By Allison K. Garcia
“Where’s Billy?” I held up the small, blue plane. “I found Bucky.”
“He just went out the window.”
“Out the window? But he just started walking last week.”
“What can I say? Kidrick boys are gifted.” Grant leaned back and wiggled his eyebrows.
I groaned. I’d never hear the end of this one. “Why didn’t you try to catch him?”
“Don’t worry, babe. He’ll be back on the ground in no time.”
“Well, did you at least take a picture?”
“Men,” I mumbled and grabbed my phone, rushing to the backyard.
Our one-year-old son hovered ten feet off the ground, his chubby legs casting a long shadow in the orangey-purple glow of dusk. “Vroom. Ima airpwane.”
“Smile for Mommy.”
Through the lens, I watched Billy sway side to side. Was it the sunset or did his face look green?
“Motion sickness.” Grant caught the dizzy toddler and smirked. “That’s from your side.”
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