The most she can do is touch Charlie's hands. She wants to pick him up but she knows that could end badly...not just for her either. Her back isn't what it usually is and Charlie's turned into a stout and solid toddler in the months she's been away. Looking at his chubby cheeks, she can't help but miss holding him against her chest, his legs tucked under, tiny toes, his bottom all cute and compact sticking up and out as she patted him softly, lulling him into a nap. She can still play a mean game of peek-a-boo and she does this more than a few times while Addie talks.
Or more like, she avoids the question for as long as she can. But like any toddler, Charlie's attention span doesn't go more than a few minutes and he's happily on to the next thing. The next thing just happens to be a pile of toys some of the Park folk have brought around. The squeak of something is in the background as Teagan ignores the question for a little longer, picking up a onsie and folding it carefully. Less carefully than she dissects the question though. "He's..." a pause more pregnant than she is, "fine."
Fine is that word that is used when something is not fine but a person isn't sure they should divulge anything more than that. It's a nicety, something honest but shallow and Teagan feels guilty she's pulled that card just as soon as she had. "I thought he'd be...glad to see me."