Between What Was and What Is

She realized that it was the way he waited until they were in public to plop indignantly on the floor that she hated most.

"Xavier, come on," she pleaded with him. We had been at the park for hours. Now it's time to go."

But Xavier wasn't having it. He continued swinging his arms, stomping, and plopping his body on the floor, protesting, "Five more minutes, mama."

She didn't need to look around to feel people's eyes on her, gawking. She hated it. It made her question herself and her parenting decisions. Not that she thought herself a pro, but she assumed she was halfway decent. She bent down to his level, knowing it wouldn't make any difference, and whispered, "Cielito, por favor," while reaching for his hand, which only made him scream louder.

What were people staring at anyway? Hadn't they ever seen a kid throw a fit? Was hers the only one who threw a fit?

"Come on, Papito. Please." She pleaded.

She knew on paper, or in theory, that a mother's love is supposed to be never-ending, warm, comforting, and all-encompassing. But, she also knew that it had never felt that way between her and her son; that either she was missing that motherly instinct that's supposed to appear as soon as you give birth, or he was defective. Because from the day that he came out of her body, she felt tired, disconnected, depressed, and unsure if motherhood was something she ever really wanted, or if it was something that she was gaslit into.

Marco, her lover of four years, boyfriend of two, and now fiancé, wanted kids. He made that clear to her from the day they started dating. He was the last of seven boys and always dreamt of having a house full of boys. On their third date, at a little hole-in-the-wall pizza shop, while sharing a slice of a very greasy pie, he confided in her that the only thing he wanted more than his boys was a 'good woman to help care for them'. She laughed at him because how else does someone respond to such a statement? She hoped that one day he'd find what he was looking for, because he had kind eyes and seemed to mean well.

She wasn't sure if she wanted kids. She grew up as an only child, watching her mother struggle to do the basic things like put food on the table or buy school supplies. This world always seemed cold and abrasive, and like her mother always said, "Mija, this world ain't no place for a child. So don't you be bringing any home. You hear?"

She figured she had time to decide one way or another. But at some point between when she met Marco and when she'd given birth to Xavier, she wasn't sure if she'd made that decision or if he'd made that decision for her.

"Mari?" She heard a voice say behind her. "Mari Ruiz? Is that you?" She turned slowly, raising a hand to shield her eyes. Still, the sunlight blurred everything, leaving only the outline of a tall figure in a dark colored jacket. "Here—Let me help you up," the voice said, extending a hand.

"Thank you," she murmured, taking his hand as she rose and steadied herself.

"You don't remember me, do you?" He asked with a soft chuckle, eyes lingering on her. Then, almost in awe: "Wow. You haven't changed at all." Heat rushed to her cheeks at his words. "It's me. I mean, Jason, Adri's cousin. She was your roommate, right?" He kept talking, as if trying to remind her who he is, was of the utmost importance.

But she remembered him as soon as she stood and got a good look at his face. That smile, those dimples. She recalled spending an entire year taking Adrielle up on any offer to chill, hoping she'd casually run into her cousin again. She'd spend so much time in front of the mirror rehearsing what she might say if she bumped into him. She wanted to sound casual, effortless, and interested. But whenever she saw him around town or on campus, he always had an entourage of girls around him.

"Yes. Of course, I remember. Jason, the player, right?" She said playfully, allowing her hands to linger in his longer than she probably should.

"Ugh, you're killing me," he responded with a chuckle, holding his hand over his heart. "Is that what y'all called me behind my back?"

"Of course not. We called you that to your face, too; you were just always too occupied to notice," she responded with a cheeky grin.

"I'm sure it was because I played baseball on campus, and nothing else," he responded with a wink.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The space between them was filled with the sounds of children playing, birds chirping, and the casual conversations of passersby. The air hummed with all of the things unsaid.

"So," he said, finally breaking the silence, "what are you doing here?

"I'm here with my son," she replied, turning and pointing to the little boy with the head of curls and too-short overalls who had taken advantage of his mother's distraction to run back to the swings he had previously been playing on.

"He's cute. How old is he?" He said, looking in the direction she pointed to.

"Thanks, he's 5, almost 6."

"Damn, time flies. You've been a mom for six years already?" He teased. "Nothing about you screams mom."

"Uh, thanks." She answered, hesitantly. "I think."

"Nah, nah," he rushed to clarify, grinning. "It's a compliment, for real. You look amazing."

"You've mentioned that. Thank you," she chuckled, motioning towards the bench facing the play structure. "Why are you here? Do you like to hang around in parks like a creep?" She lifted a brow.

"What, now I'm a whole creep?!" He said with mock indignation. "I went from a player to a creep. I can't keep up." He let the words hang, his gaze settling on her as the silence stretched.

"I'm here with my kid." He pointed to a little girl who was swinging next to Xavier. "She loves this park and is always begging to come here any chance we get to be together."

"She's adorable." She adds, looking at the little girl. "And she looks very content on those swings."

"Thanks." He shifted on the bench, angling his body more towards her. "Can I say something?"

She looked at him, curiosity and unease flickering in her gaze. "What?"

"I never pictured you as a mom. Remember, sophomore year, when Adrielle was trying to rope you into giving her a ride home and hang out while she babysat her nephew? You came up with every excuse in the book not to go." He pressed a hand to his mouth, trying to stifle a laugh.

"That kid was bad as hell!" She burst out laughing. "It wasn't my fault! And I don't remember you volunteering either!" She gave his shoulder a playful smack.

"First of all, she didn't ask me. And second—you said you couldn't go because you had to feed your cat."

"Yeah, and what was wrong with that?"

"It was the first time any of us was hearing about this cat." He broke into laughter.

"Stop it!" She said, laughing with him. "Princess was a beloved member of the family. She just also happened to be the neighborhood cat."

"Whatever you say. We all definitely thought you made her up." He raised his hands in surrender.

"Well," she sighed, her laughter fading as she looked at Xavier, "life happened, and motherhood found me."

"Life has a way of happening." He added, following her gaze.

"What about you?" She asked, eager to shift the focus. "How did Mr. Ball-hard-pay-hard end up someone's dad?"

He gave her a rueful smile. "Ah, you know how it is, Mari. With the way I was living…it was only a matter of time before the consequences of my actions caught up to me."

"And, exactly how many consequences are we talking about?"

"Really? That's what you think of me?"

"I didn't mean it like that.

"Just one." His tone softened. "And she's the best thing that ever happened to me. But she also…shocked my system, you know?"

"Yeah," Her voice was quiet now, reflective. "I know."

They watched the children play, allowing the silence to settle between them once more. Whether it was the weight of their words or the carefree laughter of the kids, the quiet felt almost comforting.

His phone chimed and beeped. He pulled it from his pocket and swiped the screen.

"I gotta go." His voice carried a hint of sadness as his eyes lingered on her.

"Something urgent?"

"Nope. Just life." He rose from the bench, giving her one last look. "It was good running into you, Mari."

She watched as he walked to his daughter, scooped her up, spun her into the air, and drew her into a hug. Together, they turned toward her and waved.

"Bye," she whispered.

Her eyes drifted across the playground until she found her son in the sandbox, scuffing at the dirt with his shoes. He looked worn out, ready to leave. And truth be told, so was she.