All Who Dream (Letting Go)

by Deese, Nicole

  My jaw needed to be shoveled off the floor. I couldn’t stop Cody’s observations or “oohs and ahhs” because I couldn’t speak.

  I followed Jackson past the living area to the kitchen that reflected our images every which way we turned. Everything was stainless, black and smooth….and shiny.

  There was a definite theme going on here.

  “Here we are,” Jackson said, placing the bags on the black granite countertop.

  The place made me feel inconspicuous. Everything was perfect. There wasn’t a single spec of dirt, or even a physical sign that someone actually lived in this stunning residence. It was like looking through the windows of my old Barbie Dream Mansion…only nothing here was made of plastic, and nothing was hot pink.

  Jackson waved his hand over my eyes as if attempting to wake me from a trance. “It’s just a place to sleep.”

  I gaped at his casual tone. Uh, hardly.

  “Right…” I pulled several items out of the grocery bag as Cody took his backpack over to the couch and laid back, relaxed. I smiled. The kid could adapt to anything quickly: even a plush condo in Manhattan.

  “So…put me to work,” Jackson said, washing his hands in the fanciest faucet I’d ever seen.

  “Oh? Okay…um…” I glanced at the ingredients surrounding me.

  “You’re not so good at delegating are you?” He lifted an eyebrow.

  I frowned as he chuckled, “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a helper in the kitchen that could use knives or work on the stovetop.” I looked over at Cody who was busy playing on his iPad.

  “Well, you have one now. Tell me what you need, Angie.”

  My stomach tightened at his words—their effect on me, daunting. Despite my usual resistance toward male relationships, I had just invited Jackson to cross the line, without him ever knowing one existed. It was the line that separated me from being fine and not being fine. The line that divided safe from exposed. And necessity from want.

  The colorless hue that abuse paints onto the canvas of life acts as a thief, robbing its victims from ever knowing the joy found from simple pleasures. Abuse dulls the art of dreaming and dampens the passion of desire. Abuse smudges and blurs the colors until one day the damage overtakes the original completely…leaving it bland and lifeless.

  But within Jackson’s short phrase, my canvas, the one that held neutral pigments of ash and gray, had unexpectedly been splashed with the unfamiliar. Bright colors of emotion—hope, joy, laughter . . . and desire. Intense desire, but for what I couldn’t afford to dream of having. Maybe the colorless canvas was better. Safer.

  Jackson brushed my hair away from my shoulder, “You okay?”

  I nodded as his touch heated my skin and seared into my soul.

  The touch of the only man to ever show me color.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Several internal self-pep talks later, I managed to cook alongside Jackson without having to use my escape plan—the restroom down the hall—if things became too intense for me. Every cliché about heat in the kitchen flooded my mind. But seriously, brushing up against Jackson was enough to boil my insides.

  Tonight we were having breakfast for dinner: banana-nut pancakes, bacon, hash browns and fruit salad with yogurt. The menu was Cody’s favorite, and one I thought I could stomach—minus the bacon. Jackson had peeled the potatoes and chopped some fruit, glancing at me every few minutes.

  “You enjoy cooking?” he asked.

  “Yes, although it’s tricky when it’s just Cody and me. Most recipes are meant for a much larger family size than ours, but I have some girlfriends I cook for, too. Rosie is usually over a few times a week. She is a fabulous cook, so we take turns in the kitchen.”

  “Rosie—she’s the other person you named last night, besides your brother. How did you meet her?” He cut into the pineapple with ease.

  Do I tell him?

  I pondered the question. Should I filter my answer or not?

  “We lead together in a group for women called, The Refuge. We met there six years ago…our lives looked very different then, but we both have a passion to give back to others what was given to us.”

  He stopped cutting. “And what was that?”

  “Hope.”

  The look on his face matched the look from last night when he had held my journal in his hand.

  “You’re a strong woman, Angie.”

  My throat thickened with emotion, as I turned toward the batter I was stirring.

  “I wasn’t for a long time,” I whispered.

  “True strength doesn’t just appear out of nowhere—it may develop during seasons which are unseen, unheard and almost always unrewarded…but that doesn’t mean it didn’t exist.”

  I had to remind myself to inhale. Why did he keep saying things that took my breath away?

  A buzzing on the counter pulled me out of my trance—my phone.

  I dug the phone from my purse, but didn’t recognize the caller’s number. “Hello.”

  “Hello…is this Angie?” The somewhat-familiar voice asked.

  “Yes, this is she.”

  Jackson shot me a questioning look.

  “This is Brian, from the radio station. I hope this isn’t too weird, but I called and got your number from Pippy.”

  “Oh…uh, hi.” I turned away from Jackson.

  “Hey, so I was wondering if you’d like to take me up on my offer to show you around the city…maybe next weekend? You can bring your son along, too, of course.”

  I closed my eyes.

  Worst. Timing. Ever.

  I heard rather than saw Jackson shuffle up next to me.

  “I so appreciate the offer—really, I do, but the tour keeps me pretty busy. I’ll have to check my schedule and get back to you.”

  “Okay, well, I’d love the chance to get to know you better, Angie. Call me if you’re free.”

  “I will, thank you,” I said, careful not to say his name aloud. “Bye.”

  I hung up and quickly went back to the mixing bowl to scoop batter onto the skillet. Jackson’s eyes were on my face, arms crossed in front of his chest, but I didn’t dare look at him. I kept right on scooping.

  “Brian, I presume?”

  I shrugged.

  He laughed humorlessly and shook his head.

  “What’s your problem with him, Jackson? He’s a nice guy,” I said defensively.

  “A nice guy,” he repeated. “Is that all it takes?” His eyes challenged me.

  How quickly this man could start a fire in my veins.

  “What is that supposed to mean? ‘Takes to what’ exactly?”

  He shook his head and went for the spatula, flipping the pancakes over one by one.

  “Can I put the movie on now?” Cody walked into the kitchen.

  “Sure.”

  “No.”

  I stared at Jackson. We had answered at the same time. Cody and Jackson looked at me in surprise.

  Why did I say no?

  “I mean…that’s fine. Dinner will be ready in a minute, so be prepared to pause it,” I corrected.

  “We can eat on the couches—as long as it’s okay with your mom,” Jackson said.

  Cody watched me, as if waiting for a rebuttal, but I nodded in agreement instead.

  “Cool!” He grabbed the movie off the counter and trotted back into the living room.

  “I’ll show you how to set it up, Code.” Jackson wiped his hands on a towel and following Cody.

  My momentary frustration toward Jackson turned to warm appreciation the second he said my son’s nickname. Flipping the last of the pancakes and bacon, I watched as the two of them got the movie set up. The scene in front of me warmed me to the core. Seeing Cody laugh and joke with a man other than my brother was a rarity, and I was loving every second.

  I hadn’t dated—not even once since Cody was born. I’d been asked out, usually by customers coming to buy flowers for a friend, or a mom, or sick co-worker. All my refusals had been simple, easy
. Cody was the primary reason for my resolve to stay single; my need for emotional recovery acting as a close runner-up. For years I had been too raw to even consider dating—too fragile. But what is my excuse now?

  “Need plates?”

  I jumped at the sound of Jackson’s voice behind me. I must have been staring off into space.

  “Did I catch you daydreaming? Was a certain tattooed radio announcer clouding up the brain?” A distinct hint of sarcasm dripped from his words.

  I glared at him, taking the plates from his hands and shoveling hot food onto them.

  “Are you jealous, Jackson?” I turned just in time to see his face shadow. “Has no one ever called you a nice guy—is that it? I simply cannot imagine why not…” My sarcasm trailed off as his eyes roamed over my face, stopping on my lips.

  He stepped closer, sending my heart into a reckless spasm.

  His arms bracketed me as he grabbed two steaming plates off the counter, brushing my shoulders in the process.

  “And what if I am?” he whispered.

  “What?”

  His stare was the only answer I received before he walked over to Cody and handed him a plate.

  **********

  I snuggled into Jackson’s plush leather couch, my stomach satisfied. The banana-nut pancakes were exactly what my post-stomach-flu had needed. I stretched out my legs while Cody lay on the floor with two big throw pillows. That was his favorite way to watch a movie, though there was plenty of room on the couch next to Jackson and me.

  Jackson and me.

  I sighed. I wasn’t sure what had happened in the kitchen, but something definitely had happened. He sat at one end and I on the other, but neither of us watched the movie. I knew this only because every five minutes we were both checking to see if the other was watching or not. All I knew about the movie was that it starred a mangy-looking dog who could talk. Cody kept commenting on how he wished his mom would let him have a dog someday. I rolled my eyes, unwilling to get into yet another debate about how expensive pets are.

  The tension that brewed in Jackson’s living room was thick—almost tangible. And definitely uncomfortable. I crossed my feet as I saw Jackson pull on the back of his neck. What was he was thinking? He turned his head toward me, and I looked away quickly.

  As soon as the theme song of the movie came on and the credits rolled, I jumped up. I needed to get out of this pressure-cooker before I said or did something I’d regret. I had only known Jackson a few weeks, but the “moments of regret” between us had been piling up since day one. I didn’t need to add another one. I stretched and fake yawned.

  “Code…we have a busy day tomorrow. We need to get back to the apartment and get you to bed. Please thank Mr. Ross for such a nice day.”

  Jackson stood up. “I’ll drive you.”

  There was something different about his voice, a strain. Cody must have heard it too, because we both turned toward him.

  “We’re fine to take a cab. It’s not that far. You’ve been driving us around all day. Really, Jackson, we’re fine.”

  “And it’s even more fine for me to drive you.”

  I didn’t argue. It was pointless. Jackson was probably the most stubborn man I knew, and that included my brother.

  After collecting the plates and putting them into the dishwasher, Cody grabbed his backpack. We were out the door a minute later.

  Cody filled the awkward silence in the car, asking Jackson a thousand questions about the city, books, pets (nice try, Cody) and traveling. Jackson obliged him, returning interest with questions of his own.

  Something burned in the back of my throat. I swallowed it down.

  Jackson left his car with the valet at my building and rode the elevator up with us, despite my protests. Cody stuck the key card inside the lock pad then turned around and threw his arms around Jackson’s waist even as the door clicked open. Jackson looked a bit bewildered, but he returned the hug regardless.

  “Thanks for today, Mr. Ross. I had fun at the zoo…and riding in your car.” Cody said then darted inside.

  I stood, speechless. Cody had always been a sweet kid: both sensitive and friendly. But even I couldn’t have predicted that kind of warm response from him.

  The heavy door fell back against my shoulder, inches from closing as I glanced up at Jackson. His eyes were intense as they searched my face for several seconds.

  “Don’t settle for nice, Angela Flores. You deserve better.”

  As his gaze dipped to my lips, my insides swam with unexpected want.

  “Jackson—”

  He stepped closer, my exhale catching in a shaky vibrato that heated my cheeks. I slumped against the doorjamb, praying the solid surface would keep me upright. He swept my hair off my shoulder.

  “Maybe I do act like a jealous teenage boy around you…but it’s not because I want to be called nice.” His warm breath swept across my lips, a shiver tickling the back of my neck.

  “Then why?” I rasped.

  Hope soared in my chest as I focused on his mouth, the world around me nonexistent as I silently begged him to continue.

  “Because you remind me of something I lost…”

  He leaned in and pressed his lips to my cheekbone.

  The second he pulled away, I was released back into the hands of my cold, colorless reality once more, the reality I’d always found sanctuary in…until Jackson.

  Color had changed everything.

  Chapter Fourteen

  A LONE JOY

  Thai Food, Throw-up and Truth—OH MY!

  Well, it’s official: I hate throw-up.

  The only thing worse than cleaning up throw-up, is throwing up. But luckily, the times of flu-like symptoms in my adult life—or in this case bad Thai food—are rare. The experience got me thinking though, about life. How staring into a big porcelain pot while vomiting can be a time of introspection is beyond me, but it happened nonetheless.

  Why is it that when we are in our most fragile, helpless state as moms, we don’t want help? Does anyone else experience this phenomenon?

  Asking for help has almost become a foreign concept for me, even when help is offered with the best of intentions, even if it’s offered to me by my son. I realized while lying on the bathroom floor that in my desire not to be a burden…that I’m actively training my child to think it’s better to be self-reliant than to admit weakness.

  Though I believe independence is a necessity in our world today, self-reliance can be crippling. I cringe at the idea that I have taught him to exhaust every effort BEFORE accepting or asking for help. For a woman who has benefited so much from the concept of community and pushed it like a bad habit on this blog dozens of times, I fear that I have missed the boat in this particular life category. A community of friends and family shouldn’t be limited to invitation-only status. What purpose does that serve in Cody’s life to only have people around when life is on the up and up?

  My tendencies will quickly become Cody’s tendencies if I don’t change them. If I never allow him to see me vulnerable, then he might never think vulnerability is okay. I will have done him a tremendous disservice if that is the case. Life is full of moments that drop us to our knees unexpectedly. I want him to know how to reach out, to pray, and to seek help when help is needed. That is a type of strong that I missed out on for too many years.

  I want better for him.

  **********

  “Good morning!” Pippy sang as I walked into the reception room of the KDAK 97.9 radio studio, Cody in tow.

  Pippy handed me a large plastic cup filled with a thick, green concoction. A straw was poked through the middle—apparently the contents of the cup were edible.

  “This green smoothie is like magic for a tummy-upset. I got Cody one, too.” Pippy pointed to a small table in the corner of the room. My son looked at me for a rescue plan, but I had nothing.

  “That’s very thoughtful, Pippy. Thank you.” I nudged Cody to say the same. He did so, begrudgingly.

&
nbsp; Pippy smiled, completely unaffected by our less than enthusiastic response to her thoughtfulness.

  I scanned the room. Everyone was here for our first family group interview—everyone but Jackson. Biting my bottom lip at this discovery, I worried that our time together the night before was the cause for his absence. Had I said too much? Had we gotten too personal? Were my feelings becoming too obvious?

  “Nothing like spinach in the morning.” Jackson’s voice spoke softly into my ear. As I spun to face him, relief radiated through me.

  “Hmm…you can have mine if you feel a craving coming on,” I said, careful to make sure Pippy was out of earshot.

  “Not on your life, sweetheart.”

  I’d never admit what his word choice did to me. Ever.

  The next twenty minutes were spent getting briefed on the agenda for the interview by the station manager. We also heard how our time would be divided up within the hour-long segment. My part would be relatively small, but exciting nonetheless. The radio host was a man by the name of Kent Brown. He was an older gentleman with a round face, large glasses, and a white, wiry beard.

  Jackson seemed unusually pleasant this morning. Was the chipper mood due to the fact that we were not sitting in front of Brian—the nice radio DJ? That thought reminded me, I needed to tell Pippy to use more discretion with giving out my phone number. Brian might be cute, but I wasn’t looking to date, or at least, I wasn’t looking to date Brian.

  The interview began with Mr. Brown speaking to the Zimmermans. I enjoyed hearing the couple speak about marriage. They seemed so down-to-earth, yet their relationship appeared extraordinary. They spoke on the importance of tone. “Our tone is far more important than the words we speak…it is the indicator of what’s in our heart,” Tom Zimmerman said.