Chapter 10
HARLOW
“If you cover my eyes, I’m going to crash into something and drop you,” Jameson warns Monroe where she’s perched on his shoulders, hands over his eyes as we walk down the sidewalk.
It’s my one weekend of the month, always the last weekend, that I get Roe so Jameson and I decided to take her out, do some shopping, and get treats.
“You would never drop me, Jae. You’re super strong,” she says in a duh-tone.
“You’re right, I am super strong. But my strength isn’t going to help us if I can’t see.”
“Fine.” She removes her hands from his eyes and lets them dangle, her body held securely by his hands on her legs. “Ooh, let’s go in there.”
Of course she’s pointing to the only toy store on the street.
“You got it, Monster.”
Jameson starts running, Monroe laughing her ass off from his shoulders, while they leave me behind in their dust.
I continue at my leisurely pace, window shopping as I go. When I get to the toy store, I find Jae and Roe looking at the dolls.
“Look at that one.” Monroe points excitedly at the blond doll in a doctor’s coat. “She’s a doctor like Aunt Willa. Well, she’s not a doctor yet but she will be soon.”
“What do you think you’re going to be when you grow up?” He ruffles her hair playfully.
She picks up a doll, looking at it closely before returning it to the shelf. “I don’t know. A singer. Ooh or a dog doctor. I like dogs a lot.”
He chuckles, smiling down at my daughter like she’s the most amazing thing ever. Which, I mean, she is to me but it’s more than nice that my boyfriend thinks so too.
“You’ve got time, kid. You’ll figure it out.”
She looks up at him. “Why did you want to be an … um … what are you again?”
He grins, picking up one of the dolls himself and flipping the box around to read the back. “I’m a software engineer and honestly, I don’t know. I’m good with computers and I figured I’d make decent money.”
I like that he answers her honestly, he doesn’t evade the question or dumb down his answer for her.
“But shouldn’t you do something you love?” She rolls the word around her tongue.
He bends down to her height, taking her much smaller hands in his larger ones. “Sometimes it’s not that simple. Being an adult is a complicated thing.”
She blows a raspberry. “I think I want to stay a kid forever then.”
He laughs and squeezes her hands before standing again. “Smart idea. Enjoy it for as long as you can.” Looking over his shoulder he spots me and the smile that lights up his face makes my tummy dip. “Hey, you found us.”
“Mom!” Roe cries, running over to me and grabbing my hand so she can tug me to where her and Jameson have been standing. “Look at this doll. It’s like Willa. We should get it for her.”
“Or”—I tap her nose— “you could get it and play with it.”
She looks down at it. “Eh, not really my thing.” She puts it back and picks up a doll in a bedazzled outfit with a microphone. “Now this one I like.”
“That one, huh?” I try to hold back my smile.
“Look, Mom, she has teal and pink in her hair. I wish you’d let me dye my hair.”
I glide my fingers through her blond hair with the barest hint of strawberry from her father. “We’ll talk about it when you’re thirteen.”
“Really?” Her blue eyes grow bigger and rounder and somehow even brighter.
“Sure, why not.”
“How far away is thirteen?” She’s already counting on her fingers before I can answer. “Seven? Seven years? That’s too far away. I don’t like this.” Hands on her hips she shakes her head. “This is just unfair.”
“Life’s unfair, kiddo.” I kiss the top of her head. “But it’s not like I said no.”
A sigh billows out of her chest. “I guess so.”
After leaving the toy store, Roe swinging a bag with the rock star doll courtesy of Jameson, we head to one of our favorite lunch spots in Santa Monica; Monsterwiches.
“You guys grab a table.” I point to one of the few free ones outside on the patio. “I’ll get our food.”
“Mom, do you know what I want?” Roe pouts. “Maybe I should go with you to be sure.”
Jameson grins, shaking his head in amusement.
I arch a brow at her. “White bread, turkey, mayo and American cheese. Right?”
She rolls her eyes, flopping her hand down in a disgruntled gesture. “Show off. Fine, go then.”
Jameson laughs outright, placing a hand on her shoulder to steer her toward a table.
Inside, I get in line, eyeing the chalkboard menu. Some sandwiches they have all the time, the basics like turkey and ham with simple toppings like lettuce and mayo, but they also have specials they rotate out weekly that are a bit more … out there.
None of them sounds appealing to me, so when I order I get what we usually do. Roe’s turkey, my B.L.T., and Jameson’s roast beef.
Off to the side, I wrap my arms around myself as I wait for my order number to be called.
“That’s totally her.” I hear hissed to my left from one of the booths occupied by a group of girls’ high school age.
I don’t look their way, instead choosing to look around the inside of the shop.
The walls are painted in bright colors ranging from a bright blue to lime green and even a coral-red shade.
It has a quirky beachy vibe that I love.
It doesn’t pander to what tourists might expect and beats to its own unique drum.
I think it’s why it does so much business with locals.
“It’s definitely her. It has to be. I mean she’d have to live close to LA, right?” Another girl’s voice interrupts my thoughts and my eyes drift back to the table of girls to find them all staring at me.
At me.
Why?
Such a dumb question. I know why. I always know why, but I like to pretend I don’t.
The group of girls all look away in embarrassment at being caught, but their whispers continue.
“Do you think he’s with her? Maybe he’s outside? Should we go look?”
I suppress the urge to roll my eyes.
“Just ask her,” another hisses.
I blow out a breath, actually rolling my eyes this time.
I’m not the least bit surprised when one of the girls snaps her fingers. “Hey. Hey, you.”
Hey. You.
Clearly, they know who I am, which means they know my name, but they can’t have the common courtesy to even use it.
Turning in their direction I eye the blonde who spoke. “Yes?” I drawl out, my tone clearly implying I don’t have time for their shit.
I wish I could say stuff like this isn’t a common thing, but it is despite the fact Spencer and I haven’t been a couple for years.
I never wanted any parts of the fame that came with what he does, but the thing is when you blow up that quickly—mostly thanks to the teen drama he’s starred on the last three years—that fame trickles down to the people closest to you and since I’m the mother of his child, that attention goes to me.
“You’re Spencer Shaw’s baby mama, right?”
I bite my tongue so hard I taste blood. “No,” I bite out a curt response.
Spencer Shaw’s baby mama? Is that all I am?
Looking away from them, I pray my order number is called soon.
“You definitely are,” another one says.
Fuck, these girls.
I swivel my gaze back to them. “I have no idea who you’re talking about. You must have me mistaken with someone else.”
One of them holds up a phone and I grind my teeth at a picture of me with Spencer, a young toddler version of Monroe in his arms.
“That’s you.” She points at the screen. “I’m not dumb. Is Spencer here?”
All the girls look around the sandwich shop, their heads on a swivel like those little meerkats on Animal Planet.
I narrow my eyes. “If you’re such big fans then you’d know we’re not together, so no, he’s not here and even if he was, it’s not your business. He’s a person like anyone else. Have some respect.”
Rude of me? Probably. Do I care? No.
Thankfully my order number is called, and I grab the bag, getting out of there as quickly as I can and attempting to put the awkward encounter behind me. The door closes harder than necessary behind me in my attempt to get away in a hurry.
“Here we go.” I set the bag down, pulling out the wrapped sandwiches and passing them to Roe and Jae.
As I sit down, he grabs my wrist gently. “Are you okay? It looked like something was going on in there.”
I blow out a breath. “I’m fine, it’s just … you know. The usual.”
Monroe exhales in exasperation. “You don’t have to talk in code around me.”
I laugh, unwrapping my sandwich. “Sorry, Roe. Those girls just recognized me because of your dad.”
“Oh.” She gives a tiny shrug. “That happens all the time when I’m with him.”
My chest gets tight. Of course it happens when she’s with him, but it doesn’t mean I have to like it. Is it wrong of me to not want my daughter in the spotlight? Strangers talking to her like they know her? Random paparazzi taking her photo?
I feel Jameson’s eyes on me, trying to gauge if I’m okay. I don’t want to let this little incident sour my mood. I only get one weekend a month with Roe, and I want to enjoy it.
A dog and its owner walk by and Roe watches their progress, a smile on her face. “I want a dog. Can we get a dog?”
Leave it to Roe to change the topic completely. “You see Perry all the time,” I remind her, referring to my parents’ aging golden retriever. When I was pregnant with Roe he’d lay on my bed with me, his head on my stomach waiting for her kicks.
“Yeah.” She rolls her eyes. “But that’s Grandma and Grandpa’s dog. I want my own dog. A cute white fluffy one or a kitten.”
This again. I shouldn’t be surprised. My girl loves animals.
“Remember, Roe, we just talked about this. We can’t have pets in the apartment. Maybe when I can afford to buy us a house we’ll talk about it then.”
She huffs. “But that’ll be forever.”
“Attitude,” I warn.
“I don’t know why you won’t let Daddy buy you a house. He said he would.”
My fists clench and I know my face is bound to be turning red. “I don’t need your dad to buy me a house. It’s a thoughtful offer, but I want to buy my house myself.”
Jameson eyes me thoughtfully. “Or we could buy one together.”
“What?” I blink at him in shock.
We’ve talked about living together, briefly, but never seriously, and he’s choosing now to spring this on me?
“Just a thought.” He bites into his sandwich like this is the most casual conversation ever.
Men, I swear.
“Hi,” Roe says suddenly, and thoughts of houses flee my brain.
Turning to see who she’s speaking to; it’s the girls from inside again. Irritation bubbles in my veins but I clench my fists, damming it back. I can’t lose my shit anytime someone recognizes me or her because of Spencer.
Jameson places his hand on top of mine, sensing I’m about to lose my shit but trying not to.
“Ladies”—he speaks up— “can I help you with something?”
The mouthier one speaks up, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “We were wondering if we could get a picture?”
“With who?” His brows dig together in confusion.
“With her.”
They point to my daughter and I see red.
Monroe is a child. A regular kid like any other. Just because Spencer is a celebrity it doesn’t make our daughter one, and why these girls would think it’s okay to ask for a picture with her is baffling to me. Let alone why they’d even want one.
“I’m sorry, girls”—Jameson says in a calm tone— “but we’re going to have to say no.”
I see one of the girls open her mouth to argue, but another tugs on her arm. “That’s okay. Thanks, anyway.”
Thankfully, they turn and walk away. I’m surprised they didn’t argue. But my day and my meal is ruined now. Sensing this, Jameson packs up our food without a word, stuffs it back in the bag, and in a hushed tone tells Monroe we’re going home.
I smile at him gratefully, but inside I’m still seething.