A few days before the end of 2019, my wife Latoya came to Boston to celebrate New Year’s. She still had to finish her dental residency in Birmingham, forcing us, for the moment, to live apart. The moment she walked through the door, her presence made the utilitarian apartment feel like a home. One night, as she got ready for a hospital holiday party, I listened from another room as her voice bounced along with Stevie Wonder’s silky falsetto. “Isn’t she lovely,” I crooned when she emerged, looking radiant in a black dress. “Not so bad yourself. Grab your sports coat,” she said. “I hung it for you.” In our bedroom, something on the bed caught my eye. A blue onesie had been placed on top of the pillows. Below it sat two tiny booties, one pink, one blue. I picked up the onesie and read the lettering on the front: Daddy of two. |
