April Exclusive - "Hidden" - Part 2

They could be brothers.

Not twins. Steven…Stevie looks older, is older.

For now. Until it’s time for medicine again.

I find both boys in the bathroom. Danny is gazing at his uncle, goggle-eyed. He’s got that same expression he had when I took him to visit Santa Claus at Midtown East.

He pulls on my wrist. “Look, Mommy!” As if I’m not, like perhaps I hadn’t noticed that my brother-in-law was now a child.

“I know, honey,” I reply. “I can see.”

I take in the sight of Steven, folded up on the bathroom floor in a puddle of his old clothes. Did he slide down the wall or did his legs buckle? Did it hurt or was it over in a second? I wish now that I’d been able to watch. But that’s okay. I’ll watch next time.

The new little boy looks up at me and says, adorably in his new little boy voice, “What the hell?”

I manage not to swoon over how endearing he sounds. “Don’t say ‘hell’, Stevie, that’s not polite.” I crouch down in front of him and can’t resist tidying his hair with my fingers.

“Get off!” he squeaks, but he’s feeble, limp arms waving the sleeves of his shirt.

“Mommy just wants to make sure you’re okay,” I say. I wait a beat before continuing. “Did you slip?” I ask, my voice teeming with concern. “Did you bump your head?”

And I have to swallow a grin when it’s the idea of slipping that seems to make Stevie bristle, not the name I’ve given myself.

“I didn’t slip,” he grumbles, and he stands up, barely registering as his comically oversized pants fall to his ankles. It’s left up to Danny to giggle at the sight of his former uncle.

Stevie glares at the boy who is just a couple inches shorter than him. My heart aches at the thought of them wrestling, having fun until it goes too far and I have to intervene, reminding them that there’s no roughhousing allowed, that they’re brothers and they love each other.

“It’s not funny,” insists Stevie. He pouts, and I want to pick him up and cover his face with kisses. I imagine the photos of the two of them, both blue-eyed, Danny with his straw-colored hair and Stevie dirty-blonde. Instinctively I reach for my iPhone, and then I remember; no photos, not just yet. Not until everything’s settle.

“Are you hurting?” I ask sweetly. “Do you have a boo-boo?” I think of the Paw Patrol Band-Aids in the bathroom cabinet. At six years old, Danny still watches the show sometimes, but he’s not obsessed like he used to be. I guess Stevie would consider them babyish, because I’m guessing he’s eight now.

For the moment, at least.

Again, he brushes off my offer to mother him, to make him feel better. “I’m not…” He cries out, red-faced and furious. “Come on! This isn’t me!” He shakes his head and then points accusingly at me, his dangling shirt sleeves succeeding in making him look far more comical than threatening. “You did this.” He shakes his head again. “I don’t know how, but you did it.” He cries out again. “Jesus, all for what? To make us stay in Raleigh? Oh, come on!”

I frown at him. “Honey, I think you must have bumped your head.” I reach to touch him, to check for bruises that of course don’t exist, and he backs away, almost causing a real bruise as his head comes close to banging against the towel rail.

“Don’t,” he says between gritted teeth, and that’s when I see he’s missing two of his front uppers, and I can’t help grinning. He really does look perfect. I want to ask him if he has any loose teeth, I want to make promises about the Tooth Fairy. I want to fill his head with magic.

He bends down, reaching into his pants. “I’m calling Claire.”

“Auntie Claire?” I ask without skipping a beat. “She’ll be here later, sweetheart.” I tap a figurative watch on my wrist. “Come on, we should get you changed so you can hunt for eggs with Danny.” I brighten my tone and add, “When Auntie Claire gets here, you can show her all the candy you found.” I wink. “As long as you haven’t eaten it all!”

He gives up looking in his pockets. “Must have left it in on the counter,” he mutters. He looks me in the eye. “Don’t bother pretending,” he says. “You made me small, but I haven’t forgotten who I am.”

I shake my head at him. “You really are full of silly stories, Stevie.” I turn to Danny and grin. “I’ve got a surprise for both of you. Something special for your Easter egg hunt.” I crouch down and put my hands on his head, stroking his hair, and wonder when Stevie will let me treat him the same way.

“What is it?” asks Danny. His transformed uncle must have been spectacular to observe, but nothing beats a special, secret gift from Mommy.

I put my lips to his ear. “Under the kitchen sink.” I watch as he rushes out of the bathroom.

“Okay,” Stevie says, “you can drop the act.” He puffs out his little chest and declares, “You can’t steal my identity.”

I shrug my shoulders. “Oh, Stevie, I don’t know how to play this funny game with you, you’re going to have to explain it.”

“There!” he exclaims, spying and then picking up the little blue spray bottle. “I used that thing.” He sneers. “For allergies, you said. As soon as I sprayed it, I got younger!”

I hold out my hand and Stevie drops the bottle into my palm. “You did this, but you wasted your time. She’ll make you change me back. And we’re still leaving. As soon as Claire gets here, we’re gone.”

“I know you took the medicine,” I reply. “But that’s because you’re supposed to.” I tilt my head at him. “Dr. Gray gave it to us, remember? To help with all your sneezies and itchies?”

Stevie opens his mouth to protest, but I cut him off with a curt nod. “It must be the medication that’s making you so silly, honey.” I tap the bottle lightly against my chin. “Yes, Dr. Gray did say you might feel a little foggy. Do you feel foggy, Stevie? Do you need to take a little nap? We can always hunt for eggs later on.”

“I’m not hunting for eggs,” he says, his little nose wrinkling with apparent disgust. “I’m not a baby!”

With perfect timing, Danny arrives back in the bathroom, carrying two plastic baskets. “I want the blue one!”

I laugh. “I know you do, Danny, ‘cause it’s got Chase on it. And what about what’s inside?”

Danny grins. “Bunny ears!”

“That’s right!” I take the fuzzy ears from the basket and put them on Danny’s head. “There,” I say, lifting him up so he can see his reflection in the mirror. “You’ll definitely find those eggs now, you look just like the Easter bunny!”

I offer the red basket to Stevie. “See, I got you a Spider-Man one.” I smile at him. “Want Mommy to help you with the bunny ears?”

I don’t expect him to say yes. When he just stares at me, hands on his little hips, I don’t get hurt feelings.

“Get it…through…your head,” he snarls. “I’m not a little boy. And I’m going to sue. I’m going to ruin you.” He waves his sleeved hands. “I’ll take your damn house and I’ll burn it to the ground.”

Yes, I know. He deserves a time-out for such behavior, he should be losing his Nintendo and YouTube privileges for talking to his mother like that. But really, it’s okay. I know he’s not ready to play nice, not yet. It’s understandable, he’s had quite the shock. And I don’t think I have long to wait.

“You don’t have to wear the bunny ears,” I say, “but I do expect you to play nice with your little brother. So I’ll make you a deal. If you get changed into play clothes and go outside to hunt for eggs, then you don’t have to take a nap.”

Stevie looks at me with absolute astonishment on his face, and then he talks slowly, spreading out his words as if addressing an idiot or maniac. “Why…on…earth would I want to hunt for eggs? I’m not your son, and besides, I’m the person who hid the damn things. Because you asked me to. Ten whole minutes ago, because you want everyone to spoil and coddle your son because you can’t bear the thought of not having a baby to look after.” His eyes shine and he says, “I’m impressed you actually potty-trained him, you probably wanted to keep him in diapers.”

I feel myself stiffen. Just a little. Because those words were cruel, they were heartless. But it’s okay. It’s all going to be fine. I take a breath. “I can see you don’t want to be good for me. So let’s make a deal. Get changed, get outside, and if you manage to find more eggs than Danny, than sure, I’ll change you back.” I waggle my fingers like a witch casting a spell. You can be a grown-up again.”

He blinks. “Seriously.”

“Sure. After all, if your story is true, then it’ll take no time at all. You’ll know where all the eggs are already, won’t you.”

Does he want to play in the yard with Danny? Does he want passers-by to see him as just a sweet little boy? No, he doesn’t. But again, I’m okay. Because even though my tone is more than a little sarcastic, I’ve offered him a glimmer of hope at getting his old life back. And I know he’s got no choice but to grab it.

It’s all of five minutes before I have Stevie dressed in shorts and a Spider-Man T-shirt I picked up at Target a couple days ago, a shirt that Danny thought I was buying for him.

Don’t like Spider-Man.

I know you don’t, sweetie. This for another little boy.

Who?

You’ll see. It’s a surprise.

I send them both outside into the warm sun. Again, I want to take a photo and share it on Instagram. #Easter #Brothers #BestFriendsForever

But it’s not quite time for photos.

“Keep an eye on your little brother,” I call to Stevie. It feels wonderful to say that out loud, I want the neighbors to hear it.

Stevie doesn’t reply, doesn’t even turn his head. He thinks he’ll find more eggs, he thinks he has a glimmer.

It’s all of five minutes before my boys rush back into the house. Danny arrives first, breathless with a respectable amount of plastic eggs in his basket and a first smear of chocolate on his lips. “I did way better than Stevie!” he crows. “Count ‘em, Mommy!”

I look down at Danny’s basket. “You did a good job. “Think there’s still some left out there?”

He shrugs. “Stevie kept saying he knew where the eggs where but he doesn’t, and he keep sneezing and he’s all snotty and-“

I nod. “Well, it’s hard when you’ve got allergies.” I had wondered if Stevie would still be allergic, and now I know. Bless his heart! I’ll have to take him to see Dr. Gray for real, and he’ll be put on a special medicine, something cherry-flavored and sticky that he takes on a spoon, and it’ll help the itchiness and sneezing, but it’ll also make him sleep, and he’ll be Mommy’s sleepy boy, ready for cuddles and naptime. I sigh in anticipation. But then I wonder, surely there must be an age where the pollen leaves him alone?

The screen door squeaks open and here comes Stevie, armed with a basket that undoubtedly takes second place to his little brothers.

“What happened?” I ask. I can’t help smiling, and I crouch down and whisper, “Did you let Danny win? Were you being sweet?”

Stevie shakes his head, lets his basket fall to the floor. “I can’t remember when I put the damn eggs,” he growls. And then he sneezes hard enough to make his whole body shake, but it’s not the deep explosion he produced in the kitchen a few minutes before. He’s more like a chipmunk with allergies. An adorable, snot-nosed, red-eyed, sneezing little chipmunk.

“Oh, honey. Do you need a tissue?”

“No.” And he wipes his nose on his arm.

“I guess Danny won the game,” I say, my voice dripping with sympathy.

“It’s not fair!” Stevie protest, rubbing at his eyes. “Please, you gotta change me back. I couldn’t remember where I put the eggs, I’m losing my mind over all this, please.”

“Count ‘em, Mommy.” Danny put his basket at my feet. “Please.”

“I will, sweetie.” And then I wonder, should I let Danny decide? Would he be okay with a little brother? A really little one? I close my eyes for a moment, imagine the scene of Danny doting on a new arrival to the family. I imagine his proud face in the photo I enclose in our Christmas cards.

“Look at poor Stevie,” I say to Danny. “He’s all sneezy and itchy!” I tap my chin. “What do you think, honey? Does Stevie need more medicine?”