by Jess Bentley
And I’m willing to say a lot more than that.
The blonde that accosted me the first night I came here on Reginald’s orders intercepts me at the stairs up to the stage.
“Jake Ferry, as I live and breathe,” she says, batting her fake eyelashes. “Your daddy is going to shit when he—”
“It’s… Glenda, or something, isn’t it?”
“Gloria,” she says, going stiff. “Gloria Price. We met before when—”
“I remember,” I tell her. “You were the one trying to get into my pants. Or, my wallet. Whichever. I guess it’s probably the same for you, right?”
“Excuse me?” She bristles, genuinely taken aback. Maybe no one’s ever spoken frankly to her before, I don’t know. I don’t really care, either, except that she’s in my way.
“Could you move, please?” I ask, with as polite a tone as I can muster. My fingers are clenching around the small box in my hand. Janie’s right. This woman just grates your nerves by being in proximity. It is much worse when she speaks.
“Janie’s in the middle of—”
“Let him come up, Gloria,” Janie says over the microphone. She sounds unsteady, but not worried, exactly. I probably sound the same.
Gloria’s face darkens quickly, and she looks over her shoulder at Janie. Then, she steps out of the way. As I ascend the stairs, I can see her in the corner of my eye trying to get the attention of one of the bloggers, but he shoos her away like a fly, and his photographer all but pushes her out of the way to train his camera on me and Janie.
The whole room is quiet.
Janie doesn’t slap me, or throw me out when I get close to her. I still worry she might, any second. She doesn’t move. She just watches me, and I watch her, our eyes locked until I lean in to whisper in her ear. Cameras flash when I do.
“Everything we experienced was real,” I tell her. “I was stupid, and I let my father push me to do things I didn’t want to do, things I feel terrible about. I want to fix it, if you’ll let me.”
I kiss her cheek before I straighten, waiting for some signal from her about what I should do, what I should think.
Janie clears her throat, and it echoes over the speakers from the microphone. She puts a hand over it, her face flushing. “Thank you for coming,” she says. “I didn’t think you would.”
It comes out formally in her voice, but not in her eyes.
“Janie,” I say, “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else right now.”
Finally she smiles, wide and genuine. More cameras flash, and by now the live tweets have probably gone out. Reginald probably already knows I’m here. I wonder what he’s thinking as he watches this progress?
“Can I take the mic?” I ask. “I promise not to steal the stage.”
“I think you’ve already done that,” she mutters, but with a hint of excitement and humor in her voice. “Don’t worry, I’ll be stealing it right back.”
“I’m counting on it,” I tell her, and she hands me the mic.
It’s do or die, then. Moment of truth. My heart is pounding in my ears, and I know that I’m sweating. Janie waits expectantly, her eyebrows starting a slow climb. She’s not the only one.
One long breath in, and out. “Ladies and gentlemen,” I say into the mic, “this woman is one of the most amazing people I’ve ever known. You probably all know that she started Red Hall on her own, with no major investors and a whole lot of elbow grease.
“What you probably don’t know,” I say as I turn to address them directly, “is that’s she’s done it under some of the most difficult circumstances, facing some of the worst detractors and naysayers in this town. There are people out there who have tried to tear this woman down and they have failed. Because her integrity isn’t a carefully constructed image created to further her business. It was her integrity that made this place what it is.”
I turn back to Janie then, and see her eyes starting to water. She’s holding it together, but part of me hopes that the next part of my speech makes her crack. Not because I want her to cry on stage—but because I know that if she does, it’ll be because I’ve made her happy.
“What you also may not know is that I am head over heels, madly in love with Janie Hall,” I say.
For a moment, I can’t speak. The lounge erupts with cheers, and Janie’s tears start to stream. She wipes her eyes, laughing, and waving frantically at the cameras when they begin to snap pictures.
She takes the mic from me to chide them. “You guys are the worst! Not one of those pictures gets online, you hear me?”
“Janie,” someone shouts, “do you love Jake Ferry?”
She bites her lip, looks at me, and then looks back at the crowd. “I haven’t decided.”
They laugh, and she smiles at me, one eyebrow raised. I take the mic when she offers it.
“All right,” I say, soothing the crowd, “calm down. I got this.” More chuckling, but they quiet down.
“You drive a hard bargain, lady,” I say. “But I bet I can do just a little better.”
The moment I bend my knee, the crowd loses it, and so does she, and I know that I’m grinning like a fool so hard it makes my face begin to ache. She laughs, and again tries to calm the crowd, but her words are drowned out.
“All right, all right,” I say into the mic, even then only barely loud enough to be heard. “Everyone give us just a moment of quiet. I have a question and it’s really important she hears me, okay?”
They quieten down gradually, and Janie has to turn away from me momentarily to breathe before she can face me again. She’s laughing, at least, which is a good sign.
I clear my throat and switch the mic off. This part is just for her. Just for Janie.
“Janie Hall,” I begin, and unfurl my fingers to reveal the box that I’m genuinely surprised isn’t crushed to bits. “I love you, and I am so, so proud of you. You are by far a better person than I am, and I don’t have any business asking you a question like this. But I don’t have a choice. For me, it’s a matter of survival. Without you, I won’t be able to eat, or drink, or sleep. Without you, I won’t be whole. I won’t even be alive.
“I don’t deserve you, and I know that. And I’m not sure that I ever will. But…” I open the box, and there are gasps from the front of the crowd when they see the ring. Janie’s eyes light up as well, not because it’s a perfect blue diamond, but because the man I paid a hundred grand to design and produce it for me is a master of his craft and this ring is, objectively, staggeringly beautiful. “…if you’ll marry me, Janie Hall, I will spend the rest of my life trying to be good enough. Janie, will you let me try? Will you marry me, baby?”
At first, she doesn’t answer. She isn’t even breathing, and I think no one else in the room is, either. We’re both suspended in the silence, until someone from the back of the room shouts, “Say yes!”
Janie bursts out laughing, and the crowd takes up the chant. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
I wave them to silence, but give them all the thumbs up for the assist, and when their laughter dies down, Janie’s hands are over her mouth. She doesn’t make a sound at first when her mouth opens, and she has to suck in a breath and swallow hard, nodding her head. “Yes. Okay. Yes!”
Everyone cheers, a roar of approval and excitement. The cameras flash, and probably all of it is on video on fifty phones and cameras throughout the room, but neither of us care. After I slip the ring on her finger, we’re together, and Janie kisses me and all the noise, the lights, the cameras... everyone in the room vanishes for me.
It’s just me, and her, and our baby.
“She’s pregnant!” someone screams. A high-pitched voice. Janie and I both snap out of it and look for the source, and see Gloria standing on a chair. “Janie Hall is pregnant with Jake Ferry’s baby!”
There’s a beat, and Janie calmly uses it to pick up the microphone again. “Yes,” she says, “I am.”
She looks up at me, and I take the mic from her.
“I reall
y couldn’t help it,” I say, smiling.
The guests and bloggers love it, erupting in cheers and laughter, snapping more pictures while Janie and I wave and smile for them.
“And P.S., Gloria?” Janie says into the mic once the laughter stops, “You’re fired.”
Shock, gasps, and also some sage nods follow as Gloria storms out of the lounge. From behind the bar, Chester throws up his arms in happiness.
And sure, the story’s got everything a blogger could want. It’s PR gold.
But more than that, it’s our first family photo session.
Chapter 33
Jake
The fallout is swift.
Reginald has no choice but to publicly voice his approval of the engagement as well as the pregnancy. If he doesn’t, he’ll lose face. To prove to the public that he means it, he even pays for the wedding.
It’s the most extravagant affair I’ve seen him throw, but, thankfully, he only bothers to bankroll it. The planning is someone else’s job when I prove to be only slightly more useful than a box of bricks at wedding planning. When Janie proves to be too busy with Red Hall’s explosion of business, our saving grace turns out to be Toia.
Helping to plan the wedding seems to bring my stepmother to life, and she and Janie become fast friends. My father wasn’t the only one that underestimated her. Janie very quickly points out to me that Toia could easily get into the event planning business and do very well. She even has all the right connections—people that don’t particularly care for Reginald Ferry but might be willing to hear Janie out if she puts in a good word.
It takes two months to put the wedding together. Reginald offers to rush things along, get us to the head of the line in this or that department, but Janie shuts him down with zeal that borders on excessive. She can’t believe he’d even consider delaying other people’s weddings just to move ours ahead. I’m not sure they’ll ever get along, but they at least seem to have a certain… rapport.
It takes until the day before the wedding for Reginald to speak to me alone, and I don’t even have to approach him. Which is ideal, because I wasn’t going to.
“So,” he says, taking a seat near me on the couch where I’m reviewing the blueprints for the gym, “are you ready for this?”
I glance at him sidelong, incredulous. “Yeah. I’m ready.”
He sighs, and leans forward. “Look, you know you can still back out. I can spin the—”
“Reginald… Dad… shut up.”
Reginald blinks, his mouth turning down at the corners, and then sighs as he leans back again, appraising me. “You know, when I said do anything you had to—propose, knock her up—I was being sarcastic.”
“I didn’t do this because of you,” I tell him. “For once.”
“That much is obvious,” he mutters. “I’ve always believed that the best women for marriage are the ones without ambition. Pliable, demure, domestic. You know that Janie’s going to leave you in the long run, right?”
What do other fathers say to their sons the day before their weddings? “Like Mom left you?” I ask.
“Your mother… is she… you know…?”
“She’ll be here,” I tell him. “She’s flying in tomorrow morning. She can’t stay long. Busy with work.”
“I offered that woman the world,” he says. “She threw it back in my face.”
I turn to face him. This has been a long time coming, and it needs to be said. I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who will ever be able to do it.
“Dad, Mom left you because you’re an insufferable, emotionally abusive narcissist. You need to control everyone around you, compulsively, and because of that no one wants to be close to you. I don’t want to be close to you. The only reason I am is… because I keep thinking that maybe one day you’ll change.
“And I know that you’re too old for that. You probably will never change, and my guess is that you don’t think there’s even anything wrong. But one by one, as you grow old, you will lose every person you thought was a friend. They’ll either get tired of you, or they’ll betray you. Your shareholders will try to steal your business. Bit by bit, everyone will nibble off whatever pieces they can get off you, because you let them, thinking that if you give them a nibble you’ll have the chance to put a collar around their necks.
“One day, there will be no one stupid enough to nibble, and you’ll be out of mice to play with. And on that day, you’ll be all but alone.” My pity is genuine, though I suspect he can’t even tell it’s there. “The only person you’ll have left then will be me. In the very last days, I’ll be the one standing by you when you go. And you will go, eventually. No one lives forever.”
“Why?” he asks.
At first, I don’t get the context. I didn’t even expect him to respond, or at least, not with anything short of derision. “What?”
“Why will you be there, if that’s how you feel?” he clarifies. He looks truly baffled.
My father the narcissist.
“Because, Reginald,” I tell him. “You’re my dad.”
He quietly stands. I can see that he still doesn’t really understand. He doesn’t need to, though. The only part he needs to get is that the dynamic between us has changed and is never going back.
Then he holds a hand out. I stand, weary, and reach for it to shake. His odd little gesture, a salute that I appreciate for what it is, even if it isn’t much.
But to my surprise, he tugs me forward when I take his hand and for the first time in my life, I’m fairly certain, my father hugs me.
Then he leaves.
He isn’t at the wedding. But that’s okay. Janie is. And she’s all I need.
Her, and my unborn daughter.
Epilogue
Janie
“You look beautiful,” Toia tells me in the bridal ready-room. It’s a massive bathroom that could easily double as a day spa, and Toia is busy making a few last-minute alterations to accommodate my belly. I never imagined myself pregnant when I wore my wedding dress, but looking at myself in the mirror I have to admit—Toia knows her shit.
She has saved me. I probably could have hired a wedding planner, but no one who was excited as Toia to help me out. The woman lives and breathes this world and I feel like a fish in a slowly heating pot of virgin coconut oil.
Everyone is here, mostly. Even Jake’s mother came in from out of town. She came to brunch with me, and to much amazement, Toia when we all went to get our hair and nails done. They say that boys look for women who remind them of their mothers. I’m inclined to agree. That lady is the definition of Type A.
All of it is, so far, going off without a hitch. So why am I nervous, and stressed, and even a little sad?
“Thank you,” I whisper. It’s hard to breathe. Nothing to do with the fit of the dress or the new and growing weight I’m carrying—which, if I may blow my own horn, I am carrying off fabulously well. There was really only one thing I wanted to happen on this day, and now that the countdown has begun it doesn’t look like it’s going to.
Chester peeks in through the bathroom door. “Janie I... holy shit, girl, you are drop-dead gorgeous in that dress. Um…” he blinks, and then remembers what he’s here for, “there’s this man that wants to see you…”
My heart stops for a moment. Chester has the door opened just enough that I can see a face behind and above him.
“Yeah,” Chester says when he sees my open mouth and wide eyes. “Hey, Toia! Let’s go sneak a cocktail off the bar.”
Toia holds up a finger, and pulls a pin from between her lips. “Almost,” she says. “Everyone… just… hold… there.” She stands back to look me over, and bids me turn one way and then the other. Finally, she smiles, and mutters something in a foreign language. Maybe Russian. She speaks three other languages, so who knows? “Beautiful,” she says quietly.
“I agree,” my father says as Chester lets him into the room.
“You made it.” The words catch in my throat. Chester and Toia lea
ve us alone. “I wasn’t sure you would.”
“Your, ah… father-in-law managed to get me here.”
“Reginald?” I want to laugh, and I almost do. “Wow.”
For a long moment, we just stare at one another. I’m six years old again, just for a few heartbeats.
He looks me over, and his eyes settle on my belly. “So, it’s a girl?”
I had been waiting to tell him. Someone must have gotten to him first. Probably Chester. He can’t keep his mouth shut about anything. “It’s a girl.”
“I don’t want mess up your dress, so maybe—”
I’m off the little podium Toia had me standing on, my arms around my father, before he can finish the sentence. The smell of him fills my nose and memories cascade through my head. Sitting on his lap. Getting into his car after school. Burying a goldfish and crying into his shirt when the deed is done.
“I missed you so much.” The tears are going to mess up my makeup, but I don’t care. Toia’s some kind of makeup sorceress; she can fix it.
“I missed you, too, baby girl,” Dad says, holding me tight.
Eventually, he lets me go, and I let him go.
“I met Jake,” he says. “His, ah… driver picked me up from the airport. Seems like he’s head over heels about you. How are you feeling about all this?”
Nervous laughter takes me over. “Yeah. How am I feeling? That’s a good question. I have no idea, honestly.”
He chuckles with me, and nods slowly. “That’s about right.”
“Did you bring me back any wisdom from France?” I ask him hopefully. About now, I’d take a fortune cookie.
“Ah… well, in France they say that ‘love is the dawn of marriage, and marriage is the sunset of love.’” He smiles ruefully. “Does that help?”
“Are all French proverbs nihilistic?” I ask him.
Dad laughs, and shrugs. “Pretty much.”
