by Jane Green
“Yes,” said Jesse, even though they all knew he had no idea what she meant.
Emma looks over at Jesse, now glued to the television screen, occasionally reaching over to take a bite of his French toast.
“Gigi and Banpy should be here in about half an hour,” she says. “They just went into town to get some stuff for this afternoon. And Sophie, Rob, and Jackson are coming, too. They wanted to see you before the party. I think they may have a small something for you.”
Jesse turns to her, his eyes wide. “Do you think Gigi and Banpy have gone to get me a birthday present? Do you think it’s a go-kart?”
“I very much doubt it,” she says, although knowing her parents, they will have indulged him and bought him exactly what he asked for. “Although who knows? They do spoil you. Maybe, if you’re very lucky, they got you Star Wars Lego.”
Jesse squirms excitedly. “I hope it’s the Millennium Falcon, Mom,” he says. This is not the first time Jesse has called her Mom. The first time it happened, she thought she had misheard. The second time it happened, she thought it was a mistake. This is the sixth time he has now said it.
She has ignored it up until now, but she can’t ignore it today. She puts her plate down and moves closer to Jesse on the sofa, thinking about how to choose her words, what best to say.
“Jesse, can we talk about you calling me Mom?”
Jesse says nothing. She sees him swallow as he stares pointedly at the television screen. She picks up the remote control and mutes the volume.
“Sweetie, look at me.” He does so, reluctantly, as if he is embarrassed, as if he were trying on the word, was hoping to just slip into the habit with both of them pretending they hadn’t noticed.
“I just want you to know, that if you do want to call me Mom, it’s completely fine with me. You know how much I love you. And even though I haven’t known you for your whole life, I know I’m going to be with you for the rest of our lives.” She pauses. Is she saying the wrong things? She feels stupid for not knowing what to say, for not knowing how to say it.
“The thing is, I didn’t give birth to you, which you know.”
“Stacy’s my tummy mummy!” He grins at the babyish term Emma had come up with.
“Right. Officially I’m your legal guardian, but as far as I’m concerned, you’re my son. And I’m your mom. Forever. If you want to call me Mom, I would be honored.” She watches Jesse, who keeps staring at the television, then looks briefly down at his empty plate.
“Okay,” he says, grabbing the remote control and turning the volume back up. “Mom? Can I have another piece of French toast?”
Emma takes his plate and heads into the kitchen. This is not what she ever expected her family to look like. She would give anything to have Dominic back by her side. But Jesse is her family now. There is no doubt about that. And she is his mother. No doubt about that, either.
As she makes her way back to Jesse on the sofa, the Rolling Stones drums in her head, “You Can’t Always Get What You Want.” She gives Jesse the plate, kisses him on the top of his head, and curls up next to him. There is no doubt that Jesse is what she needs.
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