“Yay! Momma’s coming with us.”
The ride is everything I thought it would be from my observations on the shore. A lot of Jagger pointing at Vince and telling him where to go. Even more of Vince ruffling Jagger’s hair and explaining things to him. There is even Vince putting Jagger on his lap and letting him drive the boat. The look on Jagger’s face—pride edged with worry—as he glanced my way every few seconds now that one of their secrets was out.
But more than anything were the few times I’d catch Vince looking at me. Our eyes would meet and a soft smile would curl up the corners of his lips.
I was content with that. In fact, I was thrilled with the baby steps it felt like we’d taken forward. It was more than enough for me . . . or so I thought.
Then Vince goes and steals more than my heart. He offers me hope too, when he looks at me and says, “This feels right, Shug,” followed by the softest smile I’ve ever seen on his face.
Yes, Vince. This really is real.
I want to tell him that and so much more. Like how each day he grows closer with Jagger, he’s proving his father wrong. That he’s not a worthless human being. That he’s a good man, a talented man, and that more than anything else, he deserves this. Love. A family to call his own. A future with us.
I want him to be a part of our lives. Always. I just don’t know whether he’ll ever want the same thing.
I’m hoping this moment is an indication. A glimpse of what could be.
An amended, hope-filled verse to his sweet regret.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Vince
The beer is cold. The sky is muted in pinks and oranges from where the sun has set over the mountains, and the sound of Jagger’s and Bristol’s laughter floats up to me from the grass down below.
They’re playing some benign game of tag. He runs. She pretends to chase. Then she lets him sneak up on her and tackle her down. Tickling ensues. Then laughter. And the scenario repeats itself over and over.
“It’s company policy, Vince.”
“What is? To be your errand girl and be at the talent’s beck and call? To use her for a past connection she had with the talent—me—but then fire her for having that past? We knew each other before I became your client. C’mon, Xavier. You’re grasping at fucking straws here. If Bristol wanted to, she could sue you seven ways from Sunday for unlawful termination.” Fucking McMann.
“It’s not that cut and dried.”
“Then make it cut and dried.” I take a pull on my beer, knowing Bristol would be livid with me for this conversation but needing to have it, nonetheless. “Your reputation is preceding you and not in a good way.”
“Are you threatening me, Jennings?”
“I don’t have to resort to threats for you to make things right. Her work speaks for itself. She doesn’t need someone like me going to bat for her.”
“And yet you are.”
I nod, even though he can’t see it. I most definitely am.
I’m just hoping that maybe when Xavier calls Bristol and offers her her job back, that she tells him to shove it where the sun doesn’t shine.
It’s about time someone does.
More giggles pull me from the conversation replaying through my head. They make me lean forward a little more and look out the second-story window from my recording studio.
It’s still a shock to see him. Still a jolt to my head and heart to realize he’s part mine, made from me, and that he’s incredibly perfect.
It’s impossible to hear that belly laugh and not smile myself. Is that normal? Is it just because this is still all so new?
This feels right.
Isn’t that what I told Bristol? And it fucking does. I can’t explain it, but it’s almost like we’ve spent all these years apart, going through the shit we’ve gone through, and maybe for once we’re going to get it right.
Do I still resent her for some of the decisions she made? Of course I do. Do I still resent me for some of them? Damn straight.
But the question I keep asking myself is, if they went home tomorrow, would it be a relief that they’re gone? Would I revel in the silence and the lack of kid shit all over the house? Would my cold beer on the back patio be more enjoyable without Nickelodeon on in the background somewhere?
Or would I sit in the studio all night because I no longer had something to look forward to afterward? Would I go into Jagger’s room and sit on his bed and miss him? Would I walk into the great room and miss the sight of Bristol sitting at the kitchen table, head down just like Jagger’s as she helps him with his remote schoolwork?
It’s so fucked how you can love your life one way and within a few short weeks, realize it wasn’t as fucking perfect as you thought it was.
Another laugh. A screech by Bristol as she’s play-tackled again no doubt. A “Momma” expressed through belly giggles.
It’s like this is a new normal I want. A new normal I can accept.
It’s just like Bristol to blow my world up and then hold my hand as the pieces fall around me . . . only to make the most beautiful fucking mosaic from them.
The jagged edges are cushioned with mortar. The broken is now a masterpiece.
But there are a few pieces of that mosaic still missing. Either that or they’re too big, too overwhelming, that I need to chip away at their edges so they fit in the picture I want left.
How do I chip at them? How do I get rid of the ugly edges to fit them in?
That’s what I need to figure out.
That’s the only way I can move forward.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Bristol
“Make a wish and blow out your candle,” I say, catching Jagger’s flash of a grin, dramatic squeezing of his eyes, and then his theatrical whoosh of breath on video on my cell.
Since the boat ride the other day, it feels like things have shifted again. With Vince. With us. Things just feel different.
There seems to be less . . . darkness, less pensiveness, in Vince’s expression.
He seems more at ease. Lighter. Dare I say, more hopeful?
I’m the queen of reading into things, so I’m trying not to infer too much into what I’m seeing. I’m scared to hope. Scared to wish for the more I see when he looks at me.
But I am.
“What did you wish for?” Vince asks, coming up behind him and tickling him so that he wiggles.
I take mental pictures of the moment. Images I can burn in my memory to never forget.
Click. Vince behind Jagger. Their faces side by side. Their heads with matching party hats on. The grins both lopsided and happy.
“I can’t tell you that,” Jagger says. “If I did, it wouldn’t come true.”
Click. Jagger faces Vince. Their profiles identical.
“Then I guess you don’t get your presents,” Vince teases.
“That’s not fair. Wait—”
Click. Jagger’s shocked expression and Vince’s knowing one.
“—you got me a present?” Jagger asks.
“Yes. Seven of them,” Vince says.
“Because I’m seven?” Jagger asks.
Vince nods but also looks at me.
Click.
Bittersweet happiness in his eyes.
Seven presents—one for each year he missed.
“If you’re not going to tell me your wish, then what should you do to get them?” Vince asks, the slipped guard he let me see, he let me capture, now firmly back in place, replaced with a grin for Jagger.
“Tackle hugs,” Jagger says and launches himself at Vince so that he falls backward. They erupt in a tickle fest.
Click. Vince’s arms wrapped around Jagger. His face buried in the curve of his neck. His eyes welled with tears. His smile, one I think I’ll remember for the rest of my life.
Cake is followed by opening presents, by then playing with presents (riding his new bike everywhere), and then a quick FaceTime to my mom and dad so Jagger could talk a million miles a minute, telling them all about his presents and that he now knows how to drive a boat.