All Who Dream (Letting Go) (17 page)

Cody
walked several paces ahead of us as we made our way to our seats—which were of
course only ten rows from the front of the stage. My stomach turned as I
thought about the cost of this evening.

“Jackson,
I can’t believe these seats…this was beyond generous,” I said quietly as we
sat. Cody was already chomping away on his eight dollar box of candy.

His eyes
glistened in the low lights. “What can I say? It pays to have connections
sometimes.”

I looked
around at the beautiful surroundings. “I guess so.”

The
lights in the auditorium dimmed moments later, as a well-known song sliced
through the room. Cody sat up straight, his attention laser-focused on the
brightly lit stage. As I turned my head back to face front, I felt a familiar,
unapologetic gaze roam my face.

“Thank
you,” I mouthed to him, sure that my voice would have been swallowed- by the
mix of African instruments that were now resonating in the room.

He leaned
in, his breath on my neck. “The pleasure is all
mine
.”

And just
like that, my resolve to keep breathing failed.
Again.

Lion King
was amazing.

I was
touched on so many levels and by so many different emotions. Though I had done
my best to stop the tears, a few had slipped out without warning. Jackson, of
course, saw my futile attempts to swat them away unnoticed. He smiled at me,
squeezing my hand gently, only to let it go seconds later.

The show
ran two-and-a-half hours, so it was just after eleven when we got back to my
apartment building. We had snacked during intermission, and though Cody had
filled up on mostly sugary treats, he was like the walking-dead as we
approached our door. Jackson insisted he make the trek up with us. I didn’t
argue.

Cody gave
us both a hug goodnight and thanked Jackson again for the Lion King
paraphernalia he’d purchased for him, and then headed inside. Jackson leaned
against the wall by the front door, staring at me unabashed.

“What?” I
asked,
when his mouth turned up into a crooked smile.

“You’re
nothing like I thought you’d be.”

I
couldn’t help but roll my eyes.
Why was
that everyone’s favorite line?

“I keep
hearing that, Jackson, yet no one seems to want to elaborate on such a
particular statement.”

He tilted
his head. “I didn’t read your blog before you came. I was asked to read it, and
I probably should have read it, but I’m not one to buy into hype.”

“And…
that’s what you thought I was…
hype
?”
I worked to keep the hurt out of my voice.

“I didn’t
believe that you could be all the things that you were rumored to be. I thought
you’d be a fleeting blip on the radar of this tour. Writing a blog doesn’t make
someone an author. I thought Dee got it wrong when she signed you. Personal
blogs are usually nothing more than a glorified inventory of embellished
half-truths.”

I sucked
in a sharp breath,
every suppressed insecurity
surfacing again.

“You
didn’t want me to come,” I said, letting his words sink in.

“No,
but-”

“Because
you thought I was
just a mom
.” My
words came out in a broken whisper as I actively told myself
not
to cry.

He pushed
away from the wall, his face stripped of all amusement now. “I was nothing
short of ignorant to say such a thing.”

My eyes
welled with tears that seemed desperate to defy me. “I’m not ashamed of being a
single mom. Cody is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. No fame or
fortune could ever compete with that.”

He took a
step toward me. “I know.”

“And you
should know that motherhood is the most important job there is-”

Another step closer.
“I know.”

“And…and-”
I couldn’t concentrate, his face a breath away.

He put
his finger to my lips. “I’m sorry, Angie.”

“What?” My
eyes widened as he dropped his hand.

Did Jackson Ross just apologize to me?

“I’m
sorry. You’re far from a
just
anything. I was wrong. There is no hype when it comes to you. In fact, I think
your blog is about the most humble piece of literature I’ve ever read.”

“But you
said-”

“I’ve
read every word of it.” His breath tingled on my lips. “You have something, a
beautiful kind of innocence,
a goodness
. And it’s
impossible to remain unaffected by it.” His jaw tensed twice before adding, “
Impossible
.”

My stomach
was a twist of knots and spasms as I saw his eyes drift to my mouth.

His hands
came up to my face, his fingers sliding to the back of my neck. And in one
smooth, gentle motion his lips were on mine. How he’d managed to both lose and
find me within those few perfect seconds I’d never know, but he had. The kiss
was a map that led straight to every secret passageway of my heart.

When the
kiss broke, he didn’t back away. Instead, he rested his hands on my shoulders
and held my gaze.

“When I
saw you tonight in the lobby…” He closed his eyes briefly and shook his head,
as if re-directing. “Walt was right. You
are
stunning.”

My brow
furrowed slightly. “But you said you don’t believe in compliments.”

“I don’t.
Compliments are a wasted effort. But I do believe in truth. And that, Angie, is
the truth.”

He took a
step back, dropping his hands from my bare shoulders. My body must have
switched itself onto autopilot. That had to be the only reason why I didn’t
fall flat on my face.

“I’ll see
you bright and early tomorrow,” Jackson said, backpedalling down the hallway.

As I
watched him go, every thought escaped me. I hadn’t a clue what he was referring
to. I nodded anyway.

He raised
his eyebrows.
“The interview—The Eastman Morning Show?”
He chuckled. “Goodnight, Angela Flores.”

Oh, right.
Heat flooded my cheeks.

“Goodnight,
Jackson Ross.”

Cody had
fallen back to sleep on the sofa in the green room, which was adjacent to the
brightly-lit room where I sat in a high-back chair in a room full of mirrors.
Currently, Esmeralda was “helping me” cover the dark circles under my eyes. I’d
suffered insomnia most of the night, replaying a certain moment, with a certain
man, in a certain doorway, until sunrise. The only reason I knew it hadn’t all
been just a good dream, was by the dramatic circles that were now being doused
with make-up. I grimaced as I thought about the cameras that were going to make
my face their target, and wished I had fought a little harder for a good
night’s sleep.

Esmeralda
did, too.

“Your
eyes look tired,” she said, painting my face with a thick brush dipped in a
beige-colored liquid.

Ya
think?
I shrugged. “Sorry.”

She
grunted, yet continued to paint.

I was
rescued only seconds later by
Pippy’s
morning
salutations. She held a soy latte in one hand and a piece of paper in the
other, reading a list of questions which I had already looked over twice.
Pippy
was anything if not thorough.

“You’re
going to do great.” She rubbed my shoulder for added effect.

“I hope
so…”

My gut
filled with unease.

The
questions would be easy enough to answer. They mostly pertained to what had
inspired me to write my blog, and what message I wanted to express to other
single mothers regarding aspirations and dreams, yet I couldn’t shake the icky
feeling. It clawed at my insides like a caged animal trying to escape. I took a
deep breath and said a silent prayer.

Walking
into the chilly studio, I immediately spotted Jackson. My eyes were always
drawn to him, no matter how many people were present. Even at the early morning
hour, he was breathtaking. Instantly, the weight of my jittery nerves was
lifted from me.

“Back in
three,” a loud voice boomed through a speaker overhead.

I started
at the sound, taking in my surroundings for the first time as I walked toward
Jackson who was currently typing on his phone. There were two sets in place
within the confines of the studio: a wide desk with a blown-up picture of the
New York skyline behind it, and a living room set.

Then I
saw
Divina
.

Before I
could even blink she was up from the desk, sauntering over to Jackson. I stopped
in my tracks, sickened at the sight of her touching his arm and whispering in
his ear as if they were secret lovers.

Jackson
continued to stare down at his phone as if unaffected by her obvious schemes.
 

I
propelled my legs forward, unwilling to let her presence alter my destination.
I wasn’t sure what I was to Jackson, but
Divina
wasn’t going to define it for me, nor would my insecurities about seeing her
pressed up against him. As I neared, he turned from her completely, a smile disrupting
the concentration on his face.

“Good
morning,” he
said,
his eyes full of something
unidentifiable.

Heat
rushed my face. “Good morning.”

“Sleep
well?” A fluttering sensation took flight inside me at his question.

“It was a
pretty short night.” I bit my bottom lip.

“Indeed,”
he said, his gaze locked onto mine.

Until
Divina
broke it.

“Jackson,
as I was saying…I’m off in an hour. Why don’t we go get coffee at Maxwell’s? We
should catch up,” she cooed.

Jackson glanced
at her, as if noticing her presence for the first time before finding my eyes
once more.

“My day
is planned.”

She
stepped in front of me, running her hand up to his shoulder, making him
refocus.

“Well,
what about tomorrow, then? We could go-”

His brows
creased as he lowered his voice. “The answer is no,
Divina
.
It hasn’t changed since the last time we talked. I’ll let you know if it does.”

“Twenty
seconds and counting…” A voice in a speaker called.

Divina’s
face contorted. Her once playfully seductive
expression morphed into stone. She stared at him with a look that could chill a
pot of boiling water. Jackson, cool as ever, addressed me again, this time
placing his hand on my upper back as he spoke.

“Do you
need anything? You’ll go on after this next segment.”

Divina’s
hardened eyes flicked back and forth from my face
to his arm on my back before stalking away in her red stilettos.

I gawked
at him.

“What?”
he asked.

“Um…that
wasn’t awkward or anything,” I said, keeping my voice low.

“Not for
me it wasn’t. She’s knows better.”

“Oh,” was
all I could think to say in response.

“So?” He
raised his eyebrows at me, reminding me he had asked a question.

“I think
I’m okay.
Pippy
prepped me already on the questions.
She’s back with Cody now.”

He leaned
down, his breath ruffling my hair. “I have every confidence you’ll do great.
Just relax and remember to breathe.”

It’s not just the interview I need coaching
for…

I sat
across from
Divina
, an expensive-looking coffee table
between us. She crossed her long legs and leaned back confidently as the countdown
began. A giant orb of light surrounded me, blinding me to everything and
everyone but her.

“Ready?”
she asked me, her voice low and sharp.

I took a
deep breath, repeating Jackson’s words in my head. “I think so.”

She
looked into the camera a second later while plastering the most convincing
smile I’d ever seen onto her face.

“So as
promised, we have Angela Flores, writer of the blog,
A Lone Joy,
and future published author with Pinkerton Press.
Welcome and good morning,” she said toward me, her eyes focused and alert.

“Good
morning. Thank you for having me, it’s a pleasure.” I nodded.

“So it
appears you are a virus, Angela,” she laughed at her joke, “or I suppose the
expression is
viral
in the case of
your blog. Your followers increased over three thousand percent within a week’s
time. Was it hard to adjust—going from a single mother working as a florist to
signing a publishing contract and joining a campaign tour practically
overnight?”

She
rolled the ankle of her crossed-leg in slow, dramatic circles, as if indicating
she had all the time in the world. I smiled. I would not let her push me
down—this wasn’t a playground.

This was
national television.

“My first
priority will always be to my son, no matter what the future holds. To be
honest, other than having this opportunity to visit New York, our lives look
relatively the same. I never planned for my blog to go viral, but God has shown
me time and time again that my plans are often superseded with a purpose
greater than my own. Cody and I feel blessed to be a part of this effort to
bring awareness to the resources and tools available for single mothers
everywhere.”

Her eyes
narrowed.

“So you
would say that your faith has played a big part in your parenting, then?”

“Absolutely.
I’m a big believer in the power of community,
and I think church and faith are a prime example of that—at least in my own
life.”

“And what
would you say to single mothers who have no system of belief?”

She was
baiting me. I could see it in her eyes, though her lips dripped the sweet
poison of everything superficial.