A One-Eyed Stuffed Wolf Handles All Negotiations

Gray turned out to be a stuffed wolf.

A very ugly stuffed wolf.

Its gray fur had been rubbed thin around the nose, one button eye was missing, and its left ear leaned permanently to the side. Ian carried it downstairs with both arms, holding it as carefully as if it were made of glass.

“Gray gets the big bowl,” he announced.

“Gray gets whatever he wants,” I said.

Ian stopped on the last step.

For a heartbeat, delight flashed across his face. Then he remembered himself and walked the rest of the way with his chin lowered.

I pretended not to notice.

That was becoming my favorite strategy around him.

I made popcorn, poured apple juice into two cups, and let Ian choose the seats. He picked the far end of the sofa for himself, placed Gray beside him, and left a precise gap between his knee and mine.

One fist’s width.

The same distance he kept every time I tried to touch him.

I sat down anyway.

The dragon movie began with a sweeping shot of snow-covered mountains and a chorus of wolves howling beneath the moon. Ian leaned forward, completely absorbed.

Then he glanced at me.

The instant I turned my head, he snapped his gaze back to the screen.

A minute later, it happened again.

Then again.

By the sixth time, I was certain he was counting the seconds between my movements.

“You can watch the movie,” I said.

“I am watching.”

“You’ve looked at me seven times.”

His shoulders jumped. “I was checking whether you were watching.”

“I’m watching.”

He nodded, satisfied for exactly two seconds.

Then he looked again.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. “Ian.”

“Yes, Mom?”

“Do you want to sit closer?”

The question seemed to hit him in the chest.

His fingers tightened around Gray’s paw. “No.”

The answer came too quickly.

I leaned back, pretending the rejection didn’t sting. “All right.”

The movie continued.

Onscreen, the dragon sneezed fire over a village. Ian laughed so hard he nearly dropped his juice. His mouth opened in a bright, unguarded grin, and for one warm moment he looked exactly like the child I had always wanted to see.

I reached toward him without thinking.

Ian jerked away.

The movement was so sharp that his shoulder struck the armrest. His cup tipped, apple juice spilling over the carpet.

“Sorry!” he blurted.

He dropped to his knees, scrambling for a towel before I could move.

“It’s just juice,” I said. “You’re not in trouble.”

“I know.”

He kept wiping.

His hands were shaking.

The strange comment window appeared above the movie subtitles.

She reached for him and he almost shifted.

He’s trying so hard not to show his ears.

Poor baby. He thinks she’ll be scared if she sees what he really is.

I stared at the words.

Then at Ian’s bent head.

The thought was absurd. Impossible. And yet it explained something I had never been able to understand.

He wasn’t pulling away because he disliked me.

He was pulling away because he wanted to come closer.

I reached for the towel. “Let me help.”

Ian froze.

For one suspended second, I thought he would retreat again.

Instead, he held out the damp corner.

Our fingers touched.

His breath caught.

So did mine.

A faint silver shimmer crossed his pupils, gone before I could be sure I had seen it.

Ian snatched his hand back and clutched Gray to his chest.

“I can clean it,” he whispered.

The comment window erupted.

His eyes flashed! Did she see?

No, no, no. Don’t get excited, little wolf.

The more he loves her, the harder it is to keep the shift under control.

My throat tightened.

I forced myself to look away from his eyes. “Fine. You clean it. I’ll get another blanket.”

I stood and walked to the hallway, though I didn’t need a blanket.

Behind me, I heard Ian whisper to Gray.

“Be careful. Don’t let Mom touch you.”

I stopped.

The words were soft, almost lost beneath the movie’s music.

I turned back.

Ian had his cheek pressed against the stuffed wolf’s head. His small mouth moved close to its torn ear.

“Gray says Mom is nice,” he murmured.

“I am nice,” I said.

Ian’s entire body locked.

I softened my voice. “What did Gray say after that?”

He peeked at me over the wolf’s head.

“He says you smell like roses.”

I blinked. “Gray has an excellent nose.”

Ian’s lips twitched.

Then he looked down again and whispered, “Gray says you’re pretty, too.”

Something inside my chest went painfully soft.

“Tell Gray thank you.”

Ian hesitated. “He says he wants to sit closer.”

“Then he should.”

Ian moved Gray three inches toward me.

Not himself.

Just the toy.

I let it pass.

When the movie ended, Ian asked to watch it again. I agreed, even though I had already memorized the villain’s entire song. This time, he sat in the same place, but he placed Gray directly between us instead of beside him.

Progress, apparently, came in stuffed-wolf units.

During the second viewing, I tested a theory.

I pretended to fall asleep.

Ian waited.

I kept my breathing slow and even.

After nearly a minute, the sofa cushion dipped.

Something warm brushed my sleeve.

I opened one eye.

Ian had inched closer. His face hovered near mine, his hand lifted as if he wanted to touch my hair.

The moment my lashes moved, he sprang back to his original spot.

He was so fast he knocked Gray onto the floor.

Gray landed face-first in the popcorn bowl.

Ian stared at him in horror.

I covered my mouth.

A laugh escaped anyway.

Ian’s cheeks flushed. “Gray fell.”

“Clearly. A tragic accident.”

He rescued the stuffed wolf and brushed popcorn from its fur with grave concentration.

I watched him, heart aching at the ridiculous tenderness of it all.

The comment window drifted into view again.

She still thinks he’s avoiding her because he doesn’t like her.

Someone tell her the boy is one hug away from growing ears.

I wanted to ask what they meant.

I wanted to demand proof.

Instead, I kept my voice gentle. “Ian, why don’t you ever let me hug you?”

His hand stopped moving.

The room seemed to shrink around us.

He looked at me, then at Gray.

“Do you want to hug me?” I asked.

His lips parted.

For a second, the answer was right there.

Yes.

Then fear swallowed it.

“I’m okay,” he said.

The words were almost identical to the ones he used whenever I offered him something he desperately wanted.

I leaned back and gave him room.

“All right,” I said. “But you don’t have to be okay all by yourself.”

Ian’s eyes shone.

He pressed his face into Gray’s crooked head.

The movie credits rolled silently across the screen.

On my phone, one final comment appeared and lingered longer than the rest.

She thinks the distance is rejection. By tomorrow, she’ll learn what a loved little werewolf does when his mother finally touches him.