“May?” Stenton points out.
I stand, regrettably, finally having to face him. My fears are confirmed when I’m squared with his six-foot, seven-inch frame. I can’t help but absorb his almost jet-black five o’clock shadow, one of my weaknesses when I stare dreamily into his marbled orbs, yet another feature he’s given to our son. Stenton smells delightful per usual, and his casual look of blue jeans and a simple black t-shirt exposing his heavily inked arms is probably what those moms and their friends went crazy over.
I lick my dry lips. “Yes. We may go out this evening.” I try to challenge him, I don’t think I like where he’s going with that question.
Stenton looks at the watch on his tatted wrist. “It’s almost seven now. If you two don’t have solid plans, I don’t see it happening this evening. How about this, come hang out with us Rogers men and if Bernard calls, you can split with us and join him.”
When I’m able to pull my eyes from his mouth, I trail them down to an anxious Jordan. The gleam in his eyes can’t be ignored. I hate being trapped by Stenton, even if it is with my little guy. It is the last game of the season after all. What child wouldn’t want to end it celebrating with both parents?
This is what I’ve always struggled with, raising a child as a single woman. I came from a two parent home and we did everything together, including struggle; I haven’t been able to provide Jordan the security of having both his parents under one roof when he goes to bed at night. There’s substantial security in that for a child. Not providing totally goes against the values I grew up with as a child. I try to make concessions where I can and try not to overcompensate in other unhealthy areas of parenting. Like now.
“Okay,” I breathe out as I face Jordan. “Where to?”
“Yay! Mommy’s hanging out with the dawgs tonight!” Jordan proceeds to do some type of stomp of a dance.
He isn’t just referring to him and his dad. Stenton has to travel everywhere with security, most times two. Tonight is no different.
I glance up at Stenton who’s grinning and I wonder if it’s because he’s taught our child this ridiculous dance or because he feels accomplished in roping me into this outing.
“I’m parked on the west side of the park. Where can I meet you?” I try for an imperceptible face.
“We’re over there, too.” Stenton offers. “We can walk you to your ride and you can follow us.”
On my way to the restaurant, I cringe at having to prepare myself for the circus that will be the paparazzi at the door, trying to capture every move we make. I abhor that aspect of being a part of Stenton Rogers’ world. It all comes with his package. He hates it probably more than I detest it.
Surprisingly, I’m wrong. There are no paps waiting in the bushes. We enter a small Italian restaurant from the rear. There’s a small section in the back awaiting us. The three of us share an amenable dinner that is filled with laughter, all surrounding the one shared happiness between Stenton and me: Jordan.