I nodded, watching as he jogged over to a tall redhead standing near the carousel exit. I’d seen pictures of Amanda once before on social media, curious about who she was after Peter and I started dating again. After finding her, I instantly wished I hadn’t picked up that mouse and, instead, listened to that annoying bitch of reason whose voice often reminded me of me whenever I lectured Elle before she was about to do something stupid. Something stupid like comparing herself to Luke’s gorgeous ex-wife, like I was doing with Amanda right now.
Even from several feet away, I could tell Amanda was statuesque, towering over me. Not like that was hard. My stubby legs, though spectacularly agile, would never look as good in a pair of butt-hugging shorts as hers. And then there was the matter of her hair, as brilliant as a flame—too brilliant to be organic, but natural looking enough to fool people into thinking that maybe she had been born with it like the folks at Maybelline suggest. The final knockout to my self-esteem, though, came when she turned around to reveal a figure that would put a vintage Barbie doll to shame, complete with a pair of boobs to match.
As Peter approached her, she turned to greet him, draping her arms around him in a tight hug that was lengthier than it should have been … or so it felt. When she finally let him go, her hand lingered on his arm, and they appeared to speak as they waited for Jackson to exit the carousel. Whatever it was that was being said had to have been all kinds of hilarious, as Amanda threw her head back in laughter frequently, her smile lighting up her face. She said something in return after regaining her composure, and Peter chuckled in response. Much to my dismay, Amanda then turned her attention in my vicinity, her eyes eventually landing on me. Under her gaze, I noticed myself standing up straighter, and plastering on a smile so exaggerated I thought my face would crack. Thankfully, Peter also glanced over at me, gesturing in my direction. Smiling, Amanda waved, and I almost turned around to make certain no one else was behind me before I returned her greeting with a wave of my own, all the while maintaining the same painful smile.
Don’t worry, face. We’ll be able to return to our regularly scheduled glower soon.
Jackson ran over to Peter and jumped into his outstretched arms, laughing as his dad hoisted him up onto his shoulders. As happy as I’ve seen Peter, the absolute joy he emitted with his son in his arms was on a whole new level. Fatherhood clearly suited him, and I could watch this side of him all day with a smile that required zero effort or discomfort on my part. In fact, I was so mesmerized watching Peter’s interaction with his son that I completely failed to notice that Amanda was no longer standing next to them, until she was standing next to me.
“Mena.” Her voice was as smooth as velvet, with just the slightest hint of a Southern drawl. She extended a delicate hand out to me as she spoke. Our hands barely clung to one another in one of the shortest handshakes in history. “I just wanted to introduce myself while Peter’s distracted. I’ve heard so much about you.”
She was just as stunning up close as she was from a distance, not a single hair out of place, not a visible pore on her face. In an instant, all my hopes for a pimple in the middle of her forehead or the beginnings of a mustache were dashed. Damn it.
“Oh? I didn’t know my reputation preceded me,” I replied, glancing up at Peter, whose attention had turned from Jackson back to me. Rolling his eyes, he mouthed something that looked like “I’m sorry”.
“Yes, it certainly does. You have quite the reputation.” She looked me up and down, silently appraising me as I had done her.
I wasn’t certain what she meant by that and became curious as to exactly what she had heard about me. Shaking off my insecurities, I decided to move on. “I got a little something for Jackson. He’s still into those fighting turtle things, right?” I held up a small gift bag, adorned with cartoon characters I couldn’t begin to identify, opening it just enough for Amanda to peer inside.
“Yeah, he is. Personally, I’m trying to steer him toward more educational types of toys, though.”
I pulled the bag back toward my body, trying not to let my irritation show. “Now I know what to get next time.”
“What’s going on over here?” Peter asked, knowing damn well what the answer to that question was.
“Just meeting the woman who’s going to be spending the weekend with our son,” Amanda answered him. “You know, the one I feel like I know but have never personally met.”
“And I was getting around to introducing you. Mena, Amanda; Amanda, Mena. There. You’re introduced.”
“Smooth,” I said, thankful to have him as a buffer.
“I try.”
“Daaaadddd,” Jackson groaned, still perched atop Peter’s shoulders. “I want to ride more of the rides.”
“I guess that’s my cue to leave,” Amanda said, reaching up to brush her thumb across Jackson’s cheek. “I love you, bug. Behave for Dad, okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, I will. Now giddy up, Dad.” Jackson kicked his foot, striking Peter with his heel just under his ribcage.
“Whoa. Go easy on me, Wilbur,” Peter groaned after regaining his breath.
“Mena, it was a pleasure.” Amanda nodded.
“Pleasure’s all mine.” The forced smile returned to my face, and it occurred to me then that my smile probably looked pretty similar to the smile she’d had on her face when she was speaking to me.
“I’ll bring him back to your place at three on Sunday, after I drop Mena off at the airport.”
“Works for me.”
“Good-bye, Mom!” Jackson called to his mother, his voice louder than the situation warranted.
“Bye, sweetie.” Amanda turned to wave at Jackson as she walked away.
“That seemed less painful than I thought it would be,” Peter observed.
“If greetings laden with passive-aggressive exchanges are your thing, then yeah, I suppose it went swimmingly.”
“What’s passive-aggressive?” Jackson asked, sending another kick into Peter’s side.
“All right, buddy, time to get down.” Visibly in pain, Peter crouched down, allowing Jackson to climb down to the ground.
“Is Mommy passive-aggressive?”
“No, no, not at all,” Peter assured him, giving me a look that told me he’d have some explaining to do to Amanda later.
He remained crouched down, eye level with Jackson. Jackson was tall for a seven-year-old, the product of both his mother’s and his father’s genes. At the rate he was going, he would probably surpass me in height by the time he turned thirteen.
“Can we go back to the rides now?” Jackson asked, looking eagerly over Peter’s shoulder.
“We will in a minute. But first, there’s someone very important to me I’d like you to meet.”
Jackson peered back at me over his shoulder. “Hi,” he greeted me before turning back to his dad. “I met her. Can we go now?”
Yep, he’s definitely Peter’s kid.
“Jackson, you know that’s not how we greet people.”
Jackson let out a sigh as he turned back around to face me. Following in Peter’s footsteps, I crouched down until I, too, was face-to-face with him. Granted, I didn’t have to crouch very far. I studied Jackson’s features, noting how many more of them were Peter’s versus Amanda’s. Just about everything about the kid screamed Peter, except for his nose, which was truly a blessing from above.
“Don’t worry, I’ve met me, and I would rather ride the rides, too.”
A small smile tugged at his lips.
“It’s nice to meet you Jackson. I’m Mena.” I extended my hand out to him, which he took after a quick glance back at Peter for reassurance.
“I know,” he said confidently. “My mom told me who you were.”
Peter and I shared a glance with each other, his eyes reflecting the exasperation he was keeping to himself.
“Well, that’s good. At least I wasn’t a total stranger to you, then.” I noticed Jackson’s piercing blue eyes trailing down to the bag in my hand
. “Because I know it can be kind of awkward meeting new people, I thought I’d get you a little something to get you to like me better.”
Jackson smiled, taking the bag from my hand. “Whoa.” He took the turtle robber thing out and studied it appreciatively.
“What do you say, bud?” Peter laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Thank you,” he said sheepishly before looking behind his shoulder at Peter. “But Mom doesn’t like me to have toys that don’t teach me anything.” Peter rolled his eyes behind Jackson’s back as Jackson returned his attention to the plastic action figure in his hands.
Peter placed his hands on his son’s shoulders. “That’s why we’ll keep it at my place.”
“And besides,” I added, “who says these things aren’t educational? I mean, if anything it’s teaching you how to be fashionable while simultaneously wielding swords in the middle of committing grand theft auto.”
Peter shook his head, his lips pursed. Jackson chuckled, lighting up before my eyes.
“They’re called katanas,” he replied matter-of-factly, rubbing the plastic blades between his fingers, “and they aren’t the bad guys, they’re the good guys.”
“See, your new toy taught me something.”
“Thank you, Mena.”
“You’re very welcome, little man.”
“Now can we go on the rides, Dad? Pleeeassee.”
“Okay, kiddo, let’s go.”
We spent the afternoon walking around the fair, Peter accompanying Jackson on the rides that could accommodate his six-foot-five frame, and me watching them from afar. In doing so, I felt like I was on the outside looking in, and maybe I was. But I didn’t mind. I was seeing a side of Peter I hadn’t seen before—a devoted father whose life completely revolved around his son. It felt like he was leading a double life, except far less tawdry than that expression usually implied. I guess, in a way, we all were. We all keep pieces of ourselves hidden away, only revealing them to a personally vetted, hand-selected list of people when the situation called for it. This was Peter’s way of sharing his secret piece of himself with me, and I wanted nothing more than to become a part of this parallel life of his, to really get to know him as a father.
“I want Mena to go on the honey bear ride with me,” Jackson pleaded, snapping me out of my reverie. He tugged on Peter’s arm, pulling him in my direction like a lone ox struggling to pull an overloaded wagon down the Oregon Trail.
“Rides aren’t really Mena’s, thing, buddy,” Peter argued.
“Please,” Jackson begged. “I want to ride one of the rides with Mena before we leave.”
I smiled at the idea that in just a couple short hours, the kid felt comfortable enough to be strapped inside of a hastily constructed steel death trap with me. “Where are these honey bears?” I asked, smiling at Jackson’s tenacity.
“Over there.”
I followed his outstretched finger to a cluster of brightly-colored bears arranged in a circle, each holding a honey pot on its lap. A harmless enough ride, some may even say a little kitschy. And if it malfunctioned, the worst that would happen was that its passengers would become trapped in said delightfully whimsical honey pots, forced to sit tight until help arrived.
“I’ll go with you,” I said, much to Peter’s astonishment.
“Seriously?” he asked. “Who are you and what have you done with the woman who quoted carnival ride death statistics to me in the car on the way here?”
“She’s over at the polish sausage kiosk, contracting E. coli as we speak.”
“From the looks of that booth, she’ll be infected with a lot more than E. coli.” Peter shuddered.
“Come on, Mena, let’s go,” Jackson commanded as he unhitched himself from Peter to latch onto me.
“Thank you,” Peter said sincerely, right at the moment Jackson began to drag me away.
For a little guy, he was strong. His tiny legs bested even my own. I had to speed up just to maintain the same pace as him as we ambled our way ever closer to the freakishly huge teddy bears. The ride had just finished its cycle when we arrived at the gate.
“We’re first in line!” Jackson exclaimed. “I’m never first in line.”
“That makes two of us.”
A small line was already beginning to form behind us. Little hands pushed into the small of my back, pinning my body against the metal barrier that separated us from the ride. Standing a few feet away, shielded from the mayhem, Peter waved at me with the most annoying smirk spreading across his face. As it turned out, it was the wrong time for me to turn my attention away from the gate, as another push from behind caused me to stumble forward into the opening where the gate once stood.
“Come on, Mena,” Jackson called out to me. “We have to hurry.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, trying to keep myself from stumbling. “There are plenty of open bears.”
He looked over his shoulder, casting the most incredulous glance in my direction. “Yeah, but I want the blue one.”
Of course, you do.
Running to catch up with him, we passed an empty pink, yellow, and purple bear. “There’s a perfectly good green bear up ahead.”
“Ew. Green is the color of puke.”
The inflection in his voice made me feel like an asshole for even making that suggestion. Up ahead, Jackson leapt into the empty blue bear. A couple seconds later, I leapt in after him, except far less gracefully than he had, and far more painfully when I banged my knee on the ride.
“Oh, sh—” I began, catching myself just as a grin spread across Jackson’s face, revealing two missing front teeth. “—oot,” I finished. “Oh God, please shoot me.” I rubbed my fingertips over my throbbing patella, attempting to massage some life back into it.
“You’re funny.” Jackson laughed.
“I’m here all night.”
“That’s what my mom said.”
Did she now?
The seat inside of the ride was a bench seat positioned in a half circle in the belly of the bear, while the honey pot in the bear’s lap served as a door, opening to allow entry. In front of the bench seat was a circular wheel connected to what was, perhaps, an axle. Whatever it was, it took up quite a bit of space inside of the ride. Had I been any larger I would have needed the jaws of life to extricate me from the cramped interior. As the other bears began to fill up, a few more kids started trickling our way, and it wasn’t long before I found myself seated in the middle of the bench seat, with Jackson on my left and a handful of other children on my right—three girls and two boys who looked about Jackson’s age.
If Elle could see me now.
I’d never been around kids all that much before today, and now I was squished inside of a hollow, steel teddy bear with a half dozen of them, awakening claustrophobia I didn’t even know I had. My heart rate increasing, I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath, letting it out just as a stray elbow jabbed me in the rib cage.
“It’s starting to move,” the rib assassin, a petite dark-haired girl, announced.
“About time,” Jackson said. “It feels like we’ve been waiting forever.
“Wait until you’re thirty,” I added, “a year goes by in a month.”
From farther down the bench, a boy no older than six piped in, “Thirty? Isn’t that almost dead?”
“Basically.”
Now I remember why I avoided kids.
Our car lurched forward, jolting me just enough for me to strike my injured knee against the wheel in the middle. I sucked in my breath, trying to will the pain to subside as our car picked up the pace along a track that zig-zagged haphazardly from one end of a set of large circles to the other.
This isn’t so bad. If not for the lack of leg room and the disregard for personal space, it would be almost tolerable.
“This is boring,” the brunette rib assaulter next to me announced.
“That’s because we aren’t spinning the wheel,” the blond know-it-all next to her proclaimed.
<
br /> So, that’s what that was for.
“Oh, yeah, I forgot about the wheel.” Jackson sprung forward, placing his hands along the side of the wheel. “Come on, everyone,” he commanded as though the others needed prompting.
Soon, the wheel in the center of the car was being gripped by a gaggle of small hands, all of whom began turning it counterclockwise. Within seconds, the once stable ride turned until it had completed a full circle.
What fresh hell is this?
“Faster!” the blond sadist proclaimed with such enthusiasm that the others couldn’t help but comply.
In one swift movement, the bear car spun around, forcing my back against the seat and my stomach to sink like a stone.
“Okay, we made it spin,” my voice cracked. “Let’s give the wheel a rest and—”
“Faster!” the little shit with pigtails sitting at the end of the bench seat ordered.
Meaning business this time, all six pairs of chubby hands gripped the wheel and began turning it with speed and dexterity that shouldn’t be possible for children.
Oh, shit.
I braced myself against my seat to circumvent the centrifugal force that would soon be exerted upon my body right as the bear spun around in not one, not two, but three gut-wrenching circles. As hard as I tried to suppress a scream, my vocal cords demanded I be heard; and heard I was, which would have been fine if not for the one-syllable, four-letter word that accompanied the last scream in my series of screams.
“Fuck!”
I knew the second I heard the word coming out of my mouth with my own ears that I had effed up. Time stood still at that very moment, and I swore somewhere off in the distance I heard a record scratch. All the children, every single last one of them, stared at me, eyes wide. Suddenly, those antagonistic heathens appeared angelic, their eyes judging me, looking at me like I had crawled up from the depths of the netherworld.
“That’s a bad word,” the pious girl with the pigtails broke the silence that had filled the car.
When Stars Collide Page 6
