April Exclusive - "Candles" - Part 3 (Patreon)

It’s just for pretend. It’s just a game, like when Kyle played soccer in the back yard. And it’s an easy game, too. Kyle just has to do as he’s told. He just has to be a good boy for Mommy.

And just as Mommy promised, the game is fun, the game reduces the embarrassment over the birthday party to the faintest glimmer, barely even noticeable.

Guests arrive, parents with their little boys and girls, and the mommies and daddies all agree that Kyle looks perfect in his Paw Patrol T-shirt. Mommy has dressed him in shorts and socks, and even a diaper, which Kyle insists that he won’t need, but Mommy says he has to wear, just for pretend.

It’s so easy to pretend to be little when he really is little, the same size as the other children, but it’s the T-shirt that seals the deal. Light blue, with those grinning puppy dogs on the front, Kyle’s name at the top, and then a big red ‘3’ on his belly.

Who could imagine that it wasn’t really Kyle’s third birthday? Who would laugh at him for the decorations and puppy party? No one!

And so, Kyle relaxes and has fun. They play in the yard with the soccer ball, but that gets boring quick, because none of the children, Kyle included, are very good at kicking balls. The famous soccer players Kyle had thought about earlier have become a blurred confusion of ‘big boys’ in his mind.

The real fun is inside, with the games Mommy has organized, like Pass the parcel, Musical statues, and Kyle’s personal favorite, Duck, duck, gray duck. There’s music and running around, and then there’s snacks like the chips, popcorn, the cheese and crackers.

Yes, Mommy knows what the birthday boy likes. After the food, come the presents, the children sitting in a circle while Kyle tears the paper and ribbons from a pile of gifts. The paper looks familiar; how did the children know how much Kyle likes those puppies? Just like his outfit, just like the banner and drink cups, the gifts consistently feature the dogs, and soon he has a generous collection of Paw Patrol toys, such as the plush slippers with Chase’s face on the front, to the Marshall pillow pet that Mommy says will make stars on the ceiling at bedtime.

With Mommy’s prompting, Kyle says thank you. He uses his very best manners. Because he’s not a baby anymore, he’s a big boy. He’s three. The T-shirt proves it. And with every ‘good boy’, every pat on the head, and every scrap of praise, Kyle relaxes more into the game, until the moment when all the children lie down with pillows and blankets and Mommy turns on the big TV so they can watch a whole movie about the puppies. When that happens, with fingers sticky from snacks, his stomach full of cheese and crackers, Kyle forgets he’s even pretending.

And then, a few minutes into the movie, with toddlers’ thumbs creeping into mouths and eyes glazing over, Mommy pauses the movie and says that some of the party guests have to go soon, and so they should have cake.

Cake. Kyle had forgotten about the cake! And as he rubs his eyes, grown-ups tidying the pillows and blankets off the living room floor, he feels as though he’s waking up from a big nap. And he remembers two very important things. One, this is just a pretend game, he’s not really such a little boy. And two, he’s playing the game so that he’s not embarrassed when his friends come to the party.

But where are his friends? He looks at the little boys and girls; he doesn’t know any of them, not from before.

Where are Chris and Abbie?

Mommy will know. She knows everything. This party, this game, is all her idea, after all.

He runs over to his mother, who is too tall, who can’t be tackled.

“No charging about, sweetie, Mommy’s holding your cake!”

One of the other mothers laughs, picks Kyle up as if he’s nothing, smiling and saying silly things to him while Mummy lights the candle on the cake.

“Put him in his booster,” Mommy asks the lady, who says, “You betcha!” and Kyle is carried and then deposited into a plastic chair at the dining table, and then the other boys and girls are at the table, either sitting or held in their parents’ arms.

“Dim the lights,” says Mommy grandly, as if she’s a magician or something, and she flicks the light switch, and the room isn’t completely dark – it’s not scary – but it’s darker than before. And okay, maybe it’s a little scary.

“Mommy,” Kyle calls, his voice an anxious whine. “Mommy, where’s Chris?” He grimaces at his sloppy diction. Weh Kith. He’s been pretending too much; he sounds like a real little boy.

“Look!” one of the mommies says, and the children, Kyle included, look over at Mommy, who is carrying the cake, and the burning candle looks like a magic trick.

“Happy…” Mommy begins slowly, tunefully, and the grown-ups catch on.

“Happy birthday to you,

Happy birthday to you,

Happy Birthday dear Kyle,
Happy Birthday to you!”

The parents cheer as the cake is placed in front of the birthday boy.

“Make a wish!” says the lady who had carried him.

“Blow your candle!” says another.

And then Mommy is at his side, crouching and grinning, aiming her phone at him and say, “Make a big blow, sweetie.”

“I want Chris,” Kyle says. “Moh-mee, I want Abbie.”

Mommy tousles his hair, grinning as if she doesn’t hear or understand him, as if everything’s just fine, when Kyle knows for a fact that it’s not.

“Do a big, big blow, honey, make your candle all gone!” Mommy she mimes a big breath and puffs out her cheek.

“Make a wish!” they lady says again.

And Kyle understands the rules, he’s not a stupid baby. He knows about wishes, and Kyle wonders know if maybe that’s the answer. A wish could fix everything! And he wishes that everything were normal again, that he didn’t have to play the pretend game, he wishes that his old friends were here and that he could have a proper, big boy birthday party, playing soccer, drinking pop and maybe eating pizza. And there would be ninjas, not babyish puppies, and definitely no diapers.

And he blows. Not so well, the flame flickers, but then Mommy blows as well, over his shoulder, and the flame goes out, and everyone cheers.

Mommy gets busy, cutting the cake and putting slices on paper plates festooned with Paw Patrol.

The first plate is for the birthday boy, but Kyle just stares at it.

He’s still having to play the pretend game, and when he thinks about it, it’s not really a game. He really is little, barely more than a toddler.

“Eat your cake, sweetie. It’s your favorite!”

Kyle just looks at the iced vanilla sponge.

The wish didn’t work. Did he do it wrong? Did he mess it up?

He’s lost, dizzy with the muddled understanding of what’s happened, and he looks to his mother. “Dint get my wish,” he says. “Mommy, I wish- “

“I know, sweetie,” Mommy says, “you think you want your old friends; you want your old life.” She whispers in Kyle’s ear, her breath warm and ticklish, “Thing is, sweetie, your old friends are…well, they’re old. Chris and Abbie? They’re grown-ups, they won’t want to play with you. But they weren’t a good influence anyway. Now you can have new friends, and this time everthing’s going to be just perfect. Mommy will make sure of it.”

Kyle stares at his mother. That wasn’t the game he agreed to. He doesn’t want to do this for real. He shakes his head forcefully, and then opens his mouth to protest.

“Doan wanna…oof”

His mouth is full of cake. Mommy feeds him like a baby. “There you go, sweet boy, lovely cake for the birthday boy!”

What does it taste like? Kyle knows the flavor, it reminds him of something else Mommy gave him, the chocolate wrapped in silver foil, and yet it’s bigger than that, even sweeter, reaching every part of his mind, lighting up his brain.

And Mommy doesn’t have to feed him like a baby.

Kyle grabs the cake and smooches it greedily into his mouth. He is a birthday monster, making the most wonderful of messes, eating with his hands and smearing frosting over his lips and cheeks.  and he smooshes it, make the most babyish of messes, eating it with his hands, covering his mouth and cheeks.

“Oh, for cute!” says someone. When the parents laugh, Kyle isn’t embarrassed, because he likes being funny, and so he just laughs as well, and it’s the very best feeling.

When all the guests leave with their Paw Patrol party favors  (which they do eventually even though it seems to take forever), Mommy cleans Kyle’s face and hands and announces, “No bath tonight, honey, gonna put you straight to bed. What a big day you’ve had!”

Kyle does feel exhausted, docile, and he doesn’t object as Mommy undresses him, and he doesn’t worry when Mommy announces his wet diaper.

Like Mommy says, Kyle might be three but he’s only just three. Really, he’s just two and a few days. And so, it’s okay to wear a diaper, it’s okay to be Mommy’s sweet baby, and he grins down at his onesie, and runs his chubby fingers over Chase and Marshall’s faces.

“That’s Mommy’s good boy,” Kyle’s mother croons. She cradles him in her arms, rocking him gently, stroking his back, whispering the sweetest words.

“No need for little boys to leave home and get silly jobs. Mommy has everything you need, Mommy’s going to dress you and feed you and give you all the best cuddles and kisses, yes she is.”

Kyle sighs contentedly, soaking up his mother’s words as his mind finishes its descent to toddlerhood. He sucks on his fingers, his world shrinking to little more than the house and the yard, Mommy and him.

“Such a good boy,” Mommy coos. “My sweet little baby.”

Kyle’s eyes drift shut. He knows that he is safe and secure, and that tomorrow will be just as perfect.

Because Mommy knows what the birthday boy likes.

THE END

A mother offers to help her immature, ungrateful son celebrate turning 30. Except, did she leave off the '0'?

- Yeah, you’re right, I didn’t quite follow every letter of the idea, but Susan definitely wanted her little boy back. - S