Still With Me by Thierry Cohen Page A

ability to think and act. No doubt the day would hold more surprises. But he resolved then and there to engage with the present, starting with his role as father. Thomas was now perched on the edge of the counter.
    “Don’t move. You’re going to hurt yourself. I’ll get it.”
    The child had dropped a jar of jam. Shards of glass, shiny and dangerous, littered the cold tiles of the floor. Jeremy picked the boy up and set him on the kitchen table. Still, he felt detached. He wanted to leave the child, go back to bed, and refuse to play this game.
    Jeremy looked for slippers. He found a pair of black leather moccasins at the end of the hallway and put them on. Using paper towels, he pushed the shards of glass into a corner. Then he started looking for a mug in the cupboard where the boy had been rummaging, and found one.
    “No, I want my bottle,” said the child.
    “Your bottle?”
    The child looked too old for that, but Jeremy didn’t even want to understand. He grabbed the bottle that the boy pointed out with his finger and took a carton of milkfrom the refrigerator. The present moment swallowed him slowly, forcing his numb mind to perform the necessary gestures.
    “You forgot the chocolate.”
    “Oh, the chocolate. Where is it again?”
    Looking bored, the child pointed to the cupboard. Jeremy found a box of chocolate powder. He opened the microwave, put the bottle inside, and looked at the buttons.
    “The big button,” the boy said. Jeremy pressed it.
    “On this number,” his son said, holding up two fingers.
    While the bottle warmed, he took a moment to survey the kitchen. It wasn’t the same apartment as the previous morning. He wanted to see Victoria, talk to her. Where was she?
    Jeremy looked at the child. He was very handsome. His big eyes captured Jeremy’s attention once more. He knew he’d seen them before. It only took a second for him to realize they were his. The boy looked like him. Because he’s mine . This thought gave Jeremy a degree of comfort.
    The boy stared back at him with curiosity.
    “Are you okay, Thomas?”
    The boy raised his eyebrows. “I’m not Thomas. I’m Simon.”
     
    Jeremy received this information with a tranquility that surprised him. Two children? Why not? From now on, nothing can surprise me. But then, how many years have I forgotten this time?
    “Simon, yes…Sorry, I’m not awake yet…And where is Thomas?”
    “Playing in his room.”
    The microwave stopped. Jeremy took the bottle, gave it to Simon, then started off toward the living room.
    He opened a door that led to an office. On another door he saw a Disney sign where someone had written, “Thomas and Simon.” He went in. An older boy was sitting in front of a television screen. He held a joystick in his lap, manipulating it with skill, moving a character along a colored ramp. The boy didn’t acknowledge Jeremy and stayed focused on his game.
    Jeremy came up to him and felt his heart jump. “Thomas?”
    The boy did not answer.
    Maybe it’s not him .
    “Thomas,” Jeremy said in a firmer voice.
    The child didn’t lift his head.
     
    He must be four or five years old. Six, maybe. Simon, he must be a year younger .
    “Think you could stop for five minutes, please?”
    The boy pressed the pause button and crossed his arms without taking his eyes off the screen.
    “Thomas.”
    “What?” the boy answered wearily.
    Well, it’s definitely him. And to think that’s the baby I held in my arms yesterday. It’s crazy .
    “You…have you eaten breakfast?” Jeremy improvised.
    The child shrugged his shoulders. Obviously he was sulking. Was it because Jeremy had interrupted his game?
    Jeremy walked up to him and knelt down. The boy lowered his head.
    “Look at me.”
    Thomas turned a pair of hard eyes on his father.
    He looks more like his mother. His whole face. He has the delicate features, the green eyes, the mouth . Jeremy was both moved and disturbed to find himself face-to-face with a little