"Sick," she replies, forcing a laugh, but we both know that morning sickness is no joke. "Eating is the only thing that stops the nausea. I’ll be huge in no time."
"You’re allowed to be. You were so beautiful with Lily's pregnancy, I really wouldn't worry." I take her hand and she responds with a gentle squeeze before Benjamin and Lily arrive loudly at the table, forcing us to pull apart.
"Why were you holding hands?" Benjamin asks.
"Because that's what best friends do." Emma winks at me.
Dinner resumes with added positivity in the air. The broadest smiles linger on mine and Emma’s face throughout dessert.
When we leave the restaurant together, Emma holds me back and points to Benjamin and Lily as they walk in front of us...hand in hand.
Nostalgia fills my house that night. The thought of Emma having another baby brings back so many memories. Some painful, some so beautiful they make me cry. The memory at the forefront of my reminiscence is the series of events that followed the evening I told Sebastian I was pregnant.
We didn't have a typically romantic relationship. We never shared dreams of travelling the world or spending the rest of our lives together. The thought of getting married and having children had yet to occur to either of us. Our relationship was born out of friendship and shared interests and it just seemed like a natural evolution to then take things further. Eventually we were living together, but in a house shared with the rest of his band, and we were rarely alone.
We were young and having fun and this little person was going to turn that on its head. We’d been safe, but accidents happen and now we would pay for it with the death of our relationship.
He had such grand plans for his music and the thought of being held back by a child was too much. He told me that if I wanted to keep the baby then we couldn't be together. He was moving to LA soon and would be in no position to support me and the baby.
The next week I booked myself in for a termination. It was the hardest decision I’d ever made and I cried everyday leading up to it. I hadn't told anybody, not even my parents or Emma, and Seb didn't feel able to come with me for the scheduled abortion. Alone in every sense of the word, I walked through the doors to the clinic and walked straight back out, as if I was pulled from there. I don’t even consciously remember making the decision to leave.
I left Sebastian and went straight home to my parents where I fell into their caring arms and told them everything. They were understandably disappointed, but predominantly worried. After witnessing my very near demise just months earlier, they were frightened in case I regressed. However, despite their upset they looked after me like I knew they would.
As soon as I left the hospital with Benji I called Sebastian and left a message on his phone to tell him that he had a son. I never heard back from him. I wrote to our old address and included a photograph of Benjamin, but when I never received a reply I just assumed that he’d already left for LA. To this day I’m still unsure whether Sebastian knows that he’s a father.
I love Benjamin with every ounce of my being, he is my everything. That much is irrefutable. Nonetheless, this is never how I imagined I would start a family. I pictured an adoring partner wanting commitment and marriage, and I envisioned us travelling the globe and establishing a career before we settled down to bring a new life and responsibility into the world.
I cursed myself for a long time for the direction that my life had taken and the circumstances to which I had forced Benjamin to be born into. I even blamed Jesse a little. The adoring partner I envisioned was never a faceless person, and it certainly wasn’t Sebastian. It was Jesse. Always Jesse.
I’ve come through that now, and I no longer wish for it to be different. My son is my proudest accomplishment. Every day before him was spent pining over something I’d lost and every day since him has been spent loving something I have found. He’s the reason I work hard, the reason I want the best for us and the reason I will never give up. He is my savior.
It’s because of my overwhelming love for Benjamin that I feel sad to think he won’t have a brother or sister. The idea that I’ll ever find someone who I would trust enough to become a father to my children is unrealistic. Jesse is the only man that I ever imagined could fill that role, but with so many issues between us it would be stupid to rely on those dreams anymore.
The morning of my New York exhibition is full of promise rather than dread. It’s surprisingly warm today considering our recent prescription of rain, so Benjamin is spending the day with Tom and Lily in the sand dunes that border Starling. My parents are looking after him in the evening, now that they’ve had a few days recuperation. I hate having to leave him again, but I know it's just for one night, and knowing how much he loves being with his Grandma and Grandpa takes the sting out of our separation.
Zoe and I make it to the city in record time and have chance to check in at the hotel early, which through careful planning is directly across the street from the venue.
My assistant, Davis, is punctual and his usual efficient self. He’s organized lunch for us all upon arrival and we gratefully tuck in. Once fully energized, we begin to hang the prints and Davis familiarizes himself with the images. We’ve met once before and we’ve corresponded at length about them and what I expect from the sales. If anything, I feel like Davis is more prepared for this than me. In his presence I’m finally at ease.
The event is taking place in a large space that was once used as a clothes store, still possessing an impressive glass front. The space has been used for many art exhibitions previously and it’s obvious that the owners of the building took this into account when decorating it. The exposed brick walls and solid oak floor help with acoustics while perfect lighting exists overhead. The space is split into two main rooms, the second reachable through a dividing arch that leads away from the entrance. My plan is for the first room to be the warm up act and for the second room to hold the key pieces.
Zoe, Davis and I have worked tirelessly all day and so after meeting with this evening’s staff who have been hired to welcome guests and hand out pamphlets and refreshments, all that is left is for us to get ready.
Once at the hotel my nerves return with a vengeance. I haven't had a spare minute all day to concentrate on the enormity of this evening, but now that I’m moments away from the biggest night of my career I have begun to feel physically sick. Zoe does all she can to put me at ease, but this is beyond her control.
I’m dressed as professionally as my wardrobe would allow, in tailored black pants and a white, sleeveless blouse that is high necked and has ruffles falling down the centre. My hair is pulled back into a purposely messy bun and Zoe has done a good job helping me with my makeup. Studying myself in the mirror, I’m pleased to see that I look the part. If only I felt it.
My phone has been alight all day with good luck messages, but with each new beep I feel the pressure intensify. We have an hour until the exhibition begins but I’m stupidly ready earlier than I need to be, leaving nothing else for me to do but stress. I check through the messages and briefly reply to friends and family. It buzzes in my hand, making me jump.
Good luck for tonight, sweets. Not that you need it, you’ll smash it. Hope to see you later x
I read it again. I haven't heard from Jesse in days. To be honest I’ve been so busy that for the first time in ages I haven't obsessed over him. Maybe that was the key all along, to be so stressed and hectic that my mind is too full for Jesse-led thoughts. I don't know which is worse.
Does this mean that he’s coming tonight? I hope with all my heart that he is, but I can’t allow myself to get distracted now.
"Drink this."
Zoe hands me a glass of champagne and when I taste it my face pinches at its ghastliness.
"Breathe, you look like you’re about to pass out." She puts a supportive arm around me and smiles kindly. Although she would be the last person to admit it, she is so much like her mother, in confidence as well as looks. I c
an’t tell her though. I need her in a good mood tonight.
"And terrible alcohol is the way to stop that?" I ask, before finishing the rest of the glass.
"How would I know? I’m not old enough to drink yet." She smiles mischievously before walking away to mingle with the guests.
There’s been a steady flow of people through the door for the last couple of hours and so far everything is going well. Better than I expected actually, as far as the reaction to my work is concerned, but I just can't shake my nervousness. Generally I handle these things well, but I’m lacking the enthusiastic encouragement of my friends and family. I guess I depend on their support more than I thought.
I should be strong enough to handle this but I feel like I’m losing myself. I’ve been operating on autopilot for the last hour and after a string of repetitive interviews with various journalists my answers have become monotonous and the passion in my voice has waned. The room is growing busy and I start to feel myself suffocating. The heat from the crowded room is being raised to uncomfortable heights.
I need air.
I search desperately for Davis and find him chatting to a small group of suits. I interrupt his hard sell to tell him I’m going to the bathroom. He has everything under control and along with Zoe and everyone else in attendance he is oblivious to my elevating state of distress.
Evading any possible obstructions, I sneak out of a side door that opens into a dark ally. The coolness of the night air beckons me and so I start mindlessly walking. I head towards the light that summons me from the street and continue left to avoid having to walk past the glass front. I willingly consent to my feet’s need to move. I don't know where they’re taking me, I don’t care. I just need a minute.
The city air continues to create an inviting chill that nips at my exposed skin as I march down the sidewalk. I welcome the chill, for it wakes me up and clears the stress induced fog that clouds my head. My feet are moving fast on the pavement beneath me, confident in their destination. I wish they’d let me in on the secret.
Suddenly, a voice penetrates the fog and a warm hand pulls me clear.
"Michaela?"
The hand continues to grip my arm and I turn to see a man stood next to me. I’m momentarily dazzled by his striking presence. I stare long and hard at him, unperturbed by his repetitive use of my name. Jesse is dressed in slim, grey pants, a tight black shirt, and a dark grey jacket, open slightly to hint at what I know is an incredible body. He looks completely different, every inch the rich, city mogul. He looks amazing.
"Mickey, are you okay?"
My eyes finally rest on his face, anxiety written all over its beauty. His brow tight and his eyes severe. "Yeah, I'm fine." I blink hard, trying to clear the remaining haze. "What’re you doing here?"
"I'm here to see you. You invited me, remember?" He let's go of my arm but steps closer so that I still feel the connection that pulses between us. "What are you doing walking the streets? Is everything okay?"
I briefly contemplate lying, fabricating some elaborate reason for me to be away from my own opening night, but I can't. "I think I panicked. I just needed some air. Sorry."
He smiles softly. "Why are you apologizing?"
I shrug my shoulders and smile pathetically. The tension is slowly draining from my body, leaving only embarrassment.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone. These streets aren’t as safe as Starling. Do you want to go back?" he asks and I nod in response. He takes my hand and leads the way. "You're freezing, sweets.” Through this realization he let's go of my hand and removes his jacket.
"No, it's fine, we're almost here," I insist when he offers it me.
My eyes glance to his now shield-less body. His shirt is tight to his athletic arms and chest and the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. Placing the luxurious jacket over his arm he guides us into the glass fronted room. He stands tall and I feed off of his confidence, feeling like a completely different person to the one who left with her head hanging low.
Jesse takes two glasses of champagne from a young waitress and hands one to me.
"Mr. Jenner,” she mumbles as her cheeks blaze with shyness. He nods back in acknowledgement but makes no attempt to communicate further.
"Do you know her?" I ask as she walks off. He shrugs his broad shoulders in indifference and leads us through the small crowd.
Jesse pads around the room, studying each image with a kind intrigue as I watch him intently. He gives no indication of his thoughts and I feel oddly unsettled. I want him to like them so much. To allow my art to be scrutinized by specialists and potential clients is daunting enough, but to open myself up to the love of my life leaves me twitching with trepidation.
"It's busy here," Jesse says, momentarily glancing at the crowd around us.
"I know, and hot,” I say, fanning myself. “I wasn’t expecting this many people to be here."
He smiles in response but it doesn’t detract his concentration. I follow him around as he moves suavely from one framed piece to another, all the while alternating his hand placement from the small of my back to between my shoulders.
I manage to tear my attention away from Jesse as he studies another framed piece of mine, and realize just how many people are watching us. Some have the decency to look away when caught out, but others continue to pry. I expected some degree of attention at my own exhibition, but it’s not me they’re looking at, it’s Jesse. I want to believe that the sudden attention is down to his good looks alone, but there’s something akin to awe in their expressions.
Jesse seems completely unaware. Perhaps he’s used to this reaction, or perhaps he’s just too preoccupied to care. Either way I’m glad. If it was me being so obviously ogled I’d feel uncomfortable.
"I really like this one." He points at the print in front of us.
"It’s one of my favorites.”
The image is one of the sand dunes back home. I don't ordinarily shoot landscapes but this was the night of Joanna's birthday where we had a barbeque on the beach. As the sun set, the golden sky became almost indistinguishable from the sand and in the distance you can see a feminine figure. She must have been walking over the dunes, but it appears as if she is dancing through a sea of amber. I like to believe that it is Joanna.
"Is this in Starling?" he asks with genuine interest, and nostalgia.
"Yes, last summer."
"Does it mean anything to you?"
"They all mean something to me."
"This one more than others though?" he asks, finally looking at me, recharging our connection in an instant. The abundance of spotlights overhead reflect in his eyes like a ring of stars. The effect is captivating. I nod dreamily, unable to tear myself away from his celestial stare.
“Maybe. When I took the photo I was aware it could be something great, but there was no work involved. It was an easy shot. It wasn’t until a long time later when I stumbled upon it again that I realized its magic."
Jesse shifts so that his whole body is now facing me. The pull between us is stronger than ever. I sip from my glass in an attempt to calm myself.
“You’re the reason it’s magic. Easy shot or not it wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for you. It's beautiful."
"Thanks. I only wish I’d taken more."
Our connection now resembles an impenetrable force field around us. We are completely alone in this crowded space, oblivious to the buzz of the audience.
We walk through to the second room where the music hitches up a notch and the lighting is slightly dimmed. The images in here are ones taken from gigs, festivals, and even street performances. There’s a film being played through a projector onto a white brick wall. It plays a loop of live music and the bands that I’ve worked with. Most are local to New England but some are from the surrounding areas, some New York. Some of the framed images are of the acts that performed but a large proportion is of the crowd. I try to single individuals out through them, whether it's through the use of lighting or focus,
and together they work to highlight so many different aspects and experiences of live music.
Jesse is smiling and biting his lip simultaneously. His wintry blue eyes warm as they scan the room and then fall back to me.
"I feel you in this room." His words are whispered directly into my ear and the closeness is distracting.
"What do you mean?"
"The pieces in here. The music. It's all you, Mickey."
I’m caught in his spell as he reaches across to lightly link a finger with mine. His touch is not enough that we’re fully holding hands and I can only presume that he’s practicing prudence because of the business nature of the people around us.
"This is what I enjoy the most," I explain.
"I can tell." His grip tightens slightly on my hand, but I want more. I step closer feeling the energy between us charge.
"There you are!" Zoe interrupts, her voice bellowing out between us like a foghorn. Our connection is killed and our hands suddenly lonely. Zoe glares at us suspiciously.
"Sorry, Zoe." I shake my head trying to clear my thoughts, "I was just showing…erm, Mr. Jenner my work." I feel ridiculous at having to use such formalities regarding the person I have been most familiar with.
"Mr. Jenner, Zoe. Zoe, Mr. Jenner," I say, alternating pointing between them. "As well as being my saving grace today, Zoe is also my niece."They shake hands politely.
"Jesse," he corrects.
"Oh, Jesse,” she says, elongating the ‘oh’. Zoe's face can't hide her sudden recognition and I remind myself to have stern words with Joanna for opening her big mouth.
"Was there anything you needed, Zoe?" I ask, breaking her suspicious gaze as she eyes the pair of us with her mother’s knowing hazels.
"There are a couple of journalists wanting to speak to you before they leave."
"Oh, okay. Tell them I’ll be with them in one moment, please." Zoe nods and walks back to them as I turn to Jesse. "Will you stay?"
"I don’t want to distract you from your night. Enjoy it and I'll try and be back later, okay?” His hand finds my waist and his head lowers to meet my disappointed gaze. I say nothing. “Michaela?”
Forget Me Not Page 10
