“I’m not!” Connor said unconvincingly. “I just like it at home. I have all my dinosaurs.” Back in Brooklyn Sam had helped him put together a collection of plastic models: a triceratops and a spinosaurus, a brachiosaurus and a T. rex.
“I know,” Sam said. “Tell you what—if you do two soccer practices and you don’t like it, you don’t have to keep doing it.”
Connor considered this. “Can I bring my dinosaurs to practice?”
“How about you can bring one? And maybe we’ll keep it in your backpack until practice is over.” Connor considered, then nodded his assent. Sam dropped him off at the first practice, praying it would go well, watching as Connor edged toward a cluster of boys. “Do you like dinosaurs?” he heard Connor ask. Three small heads had nodded. Sam felt like pumping his fist in exultation as Connor ran over, round face flushed.
“Sam, can you get my backpack? They want to see my spinosaurus!” He felt himself grinning as Connor grabbed the beast and raced away.
Sam stayed vigilant as the school year progressed, watching Connor for signs of trouble. He mourned Julie. He thought of her constantly as he filled the house with furniture, realizing that the new bed was one they’d never share; the new TV was one she’d never watch with Connor sitting between them for the hundredth viewing of Toy Story. He grieved for her, even as their time together started to take on the quality of a dream. If they’d ever fought, he couldn’t remember; if there’d been things he hadn’t liked about her, he couldn’t recall. He kept plodding forward, keeping all his attention on Connor, determined to honor his wife’s memory by giving her son a stable childhood and a happy home. In October, he’d called Jason, who hadn’t been in touch since they’d returned from Brooklyn.
“Hey, listen, if you could just, you know, hang on to him, that would be great,” Jason said, as Sam was almost sure he would.
“I’m not going to ask you for child support,” Sam said.
“Good, because I know I’d been kind of running behind, but, here’s the thing—”
Sam cut him off. “I don’t need money. I just need to know if you want Connor in your life. Because, if not, I’d like to be his legal guardian.”
Sam could hear Jason thinking, weighing what he wanted and what Sam would think of him if he asked for it. “Look, it’s not that I don’t like the little guy,” he began. “It’s just—look, I told Julie this. I never wanted a kid. I wasn’t ready. She said she’d take care of everything.”
“And she did,” Sam said. “So will I. You just need to sign the papers.”
Jason paused, then said in a grown-up version of Connor’s rasp, “I feel like shit, you know? I’m not a bad person.”
“Of course not,” said Sam. He asked Jason for his address, sent the papers he’d had drawn up via certified mail, and showed them to Connor when Jason returned them.
“So now you’re my dad?” He looked at Sam solemnly, right in the eyes.
“Yes,” Sam said. “Now I’m your dad.”
Connor threw himself at Sam, wrapping his arms around his waist. “Good,” he said. “Good.” Then he’d pushed his hair out of his eyes （Got to get him a haircut, Sam thought）。 “Can we make another dinosaur this weekend?”
For the entire first year without Julie, Sam didn’t even think about dating. Getting meals on the table, doing his job, keeping Connor on track—all of that was enough.
Sam and Connor made it through the holidays, the first Halloween without Julie, the first Thanksgiving and Chanukah （which Connor had never celebrated） and Christmas （which he had）。 In the spring, Connor turned to Sam one night after dinner as he was clearing the table and Sam was washing the dishes and said, “Sometimes I can’t remember Mom’s face.” His voice was grave. “And I feel sad, because it means I’m forgetting her.”
Sam went to him and gave him a hug. “We’ll never forget her,” he said. “And I can show you lots of pictures any time you like.”
Connor looked at him shyly. “Do you ever have trouble remembering how she looked?”
Sam kissed his cheek. “No,” he said. “I see her every time I look at you.”
Just over a year after that terrible afternoon, the day of the cops and the salmon, which Sam and Connor had never eaten again, Sarah began suggesting it was time for Sam to get back out there. Even though Sam felt no impulse to meet someone new, and no idea where he’d find the energy for dating, he agreed with his sister, because it was always easier to agree with Sarah than to argue. When she’d ask if he wanted to meet a nice woman she knew from college, or a woman she’d met in a Pilates class who’d been transferred to California, Sam would say yes, and would dutifully go on dates… but the first and second dates never became third dates, or led to anything like a relationship. “You’re not ready yet,” his sister pronounced. Sam figured she was right. He was still mourning Julie, still processing the way his life had been upended. He was also still holding a gigantic grudge against Connor’s grandfather, who was alive and well and had, if his boasting could be believed, become a father again at the age of ninety-two. （“Isn’t he bedridden?” Marcus asked when Sam relayed the news. Then he considered, shrugged, and said, “Maybe being in bed all day just means he’s halfway there.”）