But while you're up there, grab the sugar."

"I already got it," Gustave said as he nearly hit me square between the eyes to point to the smaller bag next to the one that held the flour.

"Well, look at you. You're very efficient, aren't you?" I remarked as I looked on the counter to see that he had already retrieved the pan and nearly half of the dry ingredients. "I swear you've only been up there for a moment. How did you do that so fast?"

"I can move a lot faster than you, Papa. It doesn't take that long to do this."

"Was that you indirectly calling me old?" I shot back at him, pretending to be more offended by his comment than I actually was.

"Maybe a little bit," he said as he started laughing."You're not that old, though."

In an attempt to keep him laughing, I continued my display of playful offence: "Well then. Maybe I'll just hide the recipe book then."

"No Papa, don't." He must have taken me a bit too seriously based on the pleading look he gave me when his head snapped in my direction at my comment. "I'm just kidding, you're not old."

"That's more like it."

"Can you get the recipe book now? I can get the bowls and spoons if you get the milk and stuff out of the ice box."

I was nearly out of the kitchen before I realized I nearly forgot to give the responsible instruction. "Don't touch the stove until I come back," I said.

"I wasn't planning on it," Gustave called back to me as he got everything laid out properly on our modest kitchen table.

"Good. Then I've trained you well."

That earned me a laugh followed by instructions of his own: "Go get the book. I've almost got everything."

"Alright. See? You're in a better mood already," I said as I looked over the shelves in the hall for the right book.

"The promise of chocolate makes everything better."

"You have a point there." I smiled at him and handed him the book as I re-entered the kitchn. "Okay, here it is so we can get started and hopefully, the batter will stay in the bowl where it belongs this time. We don't need a repeat of our last cooking endeavour."

"I should probably get the aprons."

"Yes, that's a good idea. I don't want to do more laundry than I have to." He ran off to the drawer and produced our aprons, then threw mine at me, and by the time it was strung over my head, he already had his tied. "Good. Now, grab the flour and measure it out."

Looking back, I probably should have told him to bring the bowl down to the flour and not vice versa. When he lifted the large bag up onto the table, a large puff of flour rose up, covering everything in a light dusting. Of course Gustave started laughing, and I was tempted to do the same, but somehow, being a parent had made me more aware of the messes instead of the entertainment value. "Right, be careful so that doesn't keep happening."

"It's just a bit of flour, Papa. I'm sure it won't happen every time." He looked over at me with bits of flour on the tips of his hair and a smile on his face. "We'll clean it up together. I promise."

"Oh, I believe you. I don't want it to take longer than it has to so we can do other things with our day."

"Let's just keep going with the pancakes. I'm hungry."

"Well, get going, come on."

Try as we might, my son and I were never good at cooking together. Somehow, despite following the recipe to a tee, half of the pancakes ended up either burnt or raw in the middle. By the time the fiasco was done, we were each left with two that were mostly edible.

"Well, at least we got a couple of them, right," Gustave remarked with a smile on his face from where he sat opposite me in the dining room. I had suggested we eat there since the kitchen table had been overtaken by the cooking process.

I smiled back at him. "Yes, that's a good thing. They don't taste all that bad either."

"I think we did alright."

"I would say so," I agreed as I passed him his orange juice. "And you only dropped one out of the pan when you tried to flip it."

"And we each got the perfect amount." Forever my optimist. "I doubt we'd have been able to eat all of them."

"No, I don't think so either. You are growing, though. You might be surprised how much food your body demands when you're growing like you are."

"I think I'm going to be taller than you," he blurted out as he shoveled a full fork of pancake into his mouth.

"Oh, do you now?"

"I'm already almost at your shoulders," he mumbled between chewing. What am I going to do about his table manners? I thought with a smile.

"You've still got a ways to go," I remarked primarily out of fear at the prospect of my son being taller than me. "Your mother was on the shorter side; maybe you'll be like her."

Further proving that he had been spending way too much time with me, he pressed on with the subject: "But what will you do if I'm like you?"

"Lose my mind, probably."

"I can't wait," he said with a cheeky grin from ear to ear.

I laughed at how silly he looked with syrup and chocolate smeared on the sides of his face. "Well, I'm glad you're excited. I'm just not sure the world can handle another me."

"What do you mean?" He looked confused. "There's only one you."

"Well, if you turn out to be like me in the way you look as well as your personality, which is already happening, I'm not quite sure what I'll do."

"I guess we'll have to wait and see," he said as he loaded his fork and ate the last bite of his portion.

"Yes, I suppose we will. I'll just pray you're more like your mother until then." I passed him a napkin and motioned for him to wipe his face.

Once he was done, he looked down at his plate and his expression changed. "She was amazing at making pancakes."

"Was she? Ours don't quite measure up, do they?"

"She was a lot better than me when it came to flipping," Gustave replied, swishing the orange juice around in his cup.

"She seems to have taught you well. You're quite good at it."

"The garbage bin would say otherwise." His eyes weren't leaving his glass.

"Oh, come now, it's alright. Your mother had quite a bit more practice, don't be disappointed." I knew that he wasn't truly upset about the pancakes in the trash, so without a word, I got up and sat next to him. "It's alright, Gustave. I know you miss her, my boy."

I could see the tears welling in his eyes that were threatening to spill over, yet he still wouldn't look at me. "I just want her to be here too."

"I know. I do too," I assured him.

"It just hurts a lot." That was when the tears finally made their proper appearance. I gently took his shoulder and leaned him into me so I could hold him as he cried. I wasn't sure how long we sat there, but I would have sat there for a hundred years if he needed me too.

"I know, my boy, I'm sorry. I wish I could do more."

I received an initial response of him wrapping his arms around me and just holding tight.  "This is good, though," he said.

"Good. I just want to help you any way I can." I smoothed down his mess of hair as I spoke.

"Can we stay like this for a while longer?"

"Of course." I pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "We can stay right here as long as you want, my boy."

"Thank you, Papa."

"You're very welcome, but you don't have to thank me for comforting you." I lifted his face so that he was looking at me. "I'm your father, I'm happy to do it."

"I mean thank you for staying." There was a pause as he thought of what to say next. "I don't think I was really a part of your life's plan."

"You may not have been, but I'm glad you're here." I couldn't lie to him; he arguably was not planned and a surprise to both Christine and myself, but I couldn't bear the thought of him considering me to be any less grateful for him because of it. "I didn't think I'd have a child, but I'm so happy that I got you. You give me a reason to want to be better every day. You may not have been the original plan, but this was so much better."

"But you're good at being a Papa. Why didn't you think you'd have a child?" It was a fair question, though definitely not one that I wanted to answer then or ever, frankly, if I could help it.

"Let's not get into that right now," was my lame excuse, but it seemed to placate him. "You're here in my life and that is all that matters."

"Okay. I'm really glad you're my Papa, you know."

It took everything in my power to not let tears well up at that alone. Could it be possible to love my child even more than I already did? "

Then I guess I've done something right then."

"You have. You're doing a good job, even if you say you don't think you are sometimes." It was like he was reading my mind.

"Thank you, mio soldatino." He smiled at his nickname; something in his curious mind adored the fact that it was in another language. I had attempted to teach him more, given his amazement at how many I knew myself, but we had quickly come to the conclusion that French and English would suffice.

"You're welcome." It was his turn to pull me into a tight hug. "I love you, Papa."

Once he released his hold on my torso, I looked at the state of my kitchen and figured we should probably clean. We had left quite a mess behind in favour of eating our pancakes while they were still warm. Once the room was put back to its original state of semi-chaos, though, we were at a loss of activity, and it was still pouring outside, so going out was not an option.

"Now what do you say we do something fun?" I suggested.

"Like what?"

"Well, the weather is still awful, so it will have to be something inside," I explained, pointing to the window that was holding its own against the attack of heavy rain. "But what, I'm not sure. Did you have anything in mind?"

I could see the gears turning in his mind as he ran through his list of options until finally he looked back at me with an excited look on his face. "Could we play hide and seek?"

I probably should have guessed that that would be his choice of game. "There may not be many places to hide inside the house but we can definitely try."

"I'll find one. Just stay here and count." Before I could even close my eyes, he was gone.

I counted to ten and began my "search". The house was not very large, so there weren't many places that a boy his size could hide. Knowing that, along with the fact that my son was a creature of habit, the game went by much faster than it should have; he always hid in the linen closet near the upstairs bathroom. However, I knew that I couldn't end the game so easily, so naturally, I wandered around for a minute or two before going upstairs.

Once I made it to the second floor, I made sure to check every bedroom and the bathroom before going back and forth in the hall. To keep up the act, I let out a sigh and said, "Okay, I give up. Come out, Gustave." I made sure my back was to the closet beforehand to make sure he could think he surprised me.

"I think you may have had a point earlier when you said that there weren't many places to hide in the house," he said as he popped out from exactly where I knew he'd be.

"You hid there again?" I said, feigning shock. "My god, I should have known."

His smile was wide, so I knew he believed me. "See. I told you it would work."

"Why do you keep hiding in that same spot, my boy?" I asked him, genuinely curious. There were at least two other closets and a couple desks he could hide under, but he always chose that one in particular.

"Because you wouldn't expect me to hide in the same place twice."

I couldn't help but smile at the apparent strategy he had put into the game. "Well, it seems you were right. I never would have thought you'd do that."

"William taught me that trick."

"Oh, did he?" A memory stirred of him and all his friends running around in the park playing hide and seek amongst other games. Sometimes he acted so mature that it was good to see him be the child that he was. "You're learning all the best hide and seek strategies from him?"

"He's really good. I can never find him."

"Well, I'll have to test that and play with the two of you the next time he comes to visit," I suggested.

"That would be so fun, Papa!" He was practically jumping out of his skin at the thought.

I laughed at his reaction before affirming to him: "Then we will certainly do it next time."

"I can't wait. Do you think he could come over tomorrow?"

I knew Maddie wouldn't have a problem with it. "I can call and ask your Aunt Maddie if that's alright, yes." I made a mental note to call her later on.

"Great."

"We made this a fun day, didn't we?" I poked him in the cheek, which was dimpled from his wide grin. "Even without the beach."

"It will be even better if we can read together. Or even play the piano. Or the best option..." He didn't finish his thought and walked behind me, but it wasn't until I felt him trying to grip my shoulders that I realized what he was trying to do.

I laughed at how foolish he was being; he knew that he wouldn't get up there properly without help. "If that's what you want, it would be easier if you asked." After some adjustments, he was safely latched onto my back, his legs wrapped around my waist. "Where to? The living room to read or the study for the piano?"

"The living room. That way we can sit on the sofa. It's much more comfortable than the piano bench." He had a point there.

"To the living room then!" I proclaimed like a soldier on the field of battle, and he laughed as we made our way down the stairs. I would be lying if I said I wasn't absolutely terrified of going downstairs like this, though we made it down without incident. Once we were in the living room, I made a point of dramatically dropping him on the couch.

"Papa, why'd you do that?" he asked in between giggles.

"Because it was fun."

He paused his laughter before answering: "Okay, it was sort of fun."

"See, there is a method to the madness."I sat myself down next to him, but he had refused to fix himself from the sprawled out position I had dropped him in. "Are you going to sit up?"

"Maybe. Maybe not." He was getting cheeky.

"Well, you've left yourself very exposed." Without any other warning, I reached over and started tickling him.

"Stop, Papa, please!" His arms jerked around as he tried to grab at mine, sounding absolutely hysterical in the meantime. "I'll sit up, I promise."

"No, this is much more fun than reading, if I'm honest," I teased as I kept going. After a few minutes, he ended up rolling off the couch and onto the floor, and the loud thud on impact made me freeze. "Are you alright, Gustave?"

He sat up on the floor and rubbed the back of his head. "My head kind of hurts...but not as much as your sides will," he exclaimed and the next thing I knew, he was returning my generous favour of tickling me frantically.

"Dear god!" I cried out between laughs. "No, Gustave, please. Have mercy!"

"Revenge!" he shouted, giggling along with me.

"No, please! I'm sorry! Truce! Truce!"

Clearly that wasn't going to work as he kept going without pause. "Say that I win!"

"Fine, fine. You win!" I conceded.

The tickling finally stopped and I felt his weight on my chest as he flopped on top of me for a hug. "Good."

"Alright then," I said once I had caught my breath. "Now that we've wasted a sufficient amount of time, what book were you thinking of reading?"

He thought over that question for a moment before responding. In our short time together, we had amassed quite the library, so the decision was never an easy one.

"Can we read King Arthur? I want to read a story with an adventure in it."

"That sounds interesting. Go grab it."

Gustave bounced off the couch and bolted upstairs. In hindsight, it would have been better to grab the book before carrying him downstairs, but alas I had not decided to do so.

"Here it is. I've been excited to start reading this one," he said before placing the book on my lap when he returned.

"Should we make tea before or after?"

"Let's do it now. I don't want to stop reading in the middle to get up and make it."

"I'd have to agree. You get the mugs, I'll get the kettle," I instructed. I was determined to keep him away from the stove unless necessary for as long as possible.

"Okay. Do you have a mug you want? I can't remember if you have a favourite or not," he said as he grabbed a chair to stand on in order to get to the cupboard with the mugs. Eventually, that seat cushion would end up with permanent footprints on it with how much he stood on it.

"It makes no difference to me," I replied as I filled the kettle.

"Okay. I'll go get them." He looked over to me and I could tell he had an idea. "Do we have any biscuits or anything?"

I knew it was probably too early for cookies, but I decided I would humour him. "You're more than welcome to look in the cupboard."

His eyes lit up and he raced over to the cupboard, dragging his chair behind him. "Here we go. Should we put them on a plate or just bring the whole package?"

"Less dishes later if we eat out of the package," I pointed out.

"That's true." He looked down at the package and smiled fondly. "Mother never let us do that because we would just eat the whole thing."

"She probably has a point." I made a point of using the present tense. I knew it made him feel better and it also made me breathe a bit easier when we didn't speak about her like she was gone.

"We're still going to bring the whole thing, aren't we?"

I smiled back at him as the kettle started whistling. "I'm surprised you're asking that question."

He put the package next to the mugs and started prepping them with teabags and sugar. "Good. You can't eat them all, okay?"

"I'm trying to start a habit of not making promises I can't keep," I teased.

"You have to share, Papa, even if you like these a lot!"

I ruffled his hair as I poured the water into our mugs. "I'll consider it because I like you."

"Wow, I feel loved."

"You should because I don't like to share."

"Well, I'm glad you love me enough to share biscuits with me," he said as he grabbed the package and began to make his way back to the living room, leaving me to carry our mugs.

Once we sat down, I decided to indulge him in a lesser known story: "A high honour indeed. I didn't even share with Nadir."

"But I thought he was your best friend." He sounded genuinely confused at that. "Why didn't you share with him?"

"Because there are certain things that I didn't get very often in Persia, and biscuits were one of them."

I knew that would peak his interest; he always loved the stories of my time in Persia. "Did you try to hide them so you could have them all to yourself?"

"It was practically necessary," I pointed out. "I was very strategic about it."

"I tried to hide the biscuits once too so I could keep them. I put them under my pillow, but Mother caught me eating one." He giggled at the memory. It must have been such a foolish scene.

"You see, you have to hide them in a place that even you wouldn't think they should be," I began. "A bedroom is too easy; you have to think about where it would be most unusual for them to be found...wait, why am I telling you this?"

Gustave laughed at me for giving him very usable information that I probably shouldn't have provided him with. "I don't know, but thank you for the tips."

"You need to stop me before I do things like that." I gave him a light tickle under his rib. "It's irresponsible on both our parts."

"But it's more fun. Being a little irresponsible is okay sometimes, right?"

"Depends on the situation, honestly." I knew that the right answer as a parent should have been that he should always make responsible decisions, but that wasn't applicable to life, so why make up a story for the child? "Like right now, for instance. I can say with almost absolute certainty that we are going to finish this package of biscuits; is that irresponsible? Yes. But is it going to hurt either of us later on in a dramatic way? No."

He seemed to understand my meaning, which I was grateful for. "Okay. At least there won't be any problems if we eat them all."

I went to pick up my mug and realized that the china was still too warm to hold and winced, and Gustave immediately took note. "Is your hand okay now, Papa? You should have let me help you put a bandage on that burn last night. "

"It's still tender but I'll be fine," I replied as I thought back to the string of unsavoury words that I had used last night and had made him promise not to repeat when I'd burned myself slightly while making dinner.

"You could have let me help you make dinner after you hurt yourself, you know."

"Once I've started something, I have to finish it. I'm very stubborn that way," I remarked.

"Mother said I'm like that too sometimes."

Yet another similarity between us. "Then we are both doomed," I pointed out.

"Maybe, but I think we'll be okay." He shrugged his shoulders. "Can we have our biscuits now?"

"Alright. Now, pass me the book and let's see where this takes us."

"I think this is more perfect than the day I had planned Papa." He snuggled into my side as I opened to the first page. "Don't you think?"

"Everyday is perfect as long as I have you." I pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

After a while of reading and absentmindedly eating, we came to an impasse; we had just finished a chapter and we were about to finish the package of biscuits. There was only one left and we both reached for it simultaneously.

"How shall we settle this?" I asked, knowing full well that I would end up giving it to him.

"I don't know. What do you think?" he asked.

"Well, I think we have two options," I said as grins stretched across both of our faces. "We could either duel to the death or we could be civilized and break it in half."

"The duel to the death sounds a bit more entertaining," he replied as he thought it over. "Especially because I can beat you."

I was surprised at him. Normally, he chose the compromise. "A bold statement coming from a person half my size.

"I still think I can do it pretty easily."

"But are you willing to clean up by yourself once the deed is done?" I proposed. I knew very well that he would rather do anything else than chores and I intended to use that to my advantage.

He thought over the rules before answering: "Yes, I am," and before I had the time to be shocked, he was already on top of me.

I was going to let him win, obviously - I knew neither of us wanted to actually hurt the other -  but I couldn't go down easy or he would hold it over me forever, so I put up a good fight. In the midst of the tussle, though, Gustave's knee hit me below the belt, sending a searing pain through my stomach and lower half.

"Papa? What's wrong?" Gustave asked, immediately freezing at the sound of my gasp.

Between breaths, I remarked: "You have excellent aim."

"Did I hurt you? Are you okay?"

"Just give me a moment, please." My voice probably came out as a wheeze more than anything else.

Of course, with his mother's gentle nature shining through, he immediately started apologizing and trying to help. "Do you need ice, Papa?"

"No, cold isn't exactly the best for this. I just have to grit my teeth and wait for it to pass."

"I'm so sorry, Papa," he repeated for probably the tenth time.

"It was an accident, Gustave, it's okay," I assured him.

"Here." He grabbed the biscuit and presented it to me. "You should have the last biscuit. I should have been more careful."

"No, no, you can have it, don't worry." I forced a smile at him through the lingering pain. "You put up a good fight, I must admit."

"But you got hurt. That wasn't supposed to happen. You should have it."

"Oh, for goodness' sake." I took it from him and broke it to the best of my ability, still ending up giving him the larger half. "There, now we both have it."

"Are you sure you're okay, Papa? You look like you're in a lot of pain."

I tried my best to mask my expressions as I waved him off. "I'll be fine, I've dealt with worse."

"But Papa, you have tears in your eyes," he pointed out. I hadn't even noticed them, frankly. "You don't look like you're fine."

"Trust me, Gustave, I'll be alright."

He didn't exactly look like he believed me, so he reached over and hugged me. "I'm still really sorry, Papa."

"All is forgiven, my boy."

He let me go and reached for the book on the coffee table. "Can we keep reading now? Or do you still need a moment?"

"We should be alright now."

"Okay, good." Before getting comfortable, Gustave reached behind us and grabbed the blanket that was draped over the back of the couch. "Now we can be a bit more cozy while we read."

"Good idea." Once the blanket was in place, he snuggled into my side again and I continued to read to him. I must have gotten enthralled in the story, seeing as I didn't even notice that he had fallen asleep.

I pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head and adjusted how the blanket was draped over him. That boy had become the light in my days so quickly that I didn't even realize how much he had changed me. I think I laughed more with him that day than I had in the entire year before he had come into my care and I didn't know how I could ever thank him enough for it. All I could do was try, truly, and try I would for as long as I possibly could.

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Hey hey. Sorry for the prolonged absence. Life has been happening and it's getting in the way of writing time. Hopefully our next chapter will be out to you as soon as possible. In the meantime we hope you enjoyed this one. It's so sweet and pure. As always please leave your comments here because we love to see them.

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