All Who Dream (Letting Go)

by Deese, Nicole

  “Why do you sound so nervous? You’re gonna look gorgeous, and Jackson will think so, too.”

  “Pippy! Stop…” I sighed. “I can’t think that way.”

  Even though I think about him all the time.

  “What? Why not?”

  “A lot of reasons—it’s comp-”

  “Yeah, I know, it’s complicated. So you’ve said.”

  “No matter how I look at it, Pippy, the facts are what they are. And what they are is complicated.” I ran my hand over the silk of the dress as I laid it on the bed.

  “Well, I hope you have a great time tonight. Walt and Jackson will be there at six-thirty to pick you up, and you and Cody might want to eat something beforehand.”

  “Bye, Pippy,” I said, grinning as I hung up the phone.

  I couldn’t imagine anyone ever being upset at that girl. Talking to Pippy was like talking with Glinda the Good Witch, everything was coated in a layer of sugary happiness.

  After a very quick shower, I fixed my makeup and blew-dry my hair, pulling it back into a low twist at the nape of my neck. A tiny gold pin held the twist in place. The simple ornament matched the dress almost exactly. Cody wore his nice dress khaki pants and a red polo shirt.

  The phone in our room rang as I applied my lip-gloss. Cody answered it. “Mr. Ross is waiting for us downstairs, Mom.”

  I exhaled as I looked in the mirror one last time.

  “Just. Keep. Breathing,” I mumbled to myself as I turned off the bathroom light.

  **********

  Walking into the foyer was like a scene from an old black-and-white movie. Jackson stood near the front desk, his back to us as we approached. The long, silky fabric of my dress danced around my legs as I paced my steps carefully, as if to calm my overly excited heart rate. Cody’s eagerness was far from quiet, however, causing Jackson to turn toward the sound of his pounding footsteps.

  He laughed as he engaged in Cody’s new handshake; the one Peter had shown him a few days earlier. Then his eyes found me. I was still several feet away, but it didn’t matter. The gap between us could have been miles, and I still would have felt the effect of his gaze. There was something about his eyes, something so uniquely guarded, yet completely exposed at the same time. The look captured me like a single flame in a dark room. Any attempt at breaking the spell was utterly hopeless.

  Cody said something to Jackson before skipping excitedly out the door, but my mind couldn’t translate his words. Jackson’s eyes were still on me.

  He cleared his throat and then extended his arm out to me. I smiled, silently noting that even in my heels he was still several inches taller than me. I was grateful for that small blessing.

  As he held the door open, he whispered in my ear. “I was right.”

  I turned my head toward him, our faces inches apart. “About?”

  “That dress.”

  My insides heated instantly as we stepped outside. “Is that your idea of a compliment, Jackson?”

  “No,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. “I don’t believe in compliments.”

  I was about to question that statement when Cody called my name. My son was bouncing from seat to seat…inside a limo. I stood momentarily frozen, shocked by the sight. Walt winked as I approached, giving a low whistle as he held open the back passenger door for me.

  “You look stunning tonight, Miss Flores.”

  “Well, thank you for the compliment, Walt.” I smirked at Jackson, who laughed heartily while I ducked into the limo.

  As I watched my son open and close each compartment, drawer, and cabinet—twice, I realized how many firsts we had experienced since coming to New York. And at the root of them all was Jackson. He laughed as Cody talked a mile a minute about each feature he had discovered in his precious few moments alone inside the over-sized vehicle. He hardly came up for air once during our drive to Minskoff Theater.

  “Lion King! Awesome!” Cody said, as Jackson handed him the playbill.

  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 anyth
ing. 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.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  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 practicall
y 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.

  “I’d say that motherhood is the hardest job there is. I may only have one child, but still, raising him has stretched me many times beyond what I felt capable of handling on my own. Whether or not a person has a faith doesn’t exempt any of us from needing to seek out support. Parenting is too important to be trapped in the overwhelming feelings of isolation. We need others to root us on and challenge us when struggles arise. The fellowship of others has been my biggest tool.”

  “You speak a lot about support,” she said, a smile spreading across her face.

  “Yes, I do.” I nodded.

  “And what kind of support do you receive from Cody’s father?”

  What?

  The question was a stinging slap to the face.

  My breathing went shallow, forcing the words to be released from somewhere in the back corner of my mind. Words not rehearsed; words not prepared.

  “None,” I said. “He’s…”