“If he’s like me, we will support him,” he whispers worriedly in my ear. “If he’s like me . . . we’ll be there for him.”
“Yes, Remy. We will teach him music. And exercise. And how to take care of this little body. It will be strong and astound him and maybe frustrate him sometimes too. We will teach him to love it. And himself. We will teach him love.”
He wipes his eyes with the backs of his hands. “Yeah.” And he sets a kiss on my forehead. “Yeah, we’ll teach him all that.”