"You're nervous."
"And excited," she clarified, bouncing around on her heels. "This is going to be so amazing. I haven't had a vacation--like a real vacation--since I was still living at home. And I've never been anywhere like Jamaica. And I am really excited to be able to see like the real Jamaica with your family instead of only the touristy parts."
"We will hit up both. The touristy spots are pretty fucking awesome too, I won't lie."
"Is the water as clear as it looked on the pictures online? And the sand as white?"
"Absolutely," I told her. Partly because it was true. And partly because I wanted to see her face light up again. I wasn't disappointed.
"I brought three bathing suits. Which is ridiculous since I will have to wear a mumu the entire time if I don't want to burn. And that giant hat you got me," she added, looking sad again that she had needed to fold it up a bit to get it to fit in her suitcase.
"We will go when the sun is going down some days so you can enjoy it without getting burned."
"Sounds perfect. The beach is so dreamy during sunup and sundown anyway."
Clueless.
She was perfectly clueless.
Just how I wanted her to be.
"I like her," my father told me the next morning, after picking us up from the airport, bringing us back to his place. Where we were greeted by no less than twenty-five people.
The rest of the night was a complete blur of food I had missed, faces I had missed, laughing, dancing, and catching up.
My gaze moved across the beach to where Gemma had a set of twin one-year-olds on her hips--my second or third cousins or something like that--dancing and jumping around to make them throw their heads back and squeal over and over.
"Yeah, I like her too," I agreed, smiling.
"She wants them, right?" he asked, meaning the kids.
Oh, she wanted them alright.
Once things with us got stable, once she found her dream job, it was like she felt comfortable enough to let her clock start ticking. And tick it did. We couldn't leave the house without her getting heart-eyes over babies in stores or restaurants. She gushed over them at work. She found every excuse to go and visit the ones belonging to the guys from the office.
She wanted them.
Likely a lot of them.
And she had enough heart and patience to do that.
"Yeah, definitely."
"She's outgoing," he added.
To him, that was a giant compliment. I'd learned with my time with my family that they preferred women who were friendly and personable, not shy or uptight types.
My family was outgoing, outspoken, out everything.
To Gemma's credit, she hadn't even looked shocked when they'd broken out some risqué jokes right in front of her the night before. And hadn't run screaming when my cousins got into a fist fight over who made the better jerk chicken, of all things.
Though a part of that might have been that she had admitted to me that she found a few of their accents a bit tougher to understand right away, so she hadn't known what the jokes or arguments were about.
She'd nearly been in tears about it, too, begging me to understand she was trying. Like I could fault her for struggling to understand them at first. I'd just wrapped her up, assured her that I had the same issue my first trip there, that the understanding would come.
"What you mean you never had Bammy?" my grandmother demanded loudly, drawing my attention over toward where she was settling the babies down on a blanket to have a snack. Which, apparently, was what the kids were having. "Lincoln loves Bammy," she added, her tone--to an outsider--might have seemed a little harsh, accusatory.
"I would love to learn how to make it," Gemma told her, not missing a step. "Lincoln loves a home cooked meal. It would be really nice to be able to make some of this food back at home."
"Lincoln," my grandmother called, walking away from the kids, dragging Gemma with her. "Ima teach her to make Bammy."
"Right now?" Gemma asked, looking torn. She wanted to learn, but she hadn't meant right that moment.
"Go get your cooking on, baby," I told her, kissing her temple. "I'll come fetch you in an hour or so."
"She cooks for you, yeah?"
"Pretty much every night," I agreed, nodding. "And some lunches too."
"Good. That's good."
"Is everything all set up?" I asked, feeling anxious about everything falling into place, worrying about any little thing that could happen to screw things up last minute.
"All set. We're waiting on her family."
They would be getting in at the crack of dawn the next morning. My father was going to sneak out to go get them, bring them to their hotel, set up a plan to pick them up the next evening to bring them down to the place.
"I'm nervous," I admitted.
It was strange, at times, to have your father, but have him so far away, so often out of touch. There was a connection, but he had never really been my sounding board, the person I went to with my problems. Thanks to the closeness with my mom and aunt, they had always been who I went to for advice.
But my mom was gone.
My aunt wasn't around.
And this really felt like something you shared with your father.
"You love her, yes?"
"Yes," I told him immediately, no hesitation. "More than anything," I added.
"And she loves you."
It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway. "Yes."
"What's there to be nervous about then?" he asked, slapping a hand on my shoulder before turning away.
My father had been a bachelor for most of my life, never settling down until several years after I lost my mom. But when he did, he did it quickly, without much thought, without any worries.
That was just how he was.
He knew he had the right woman.
So there was nothing to be anxious about.
I decided to take a page from his book.
She was the right woman.
Finally.
Fucking finally.
I got it right.
There was nothing to worry about.
Gemma
Lincoln was almost weirdly calm.
He wasn't a particularly anxious person in general, but all of a sudden, he was completely at ease.
Maybe it was the influence of his father who was the most relaxed man I had ever met.
Where many of his other family members had very passionate changes in mood, Delroy--who had insisted I call him that upon meeting--never riled for anything.
I'd met yogis who could take lessons from him.
I had to admit that I was having the exact opposite reaction around his family. But I was the one trying to get to know them all, remember their names, try to impress them. And, as I said, some of them could be extremely in-your-face with their feelings. It was so opposite to what I was used to, that I was more on edge than was usual for me.
I figured that I would calm down a bit once I settled in.
Luckily, we were going to be around for ten days. It gave me plenty of time to ease into everyone and everything.
There was, apparently, a jerk chicken bake-off going on in a few days time. And after the fistfight over said food, I was hoping I managed to lose my anxiety by then if there were going to be tempers flying there again.
I was hoping that some of Lincoln's chill would rub off on me when he suddenly grabbed my hand, pulling me away from his grandmother who was attempting to teach me yet another recipe to bring back to the States, insisting that we go for a little sunset walk.
I really did adore his family--especially all the half a dozen babies there were--but I had to admit that it was going to be nice to get just a couple stolen moments alone.
"How are you holding up?"
"I'm fine!" I insisted, voice going a little high. "I promise! I really love them. I am just a little--"
"Overwhelmed," he supplied. "Honey, I get it. I've been in your shoes, remember? I have
a big ass family here. So many names and faces and personalities. I don't think I got them all sorted until my third visit. You'll get there. Don't put so much stress on yourself. Everything will fall into place."
"I believe you. But this alone time is nice too," I added, giving his hand a squeeze. "Didn't you tell me this area was off-limits?" I asked as he led me toward a tree line he told me was private property. And this was reinforced by the fact that there were some flags up.
Yet he was leading me there.
In general, Lincoln was a rule-abider outside of his job. I also liked to stay within the laws. And I really, really didn't want to end up in prison in a foreign country.
"It's okay. I got permission for today."
I wanted to question him, to ask for clarifications, but before I could, he was leading me into the canopy, making me his accomplice.
"Oh, this is amazing," my voice rushed out of me as we got to the other side, finding ourselves in a little alcove surrounded by trees, shrouded in privacy.
The white sands and crystal clear water was beautiful everywhere, but made doubly so here.
Someone else must have realized how perfect the space was, too, because they had hung a beautiful wooden swing from one of the sturdier trees.
"You know you want to," Lincoln told me, smiling, as he watched me look at the swing.
And I did.
I really did.
Thankful for the privacy seeing as my 'island attire' consisted entirely of long skirts that would be light and airy, I climbed up on the swing, taking a deep breath.
"Want a boost?" he asked.
"Yes," I decided when my foot simply slipped across the wet sand instead of getting any traction.
With that, I was off.
Lincoln moved in at the side as the world swooshed around me.
And just like that, all the tension I had been holding melted away, leaving me almost giddy with joy.
When my swing slowed, Lincoln moved in front of me, grabbing the ropes, pulling me to a full stop.
"Thank you," I told him, meaning it from the bottom of my soul. "This was just what I needed," I added as he released the ropes.
There was something almost startlingly intense in his eyes as he reached into his pocket.
And then lowered down in front of me.
I maybe, for a split second, thought that he was going to attempt something, well, sexy.
But it ended up being so, so much better than that.
Because then I saw the ring.
A brilliant teardrop-cut carnation color with absolutely no diamonds--since he knew how I felt about diamonds--on a simple white gold band.
"Gemma," he started, voice deep with feeling.
"Yes!"
"I didn't even ask yet," he told me, already beaming.
"Yes. Yes. Yes," I told him, forcing my finger into the ring, then cradling his face in my hands, leaning in to steal a long, deep kiss.
I was sure it couldn't have possibly gotten any better.
But then the sound of applause and whistling broke through the silence of our little sanctuary, making me break apart.
I expected his family.
I got them, too.
But I also got my own.
My parents, sister, Kai.
I was smiling through my tears as I greeted them, as we all walked back toward the town for dinner, as they let me in on how hard Lincoln had been planning this.
My heart, already so full, overflowed entirely.
"Lincoln," I said a long, long time later in our beautiful little hut over the water after celebrating in our own, private way.
"Yeah, baby?"
"I maybe have a little surprise for you too," I told him, watching as his eyes went curious as I rolled onto my back, reaching for his hand, pulling it over, placing it on my belly.
There was a long second before recognition hit his eyes.
"Really?" he asked, smile hesitant, wanting confirmation.
"Really," I agreed, beaming when a smile spread across his face.
"I love you," he told me, rubbing his hand across my belly.
"I love you too."
And now our love, when it overflowed, it had a place to go.
Lincoln - 9 years
"Daddy," Bethy, our oldest, named after my mother, Elizabeth, called from the backyard.
"Yeah?" I asked, hiking our two-year-old son up on my hip, walking out to find Bethy and her five-year-old sister, Dawn, covered almost head-to-toe in dirt. As they almost always were. As Gemma preferred, claiming it would be amazing for their immune systems.
"Uncle Ry said that Mommy was a spy," Bethy said, lifting her chin up in defiance.
My gaze slid over to Rylan, my brow lifting.
He hadn't been an immediate part of our family. Let's say that he didn't take it well when we had informed him that he would not be responsible for taking down Blairtown Chem. Sure, the product never did see the time of day. And, yes, David did make the news for trying to defraud not only the public but his unassuming, innocent boss, Phillip. But that was where it ended. By the time he finished his documentary which was more a time lapse into his insanity than a nod to his father, no one cared anymore.
He'd gone off the deep end.
He'd needed to be talked off the bridge over the ocean a week after his big debut flopped.
And had been promptly--and necessarily--carted off for treatment.
Gemma had reconnected with him six months later, becoming his buddy who went with him to grief counseling sessions once every week, helping him work through his loss, learn that life was still worth living, that he still had people around who loved him and wanted him around.
He put on fifty needed pounds.
He continued his mission to document life in all its forms.
And he became a part of our family, in time.
"Well," I started, then felt Gemma--about to pop once again, likely for the last time--bumped my hip with hers.
"We agreed to honesty," she reminded me. We had built a relationship on that, after a slightly rocky start with it. And we decided it was going to be our parenting style as well. Santa and the Easter Bunny excluded.
"Mommy was kind of like a spy," I told Bethy, whose eyes went round. She already thought her mother was born of sunbeams--which wasn't exactly untrue--but now she was looking at her like she was the very thing the world revolved around, the source of everything.
"Only for a little while. And only because there was a bad man doing bad things and keeping it secret," Gemma added.
"Did you stop him?"
That was a tough one.
"Well, sort of. Along with Uncle Ry and Daddy and Uncle Quin and Uncle Smith."
"That's so cool."
"It kind of was," Gemma agreed even though we both know she had absolutely no interest in doing anything quite so cool ever again. "Alright. Now you guys need to go get cleaned up and get ready for bed. We have to get up early tomorrow morning."
Tomorrow was my birthday.
And Gemma had pancake plans.
Ten years going strong.
Now she had our kids on it too.
I was one lucky man.
I had searched and searched for so long.
In all the wrong places.
And when I finally stopped searching, I realized that the one I had needed had been around all along.
A woman who still, after all these years, was the brightest part of my day, the best support system, the most amazing mother to our kids.
My mother would be so happy.
"Hey, honey," Gemma asked, taking Del to go up and bathe him as well, "can you run out and grab milk? I totally forgot to grab it on my way back."
"Yeah, no problem."
"You're going to have to take my car. I blocked you in. Oh, God. That look," she said, laughing. "It's not that bad."
It was.
It so was.
Not because it was a mess.
Finn still kept it clean for
her.
But because it was something I never, ever saw myself inside of.
"I'll be right back," I told her, kissing her temple.
"Love you!"
"Love you too," I agreed, taking her keys with a grimace as I made my way down the driveway toward it.
Correction...
I had everything, everything I had ever wanted.
Plus one minivan.
DON'T FORGET
Dear Reader,
Thank you for taking time out of your life to read this book. If you loved this book, I would really appreciate it if you could hop onto Goodreads or Amazon and tell me your favorite parts. You can also spread the word by recommending the book to friends or sending digital copies that can be received via kindle or kindle app on any device.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Sheri. Her keen eyes and gentle suggestions have made me a better writer.
KC Dowd. Without her, this book would not have a blurb.
Grayson Dowd. He thinks I'm famous. Which is exactly the ego boost I needed at this point in my life.
Crystaln. Best friends are hard to come by. Fifteen year ones especially so. She keeps me sane. And puts up to my twenty-in-a-row messages without complaint.
ALSO BY JESSICA GADZIALA
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Lazarus
Pagan
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Sugar
The Fall of V
Adler
Roderick
Virgin
Roan
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The Middle Man Page 21