Christmas came and went. One week after Santa delivered a sackful of new toys for Mason (with some help from an elf named Dawn), we watched the ball drop in Times Square to ring in the new year. Mason didn’t make it to midnight – four-year-olds just can’t hang – but Dawn and I sat on the living room couch in front of the TV with full glasses of champagne.
“Happy new year,” she said, clinking her glass against mine.
“Happy new year,” I echoed. A hard lump rose in my throat as I watched all the happy couples kissing in a blizzard of confetti on the screen. I washed it down with a deep swig of champagne, drowning out the dreary rendition of “Auld Lang Syne” that played in the background. The bubbly wine tasted bitter on my tongue.
As I turned my head away from the TV, the colorful lights of the Christmas tree in the corner caught my eye. All the decorations were still up inside the house, but the holiday cheer had faded away. New Year’s Eve used to be a fun night, but for the past few years, it had been nothing but depressing for me. Try as I might to make new memories, I could never forget that, at this exact moment four years earlier, I had kissed my wife for the last time.
“You can turn this off now if you want,” I muttered, tossing back the rest of my champagne. “I’m ready for bed.”
I didn’t have to tell Dawn twice. Without hesitation, she picked up the remote and clicked off the TV. She helped me transfer back to my wheelchair, and we took the elevator upstairs to the master suite.
Dawn waited in the bedroom while I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth and empty my bladder. When I came back out, she helped me get into bed and out of my clothes. Our routine was well-rehearsed; she knew her role, and I knew mine, which worked out well on nights like this, when neither of us felt like talking much. We barely said a word to one another as we went through the motions, which was unusual but not uncomfortable.
“Do you need anything before I go?” she asked once I was tucked into bed.
I took a mental inventory, checking to make sure my phone and water bottle were in reach, the pillows I used to pad the bony parts of my body were all in position, and the alternating air pressure mattress pad I slept on for pressure relief was turned on. “No, I’m okay.” I paused. “How are you doing?”
She glanced at the clock on my bedside table before giving me a sad smile. “Michael would have turned twenty-four today.”
I nodded. “I know. I hope he’s having one hell of a birthday party up there – no pun intended.”
She chuckled. “I bet he is. Knowing him, he invited Kristin and half of Heaven to join in the celebration. He could never have enough friends.”
“I’m sure she’s there,” I agreed, smiling back. “Kristin loved to have a good time.”
“I wish I could have met her,” said Dawn. “We would have gotten along well.”
“Yeah.” I sighed. “You would have liked her. Everyone did.”
“Same with Michael. He had a smile that could light up a whole room.”
I nodded again. I had never met her son Michael, but the big grin on his face was the first thing I remembered from the photos she had shown me. He was wearing it in every one. It was identical to Dawn’s smile, right down to the dimples in both cheeks. “Happy birthday, Michael,” I said, looking up at the ceiling.
“Thank you,” Dawn said softly, flashing me a tired version of that same smile. “I’ll let you get some sleep now. Goodnight.”
“‘Night, Dawn,” I replied as she switched off the overhead light and left my room, shutting the door behind her.
I turned off the tap light next to my bed, plunging the room into total darkness. Despite being tired, I didn’t fall asleep right away. I lay awake for almost an hour, reliving the events from four years ago in my mind. I knew Dawn was probably doing the same thing in her room down the hall, remembering her late son’s life. Ever since I had learned that Michael’s birth date was the same as Kristin’s death date, albeit different years, Dawn and I had been commiserating over our shared grief on New Year’s Day. It was nice to have someone around who understood, in so many ways, what I was going through.
Finally, I fell asleep. When I woke up, it was almost eight. Light streamed in around the edges of the room-darkening curtains that covered my windows. I knew Dawn would be in soon to help me get up and ready for the day. The first day of the year, I reminded myself, a wave of grief washing over me as I realized I would be dealing with the flood of emotions that surrounded the anniversary of the accident – my “injurversary” – for the rest of the day. The thought was so draining that I wanted to burrow under the covers and go back to sleep. “Wake me when it’s January second,” I would tell Dawn when she came in. But, of course, I couldn’t do that. I had a son to take care of, a son who was just beginning to deal with the ramifications of not having a mother in his life.
Having been just six months old when she died, Mason had no memories of Kristin. His concept of time was still developing, so he didn’t necessarily understand the significance of an anniversary. But one thing he had learned since starting preschool was that most kids in his class had a mom, and he did not.
I remembered one evening the previous spring when, at Mason’s bedtime, I told him to say goodnight to Dawn. Without hesitation, he called out, “Goodnight, Mommy!”
I saw Dawn’s blue eyes widen as they met mine, but she didn’t correct him. “’Night, kiddo!” she called back, hardly missing a beat.
I followed Mason to his bedroom, waiting while he brushed his teeth and climbed into bed. Once he was cozy under the covers, I rolled my chair right up next to his bed so we could have a conversation about it. “You know Dawn isn’t your real mommy, right?” I said gently as I ran my hand over his head, smoothing back the blond hair he had inherited from Kristin. “Your real mommy’s in Heaven, remember?”
Mason nodded. “I know,” he replied nonchalantly. “I just like to pretend sometimes.”
I chose my next words carefully, not wanting to discourage him from using his imagination. “It’s okay to pretend. But, you know, Dawn is already another little boy’s momma, and that boy is in Heaven, too. It might make her sad to hear you call her ‘Mommy.’ I don’t want you to do that anymore, okay?”
“Okay, Daddy,” he agreed, and we left it at that.
After our little heart-to-heart, I apologized to Dawn. “Don’t worry about it,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “It doesn’t bother me. He’s only three; it’s hard for him to understand.”
“But it bothers me,” I replied. “I know he doesn’t really remember Kristin, but I don’t want him to forget about her either, you know? He’s lucky to have you in his life, but letting him call you mom will only make things more confusing for him.”
Dawn nodded. “I think I may know why he did that tonight.” She got up from the couch and went into the kitchen, returning a few seconds later with a sheet of pink paper. “I found this in his bookbag today,” she said, showing me the note. It was a flier for “Muffins With Mom,” a special breakfast Mason’s preschool was hosting later that month. “Mother’s Day is coming up, so they’ve probably been talking a lot about moms at school lately. Maybe Mason’s feeling a little left out.”
A lump rose in my throat as I reread the heading. Swallowing hard, I replied, “It’s okay. I’ll ask my mom to take him. I’m sure it’s fine for grandmothers to attend, too. I think I saw a few grandpas at ‘Donuts with Dad’ earlier in the year.”
Dawn made an impatient noise with her tongue. “They really should get rid of both and just have one breakfast for any family member or friend who wants to attend. It’s not the flippin’ 1950s anymore; families look different nowadays. Not every kid has a mom, just like not every kid has a dad.”
“I know. But I don’t think they mean to be exclusive – it’s just a cute name for a family event,” I said, shrugging. “I doubt they’d turn me away at the door if I just brought Mason myself. But my mom would love to go with him; it’ll be something special for the two of them to do together.”
That was exactly what happened: Mason had a fun morning with Mammaw at “Muffins With Mom,” and he didn’t call Dawn “Mommy” again. But, months later, as I lay in bed on the anniversary of his real mom’s death, I reflected on something Dawn had said: “Maybe Mason’s feeling a little left out.”
Over the past four years, I had made an effort to fill the void in my son’s life with women who could take on more of that motherly role. We had moved from California back to Kentucky to be closer to my family. And although I’d felt more comfortable with male caregivers, I had purposely hired Dawn so that Mason would have a female nanny. The only thing I had not done was try to find him a “new mom.”
I hadn’t dated anyone since Kristin died. At first, I was too overwhelmed with grief to even think of dating again. In addition to my wife’s death, I was also dealing with a life-altering injury, and it took me a long time to adapt to my new life as a widowed, disabled single dad. These days, I was more well-adjusted, but the thought of going out on a date still triggered my anxiety. It wasn’t just that I was self-conscious about being in a wheelchair or worried that my disability would be a turn-off to most women. I knew there were plenty of decent people in the world who could look past the chair, beyond all the broken parts of my body, and love me for the man I was on the inside. But I wasn’t sure I was ready to pursue a new relationship. That would mean opening up my heart and letting someone else in to fill the hole Kristin had left in it. Could I ever love another woman the way I loved her?
There was only one way to find out, and that was to give it a shot. It was the first day of a new year, a time when most people make resolutions to better their lives. I had already decided to rejoin the Backstreet Boys and return to the music career I had once loved. Maybe it was also the right time to start looking for someone to spend the rest of my life with.
I mentioned this to Dawn as she was helping me get dressed that morning. “Is it weird for me to think about dating again on the anniversary of my wife’s death?” I asked, glancing down at the pendant that rested on my bare chest. It was an infinity symbol, forged from Kristin’s and my wedding bands. After wearing her ring on a chain around my neck and keeping mine on my finger for over two years, I’d had the two melted together into a symbol of everlasting love for what would have been our tenth wedding anniversary. I had been wearing it close to my heart ever since.
Dawn handed me a sweatshirt. “I don’t think it’s weird at all,” she replied as I pulled the shirt over my head. “It doesn’t mean you love Kristin any less. It just means you’re finally ready to move on with the rest of your life. That’s what she would want you to do, right?”
Truth be told, Kristin and I had never really talked about what we would have wanted for each other if one of us should be widowed at a young age. We had always assumed we would get to grow old together. But, since her death, I had tried to imagine what it would be like if our roles were reversed, if I had died in the accident and left her behind. Would I want her to be alone for the rest of her life? Of course not. I would want her to be happy, even if it was with another man. I figured she would want the same for me.
“I guess so.” I smoothed the thick fabric down with the heel of my hand, feeling the hard outline of the pendant tucked safely underneath it. “I don’t even know where to start. I’m forty years old; I haven’t ‘dated’ since my early twenties. How do you even meet people these days? Online?”
Dawn chuckled. “Don’t ask me! I’m a forty-five-year-old divorcee who married her high school sweetheart in the eighties, before the internet was even a thing, and hasn’t been on a date since. I have no flippin’ clue.”
“A lot of help you are,” I said, laughing. “Have you ever thought about putting yourself back out there?”
She shrugged. “I’ve thought about it, but I always come to the same conclusion: I’m better off alone. After being cheated on by a man I devoted two decades of my life to, I’d rather stay single for the rest of my life than deal with that bullshit again.”
I nodded. “I get that. To be honest, it’s Mason I’m worried about more than myself. I just want him to have a mother figure in his life as he grows up. My mom’s wonderful with him, but she’s getting older, and I have to face the reality that she won’t always be around. You’ve been an amazing female role model for him, too, but someday, you might decide to move on and do something different…”
“Psh… I’m not going anywhere,” Dawn replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I’ll stay as long as you need and want me here, so don’t even worry about that.”
“Thanks,” I said, shooting her an appreciative smile. She had heard all about my history with unreliable caregivers shortly after I’d hired her. Aside from Sam, each one had let me down in some way – one had left me stranded in bed; the other had stolen from me. I was lucky to have found someone willing to not only move in with me and Mason, but stick around for the last three years. I didn’t want to lose Dawn.
“Why don’t you ask your bandmates? I mean, how did they meet their wives or girlfriends?” she asked.
I thought about that. “Well, Brian met Leighanne at a video shoot – she was one of the models hired to be in our music video. He saw her headshot and fell for her before he’d even met her,” I said, chuckling. “Howie’s wife Leigh also worked for us; she was one of our webmasters. They started hanging out while she was filming content for our official site and ended up falling in love.”
“Hm… I’m noticing a pattern here,” Dawn said, her eyes narrowing. “Don’t you go getting any ideas now.”
I laughed. My relationship with Dawn had never been anything but purely platonic. In the beginning, it was professional – I was her employer, and she was my personal assistant – but as we got more comfortable around each other, it quickly evolved into a closer friendship. Dawn had become almost like the sister I’d never had, more of an aunt to Mason than a nanny. I considered her to be part of our family, but my feelings for her would never be romantic. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said. “You’re out of my league, anyway.”
“Ha! Please. Who’s the famous boyband heartthrob again? People probably still have posters of your face on their walls,” she reminded me.
“If they do, it was me before my injury. The wheelchair takes away points.”
“You’re still at least a solid eight,” said Dawn with a shrug. “And hey, a lot of chicks dig a dude who’s vulnerable in some way. It feeds their nurturing instinct, you know? They want someone they can take care of.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Really? Is that why you applied for this job?”
She laughed. “Damn, there I go, giving away all my secrets. How else was a frumpy, middle-aged woman like me supposed to get close to a handsome, rich and famous guy like you?”
“Aw, don’t call yourself ‘frumpy.’”
“Why not? It’s true,” she said, looking down at her wrinkled t-shirt and sweatpants.
“Well, then, I must be frumpy, too,” I replied, chuckling as I realized I was also wearing a baggy pair of sweats.
“Nah, you clean up nice,” she said with another wave of her hand. “Besides, guys can get away with wearing whatever they want.”
“That’s true. Nick dresses way worse than me, and he’s always had women falling all over him.”
Dawn snickered. “So, how did he meet his girlfriend?”
“I think it was sort of a blind date situation. His sister set them up,” I said. “And AJ first asked Rochelle out a few years ago when she was working as a waitress, only she turned him down. He must have kept asking until she finally caved and went out with him. And now they’re married!”
“Wow!” Dawn’s eyes widened. “I guess persistence pays off, huh?”
“Apparently. Or maybe it got to the point where she just felt sorry for him and went on a pity date. That’s probably the only way I’m gonna get a girl to go out with me.”
“Oh, stop!” said Dawn, smacking me playfully upside the head. “I said some women are attracted to guys who are vulnerable, not pathetic. Now, c’mon… let’s get you looking your best and see what those online dating sites are like.”
After she helped me transfer to my chair, I let her give me a shave and style my hair. Then we went downstairs, where I found Mason sitting on the floor in front of the TV with a bowl of cereal. He was still in his pajamas, but I didn’t care. It was a holiday, so there was no preschool. I wasn’t planning to go anywhere.
“‘Morning, Mason,” I said, forcing a smile onto my face as I wheeled myself over to him. “Happy New Year!”
“Morning,” Mason mumbled back through a mouthful of Honey Nut Cheerios, hardly tearing his eyes away from the TV long enough to look at me.
I left him engrossed in an episode of The Fresh Beat Band and went to make a cup of coffee. Dawn followed me into the kitchen. “Can I get you anything for breakfast?” she asked as I fired up the Keurig.
“Nah, I’m not hungry yet. Did you already eat?”
“I may have had a Christmas cookie or two with my coffee,” she said, smiling.
“Might as well eat ‘em before they get stale.” We’d done a lot of baking leading up to the holidays. Dawn was a decent cook, and Mason liked to help her in the kitchen. I usually ended up being more of a hindrance than a help, since I had a tendency to make messes. But I enjoyed just watching the two of them at work, Mason learning while Dawn taught him little tips and tricks along the way. She wasn’t afraid to get messy, which was an important quality to have when living with a four-year-old and his quadriplegic father.
When the coffee finished brewing, I carefully added a bit of creamer before pushing the lid down on my favorite travel mug, the kind with a handle that made it easy for me to hold. I put it in my chair’s cup holder as I wheeled myself over to the kitchen table, where Dawn was sitting with her laptop open in front of her.
“Let’s see,” she said. “The only two reputable dating sites I’ve really heard about EHarmony and Match.com… unless you wanna try one of the more niche ones you see on TV, like FarmersOnly or ChristianMingle?”
“Wait. We’re doing this now?”
Dawn shrugged. “Why not? We’re almost ten hours into 2012; time’s a-wastin’!”
I laughed. “All right, fine. But no ChristianMingle or FarmersOnly. I’m not that country.”
“Suit yourself,” she said, typing something into Google. “The first one that came up is EHarmony. Shall we give it a shot?”
“Sure, whatever,” I said with a shrug.
“You could sound a bit more excited about it! Your soulmate may be on this site!”
My soulmate’s in Heaven, I thought sadly. But I knew Dawn was just trying to be helpful, so I didn’t say that out loud. “Sorry. I guess I’m just more anxious than excited right now.”
“It’s okay. I get it. But you have nothing to lose by looking.”
Only my pride and what’s left of my self-esteem, I thought with a sigh, sitting back in my chair. I let Dawn sign me up for the website anyway, watching as she entered my email address and other basic information into each box.
Then came a questionnaire, where I had to rate different aspects of my personality. “Would you say you’re more warm or cold?” Dawn asked.
“You know me; I’m always cold.”
She laughed. “I don’t think it’s talking about the temperature. I would say you’re more warm. You were very welcoming when I first moved in with you.”
“Okay, go with that, then,” I said, shrugging again. “Sorry, I dunno how to answer some of these dumb questions.”
The questions got deeper the further we went. Before long, I was being asked what I was thankful for, what I was passionate about, and what I wanted in a partner. I had no idea what I was looking for aside from a woman who would love me as I was and love my son as her own.
After answering what felt like hundreds of questions, it was finally time to set up my profile. “It wants you to upload some photos,” Dawn said, showing me the screen. “Do you have any old ones you wanna use, or should we take some new ones?”
I frowned. “Do I have to post a picture? I dunno if I want people to recognize my face. I’ll just get fans and gold-diggers that way.”
“You might not get anyone if you don’t post a picture,” she replied. “As a woman, I don’t know if I’d agree to go out with a man I met on the internet without at least knowing what he looked like.”
“You’ve got a point,” I said with a sigh. “Okay, so next question: Do I show the chair or not? I mean, say someone doesn’t immediately recognize me as ‘Kevin Richardson from the Backstreet Boys’ and remember what happened to me. Should I be upfront about my disability or hide it until I get to know her better?”
“Hm… Well, hiding a huge part of your life doesn’t seem like a great way to start a new relationship. Even if you don’t directly lie about it, it feels dishonest. Lying by omission, you know? Sure, your disability may be a dealbreaker for some people, but they probably aren’t women you’d wanna date anyway.”
True, I thought. “So I should show the chair?”
Dawn hesitated. “Yes… but then you have to watch out for the devotees, people who are only attracted to you because you’re in a wheelchair.”
I blinked. “Wait, what?”
She sighed. “There are people out there who have… fetishes… for people with disabilities. I think they’re mostly men, but there may be a few women out there with this type of infatuation, too.”
I stared at her, still trying to process this unpleasant piece of information. “But… why?”
“Who knows?” She shrugged. “Why do people have foot fetishes?”
I shook my head, disgusted. “How do you even know about this?”
“It came up once in a support group meeting I went to with Michael. Most of the other kids in the group were boys, of course, but there was one teenage girl who had been dealing with this sort of unwanted attention on social media.”
I glanced back at the laptop screen, where there was an empty gray frame waiting for me to upload a photo of myself. No matter what kind of picture I put there, people would use it to judge me through their screens. It felt so impersonal, so unnatural. Was this really the best way to start a relationship?
I thought about my Backstreet brothers again. None of them had met their significant others online, not even the younger guys who had been on the dating scene more recently. That had to mean something.
In one sudden movement, I reached out and slammed the laptop shut. “I can’t do this,” I told Dawn. “I’m not ready.”
“It’s okay,” she said, offering a reassuring smile. “You don’t have to be. Sorry if I pushed you too hard.”
“You’re fine. I know you were just trying to help.”
I wasn’t angry at Dawn, but as I wheeled away from the table, I felt angry at myself. How could I even think of dating again on the anniversary of my wife’s death?
In some ways, four years felt like a long time, but when I closed my eyes, I could recall every detail of that horrible day as if it had happened yesterday. I vividly remembered lying on a bed in the emergency room, paralyzed from the neck down, listening to a nurse tell me that Kristin had passed away.
They say time heals all wounds, but that wasn’t true. I would never fully recover from my trauma. The scars on my heart weren’t visible like the ones on the front and back of my neck, where a surgeon had fused my broken vertebrae together. But, much like my severed spinal cord, I wasn’t sure my broken heart could ever be fixed.
***