Every Sunday morning, Gal Smiley and I settle in, marking our usual spot on the concrete bench with jackets and bags. While Little Miss Sunshine takes her dance class, the Gal and I get out crayons and paper, books of poetry, card games and a sewing kit. We only have a half hour to spend together but the Gal likes to jam as many activities as she can into “our” special time.

The first week of dance class, someone else circled around us. He was curious about all our activities. He wanted to borrow some crayons. He liked Star Wars – did we? Did we want to see his book of drawings?

We did.

His name is Matthew. He is so much like the Captain he could be my other son, and so the Gal feels a sense of kinship. His little sister takes dance class with the Little Miss while Matthew and the Gal talk about Lego, soccer, loose teeth. They colour side by side, or sit next to each other while I read to them. They tell each other what they did this past week, what they’ll be doing later today.

He’s been accepted, he’s one of us. Once you have won the Gal’s loyalty, you will never lose it. “Our” time at dance class has turned into a threesome, but that’s okay. I like him, I like that the Gal likes him. We look forward to seeing him every week.

Dance class will be ending soon. Yesterday I finally forced myself to approach Matthew’s father, shyly handing him a piece of paper with my name, address, and email written in blue crayon. I explained that we’d love to have Matthew and his sister over someday. Then I fled – I am too introverted to smooth through such social awkwardness.

I’m as nervous as Gal Smiley – will they call? Will our friendship survive outside the dance class bubble?

I hope so.

This post is for Brie’s series of Mommy Moments over at Capital Mom. This week’s theme was friendship.

7 thoughts on “Matthew

  1. Oh, that’s a sweet story. I’m always a little nervous giving out my number for playdates. It’s so much like actual DATING.

  2. Oh, sweet. Also, it reminds me of the blonde British woman I keep seeing at the gym who never called me when I gave her my number when our kids had swimming lessons together five years ago. I just ignore her. I’m confident that she bitterly regrets what she missed. I’m sure Matthew and his Dad won’t take your fragile trust and stomp it under their blonde British boots the same way. Sniff.

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