Jagger sits curled up in a ball, his head on a pillow in my lap, fast asleep. I play absently with his hair, unable to take my eyes off him, and wonder when he’s older if he’s going to hate me for the decisions I’ve made.
“You can go, Mom. I’m fine,” I murmur for what feels like the hundredth time. A part of me needs her to go so I can process everything while the other part of me is terrified to face all of this on my own.
“I’m not going anywhere. Besides, even if I wanted to, I don’t think I’d be able to leave. It’s a parking lot out there with all those damn camera people camped out front.” She looks over her shoulder as if she can see them through all the closed blinds. “It’s amazing how fast they found out where you live.”
“Welcome to the Internet, Mom.”
“But how? They were here within an hour.”
“Everyone’s willing to be paid for information these days. Case in point, Deegan fucking Jennings.” I lean my head back and close my eyes. I’ve reread the article, his exclusive interview, so many times I can see it in my mind. It was a desperate attempt by a mentally sick and terminally ill man to land one last blow on a son who finally told him to fuck off. A son who should have done as much years and years ago.
“I always hated that man.”
“Agreed, but I have no one to be mad at but myself.”
“Your father never should have—”
“Shouldn’t have what? Showed off pictures of his grandson for bragging rights? How was he to know Deegan was standing behind him at the bar or that when Deegan caught a glimpse of Jagger’s picture, he immediately saw Vince as a kid in him? There’s no way Dad could have known that Deegan remembered the year I called him, desperate for Vince’s cell, only because it was the night of his thirtieth high school reunion. That he heard Dad say Jagger’s age and then calculated backward to how long it had been since then to see if the numbers lined up? That’s a lot of dots to connect that Dad could never have known would happen. That Dad could never have thought someone would use to hurt me or Jagger. Dad may not be your favorite person, but you and I both know, he’d never purposely try to hurt us.”
She nods, firmly put in her place, even though that wasn’t my intention. I’m just frustrated and desperate to talk to Vince, to try and explain to him, but when I call him, it goes straight to voicemail.
“What if he won’t talk to me?” I finally murmur, my biggest fear coming to light.
Scratch that, I think my biggest fear would be Vince meeting Jagg and never wanting to see him again.
I can say I’d understand if he did, but that would be a lie.
“You need to give him time to digest everything.”
“Digest? I broke up with him for good, told him I loved him but still needed to end things, and then the next day he finds out I’ve been lying to him all along about the biggest thing in our lives. I’m thinking there needs to be a stronger word than digest here.”
She nods but there is something bugging her that she’s not telling me.
“What is it, Mom?”
“I told him not to call you.” She stares at her hands rather than meeting my eyes.
“What are you talking about?”
She forces a swallow. “He called you. You had just had Jagger. You were exhausted and heartbroken and had finally fallen asleep, so I grabbed the phone and answered it so it wouldn’t wake you. It was him.”
My heart lodges like a ball of hurt in my throat. “Mom . . . look at me.”
“I was sick of seeing you hurt.” Tears well in her eyes as her fingers fidget and shoulders shrug. “Please forgive me, but I couldn’t handle him getting your hopes up again just to crush you again.” She hiccups over a sob. “I told him that if he couldn’t love you the way you deserved to be loved, then he needed to let you go so that you’d stop living just to wait for him.” I hang my head as her words hit me like a one-two punch. “I’m sorry, baby.”
I stare at Jagger through blurred tears. At my sweet boy. At my whole damn world. Will I have to ask him for the same forgiveness someday? Will I want him to accept my apologies for the mistakes I made with his best interest in mind?
Perspectives change when you have a child.
I understand that now.
“It’s okay, Mom.” I’m going to sit on this one for a long time, but in the end, it changes nothing.
I pick up the phone to call Vince again.
I need to.
I have to.
It’s the only connection I have to him right now besides the little boy in my lap.
His voicemail picks up. I rehearse all the things I need to say to him in my head and hope I get the chance to.
How I’m sorry his father sold him out to the highest bidder.
How I’m sorry I betrayed him, but felt it was done with the right reasons.
How I’m just so sorry . . .
