9. I Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing
CHAPTER 9
I DON’T WANNA MISS A THING
Dante
M y heart swells with pride. I hold Jeremy’s hand a little tighter and sigh. This is it, another milestone in Jeremy’s life. My heart tightens with sorrow. His mother should have been the one holding his hand today, but here we are. He squeezes and releases my fingers with what I can only guess is a mix of excitement and nerves. My baby is no longer one. Damn, my boy looks dashing with his brand spanking new backpack. My heart somersaults with amusement. When we went to the store, he asked for a dark blue one, explaining that he’ll eventually add accessories.
His olive-green T-shirt is equally plain. Again, his choice since he claims that it goes with everything, like his khakis. Spending time with Zayn’s surely influenced his choices; their geeky Ts have become weekend exclusives.
With the elementary school facing me, I bite my bottom lip, instinctively glancing at Zayn for support while he rounds my vintage Camaro that I can’t bring myself to sell. Granted, it’s not practical with a five-year-old. Still, my son insisted we take my car rather than Zayn’s boring Prius. It felt damn good to hear he inherited my taste in cars at least.
Kneeling on the sidewalk opposite Jeremy, I ask, “You ready?” I’m about to thread my fingers through my hair but stop mid-air. It dawns on me that it’s so long I’ve pulled it back into a man-bun. The Seaside Music Festival drained my energy. My sole goal after it was over was to spend time with my family, which I am doing.
Staying home grants me time to write music, and it’s also refreshing to forget about my public image. Hence, my longer hair. My lover’s initial reluctance to my new look grew into a fetish when he fisted my hair while taking me from behind. The fact that we moved into a three-bedroom house and don’t share a wall with Jeremy anymore is my excuse to be more vocal about the pleasure Zayn gives me.
My boyfriend stays quiet, a few steps away from us, as if giving us privacy. I beckon him by tilting my head. He has every right to partake in this moment, maybe not 100% legally yet, but that’s in the works.
Once he reaches my side, Jeremy enthusiastically bounces on his toes, glances his way, then shoots a peaceful smile at me and pats my shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, Father.”
“See, I told you you were the nervous one today,” Zayn teases. Beside me, Zayn snatches Jeremy’s baseball cap. He picked his recent favorite: one with my latest album’s logo. He was adamant about wearing it when we left for school, but school rules prevent him from wearing it inside. “I’ll bring it back when I pick you up.”
“’K.” He shakes his head and releases my hand to adjust his wild copper waves; we love his hair color so much that we have a tendency to let his hair grow a little too long!
My boyfriend and I exchange a quick smile, both of us feeling the weight of this moment. Holding hands, the three of us take a few steps towards the entrance. From afar, I notice there’s barely any couples, and most of the people here are women. Stereotypes die hard.
Jeremy halts and looks at Zayn. “ Papa …” He has a flawless French accent when he uses this word to address Zayn. I melt a little. “Do you think I'll make friends today?” His voice is small but hopeful, yet his concern bothers me.
As much as I’d like to shield him from the ugly things in the world, I can’t, and especially not when I’m traveling. That’s why I’ll always be grateful to Zayn for taking care of Jeremy as if he was his own on a day-to-day basis. He claims that he owes it to me because falling for him forever altered my life. That may be true, but I wouldn’t be where I am now if it weren’t for him. Does he comprehend how positively our relationship has changed me? The fact that being bi alienates some family, friends, and acquaintances is of no importance to me.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t you? I bet you’re going to have a great day and make lots of friends.” It’ll be quite an adjustment for Jeremy compared to spending time with Zayn or the sitter, but both have brought Jeremy to the park for years, so he is used to socializing with children his age.
Zayn is an introvert who doesn’t mesh with other parents or sitters at the park. He prefers the distance offered by social media to interact with others. He doesn’t disclose much of what his IT job entails, but I’m convinced it reinforces his loner side. Besides his sister, his only friends these days are Nicole and Sully.
I’m his polar opposite, always surrounded by people: my manager, obviously, my entourage, and fans—thankfully not ruthless paparazzi yet! My friendship with my former BFF and roommate, Luke, isn’t as tight as it once was. We’ve had several fallouts over the years, and his acrimonious breakup with Elsie clearly didn’t play in his favor. Funny enough, he recently reached out and offered to produce my second album with Brea. That’s why I’ve been traveling to Seattle so much, but I trust Brea more than I trust him. I bet he was more tempted by the money than by rebuilding our long-lost friendship, considering he basically talks about women 24/7, rehashes old stories about my hookups, and evades my relationship with Zayn whenever possible.
“Right, Dante?” My man’s voice brings me back to the present.
“Absolutely! Plenty of friends… You’re the best.”
He shrugs, leans my way, and murmurs, “But people are looking at me funny, Father.”
Taking a discreet look around as we near the front door, I frown, feeling eyes on us. Some parents glance curiously, others more pointedly. A few openly glare, their expressions unreadable. Zayn and I exchange another look, silently agreeing to ignore them. Today is about our boy, not the opinions of others.
A group of nearby kids starts whispering, and a petite brunette with pigtails adorned with pink ribbons that match her pants speaks up . “Where’s your mommy?” Her eyes are wide with innocence that matches her question that’s devoid of judgment. At least, there’s that.
Jeremy looks up at me, unsure. Before I’m able to say anything, our son squares his shoulders and saves the day. “I have two dads.” Such a simple explanation in such a gentle voice. “That’s pretty cool, right?”
The girl nods slowly, still processing. Extending her hand to Jeremy, she grins. “Hello, I’m Emily.” They shake hands. The girl leans into Jeremy’s personal space, hands still locked, and whispers, “I’m scared, too.”
“I’m not,” he replies confidently. That’s my boy! “I can be your friend if it’ll make you less scared.”
Emily nods. She’s the spitting image of her mom, who’s been talking with a couple of parents while watching the exchange. Stepping in, she introduces herself as Tricia and thanks Jeremy for helping her daughter.
Meanwhile, a chill runs down my spine. Neither Zayn nor I miss that another parent yanks their son away, murmuring something under their breath. I stand up, feeling a twinge of frustration. Wincing at Zayn, I push it aside. Only Jeremy matters; we’ll deal with the haters one step at a time.
“Alright, should we head inside?” Tricia suggests gleefully, taking her daughter’s free hand.
Before entering, Zayn inquires, “Would you like me to take a picture of you two?”
With a smile brightening her pretty face, she hands him her phone, strikes a pose, and he takes a few shots that include our stubborn son, who refuses to release Emily’s hand. Then, Tricia returns the favor. “You all look great.” Glancing at our kids’ joined hands, she winks at us. “Let’s get a couple of the kids together, okay?”
“Great idea,” we confirm in unison, and Zayn gives his digits so she can send the pictures.
The kids’ chatter grows louder, blending with the bustling energy of the first day of school. Once a strict-looking older woman informs us it’s time for parents to go, we give Jeremy a quick awkward hug since his protective side doesn’t allow him to let go of his new friend. “Remember, we’re proud of you. Have a wonderful day and, most of all, be yourself.”
“Sure.” He nods, a determined look on his face, and with one last squeeze of Zayn’s hand, he steps inside, ready to take on his own little world while we awkwardly part ways with Tricia. At least, we have one supporter!
Slamming the passenger door, Zayn fumbles with his iPhone to switch from a kid-friendly playlist to a grown-up one that fits the mellow mood. Thanks to Sully, he’s discovered several jazz artists; Diana Krall it is, then. “That went relatively well,” he concludes after the school is out of sight, as if parents would have been able to hear us otherwise.
“Yup… although I could’ve done without the glares, but that was to be expected, I guess.” I still have to get used to being looked at with a label plastered on my back… especially when said label is erroneous. When people see me with Zayn, they assume I’m gay. Truth be told, labels don’t matter, only my family does. What pains me is that my pseudo-fame forces me to avoid my truth in order to promote my album with Brea. I’ve been advised not to correct the romance rumors. I get it, I really do: It sells. But I’ve had it. My silence is too much of a burden. I’ve come to a decision I have yet to reveal to my man.
I’m not famous enough for people to stop me in the street, and Zayn and I aren’t into PDA, so we’re mostly safe. Still, I find it odd that in this day and age, he was concerned about exposing us to his—trusted—co-workers at Sully’s party. Just like he was ecstatic when I informed him I’d be tagging along today or on the few occasions when I drove him to work. Baby steps.
“You’re just saying that because no one asked for your autograph,” he jokes to lighten the suddenly heavy atmosphere.
“Ha-ha!” I turn right and head to Highway 101, not looking at him.
His hand covers mine, and his thumb grazes the back of my hand. “Thanks for taking the time this morning.”
“It was the least I could do. It was important to me… to us.” And my song writing schedule is flexible since we returned from Oregon a couple of weeks ago. With that, Zayn’s attention lands on his phone, answering some emails with clipped comments, mostly conveying his annoyance at someone rather than sharing details; he’s been trained to keep things confidential. My decision to make a drastic change is reinforced when he sweetly dismisses me without a goodbye kiss, per his request.
Much later that day, I stand outside the school, surrounded by other parents eagerly awaiting the dismissal bell. I spot Tricia, but she’s chatting with other moms, so I don’t intrude. Soon, I scan the crowd of children pouring out of the building, searching for Jeremy’s freckled face. When he comes into view, his backpack slung over one shoulder, my chest expands with pride; he’s the cutest. He has a wide grin plastered across his face.
I wave with his baseball cap in hand, and he breaks into a run, practically throwing himself into my arms. “Hey there. I missed you.”
“It was awesome.” His face is flushed. “We did so many fun things! Miss Edwards read us a story about dinosaurs!” I laugh, ruffling his curls, then hand him the baseball cap that he puts on immediately. I inwardly scold myself for forgetting about his interest in dinosaurs. I suck at this parenting thing, don’t I?
“Ohhh, dinosaurs, that’s pretty cool… and did you make any friends?"
Jeremy nods vigorously. “Uh-huh! I sat next to a boy named Liam, and we both played with Emily at recess. It’s too bad she isn’t in my class…” His eyes darken for a bit, but his happiness returns when we spot her and her mom approaching. The conversation feels natural, and we listen to the kids chatter about their first day of school. In turn, we decide to schedule a play date.
As we start walking towards our cars, I can’t help but catch a few parents glaring our way. “Don’t mind them. They’re bigoted, and maybe they’re jealous because you’re famous and they’re not.” I’m so floored that I freeze in the middle of the small parking lot. “I didn’t place you this morning with your new hairstyle and everything. I’m sorry. I’m a huge fan.”
Speechless, I let Jeremy slide his hand in mine, then speak his heart.
“Me too.”