He had built one to occupy a chair.
To make the house look the way it looked when Julian was home.
***
My phone buzzed.
Julian.
A video call.
My son had not built a replacement father to play catch.
Toby immediately reached for it.
Then stopped.
For the first time, I wondered how many times he had answered Julian with that same giant smile because he believed both of us needed to see it.
I looked at him.
“Want to tell Dad about Travel Dad?”
His eyes widened.
“Noooo.”
“Want to tell Dad about Travel Dad?”
“Why?”
“Because he’ll feel bad.”
“Why would Dad feel bad?”
“Because he has to go.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t miss him.”
Toby stared at his knees.
Then said something so quietly I almost missed it.
“He always says he’s going for us.”
“Because he’ll feel bad.”
Toby continued picking at a loose thread on his sock.
“For soccer. And the house. And vacations.”
I didn’t interrupt.
“So if I make him feel bad about going…” He frowned, searching for the words. “…that’s mean.”
The phone kept buzzing between us.
“So if I make him feel bad about going… that’s mean.”
And suddenly I understood that Travel Dad wasn’t the strangest thing my son had been hiding.
It was the reason he’d believed he needed one.
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