Jon spun and pushed back the man who had just grabbed him. The man stumbled backwards, clearly caught off guard by such a healthy shove. He looked up at Jon, confused and a bit angry. And Jon got a good look at his face. It was the same face he'd been looking at seconds before, in the photograph. A bit older, but still not a day over thirty. Was this...
"Honey, what's wrong?" the man said, taking a step forward. Jon backed away, but bumped into the table behind him. Did he just call me honey? he thought. He looked back down at the picture. It was definitely the same man, the man he was embracing and smiling with. This was, apparently, his husband.
"I don't feel well," Jon said. His heart was still racing from the shock of the entire situation, and he was actually starting to feel a bit nauseated.
"God, I'm sorry sweetie," the man said, the look in his eyes changing to one of sympathy, "I should've known. Here, lie down." He guided Jon to the couch. "Can I get you some tea or something?"
"Yeah," Jon said, anything to get this guy out of here for a minute. Jon laid back on the couch, finally alone again. He tried to gather his thoughts. Stay calm, Jon thought, This guy apparently thinks you're his wife. He picked up the coloring book his dad had left on the floor. Scribbled in messy purple pencil, Jon read the words "Roger, age 5." This is all from the stone. I just need to stay cool, once I find the stone I can set everything right. He took a deep breath. At least he still had his wits. He'd just have to deal with it.
The man came back into the room and handed a steaming mug of tea to Jon. He smiled a caring smile.
"Can you tell me what's the matter?" he asked.
"I just feel... out of sorts," Jon said truthfully. Then asked, "Do I look... different or anything?"
"Other than your frumpy clothes, you're just as beautiful as the day I met you." He gently placed a hand on Jon's shoulder.
"What about..." Jon paused, "What about Roger?"
"What's wrong?" the stranger said, "Is she sick too?"
"No, no. I mean... What do you see when you look at... um... her?"
The man went over and picked up one of the photographs, then walked back over to Jon. "I'm not sure what you're talking about. I see our little angel. She's my princess." Then he looked at Jon and leaned in towards him. Jon started to feel uncomfortable. "You're both my girls. I'll do anything for you, Jon. You know that."
The man leaned back. Jon sighed in relief. He thought for sure the guy was about to kiss him, and he wasn't sure how he'd be able to take that right now. Still, everything he said sounded so heartfelt. Jon definitely felt like he could at least trust this guy... even though he still had no idea what his name was.
"So I guess you're not feeling well enough to take her to ballet class?" he asked as he put the photograph back on the table.
"Who?"
"Roger," he said. "She has class in half an hour. But I guess you do need some rest. Don't worry, I'll take her. Besides, it'll give you a break from the other mothers. You just lie back and relax."
Jon bristled at the phrase "other mothers," and the idea that it was some club he now belonged to. But he kept his mouth shut. The man turned away and called up the stairs.
"Roger sweetie, time for ballet! Are you ready to go?"
"Almost daddy!" Roger's voice bellowed sweetly. "Can you help me with my tights?"
The man chuckled and headed up the stairs. Jon tried not to think about the bizarre scene that was probably unfolding upstairs. After a few minutes the two of them came down, with his father in an even stranger getup than the one Jon had seen on him before. Pink leotard, pink tights, ballet slippers, and a shiny pink headband.
"Bye mommy I hope you feel better!" he called out as his "father" guided him out the front door.
"Get some rest," the man said, "We'll see you in a couple hours,"
The door clicked shut and Jon bolted upright. Finally, he was alone. Now he could look for the stone.
