He sways to Ben Folds in his chair at 'Donald's. Fynn sits on his knees, piercing blue eyes darting from one area to the next. He watches a little girl in a sweatshirt covered in ballet shoes as she dances to the ketchup pump.
The accents are thick with Boston.
I'm trying to stay present in this moment. Focus on where we are, trying to not want for another place.
Or something more than Diet Coke from a soda fountain.
The kids meal sits between us. Chicken nuggets, fries, a prize knight atop a squirrel {don't ask... } and a castle made out of a jug of milk.
He tells me about the knight and how he must find the castle. And then he glances outside and sees someone hurrying by on the street. Going for a walk in the subzero windchill.
Fynn starts worrying that the little boy lost his mommy.
As we leave, he falls in the parking lot. Scrapes his hands and teardrops begin to fall. In a natural mommy moment I scoop him up in my arms, fly across the parking lot to our car. Into the carseat, check hands, check knees, check noses, wipe tears.
Breathe in salty frozen tears. Focus.
He asks about the little boy again. He needs his mommy. He lost his mommy. We need to catch up, mommy! We drive a ways, and he's satisfied in knowing the little boy must have made it home. He found his mommy.
And we drive to our castle. Princess and King waiting for us. We're found.