Chapter Nineteen #3
"But that wasn't the only reason, James.
My parents died that same night. I was drowning.
I wasn't in any condition to raise anyone, not even myself.
I had your uncle Michael to take care of, and I was barely managing that.
So I went to your mom and dad and asked them to love you no differently than I would.
To raise you no differently than if they'd made you themselves.
" I take a breath and rub my thumb over his knuckles.
"I named you after my father. And yours. "
That does it.
He sobs, and I pull him back into my arms while my own tears start all over again. We're drawing stares from half the restaurant now, and I could not give less of a fuck. They can eat their wagyu and mind their business. I've waited fifteen years to hold my son like this.
"You've watched me?" he asks after a few quiet minutes.
"All your life. Your kindergarten graduation and your middle school one. Your first dance. Your first haircut." I reach up and finally do the thing I've wanted to do since the moment I laid eyes on him tonight, brushing a rogue curl off his forehead. "You look like me."
"Yeah. I know." He laughs through his tears. "You're so pretty, and I get called pretty boy at school."
I laugh. "Well, there are worse crosses to bear."
"When I started wondering if you might be my birth mom, I went down a whole rabbit hole. I got your name off your credit card receipt, and then I did so much research on you I should probably be on an FBI watchlist or something."
"My credit card receipt?"
"Yeah."
"Jesus, James. Remind me never to commit a crime around you."
He grins and wipes his face with his sleeve. "And then you didn't come back after that last time you were here, and I didn't want to hurt Mom and Dad's feelings by asking about you, so I just... I don't know." He shrugs. "I'm glad you came back tonight. I like that we have the same hair."
He reaches up and touches the white streak in mine, careful with his fingers, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek because we've cried enough into dinner for one evening.
"What else do you want to know? You can ask me anything."
"You know I don't hate you or blame you or anything, right? Mom and Dad are giving me a really great life. Even if they didn't need to bring my siblings into it. They annoy me."
I smile at him.
My son.
"I didn't know that, actually. But I'm really fucking glad you said it out loud."
"I like that you say curse words." He laughs. "You're kind of a badass."
"Kind of?" I nudge him with my shoulder. "Don't insult me five minutes into our relationship."
He laughs harder, and God, I could get addicted to that sound very quickly.
"I watched a video of you arguing that case against the engineers who designed the bridge that collapsed. The opposing counsel was such a prick, but you were..." He stops himself and shakes his head. "Sorry. I don't mean to come on so strong."
"No, please, go on. You've finally found the safest possible subject." I sit back and gesture for him to continue. "Tell me more about how impressive I am. Be specific. Cite sources."
That gets another laugh out of him.
So he does.
He walks me through my own cross-examination like a highlight reel, complete with a truly terrible impression of opposing counsel that makes me laugh hard enough to wipe fresh tears from my face. By the time he gets to his favorite part, it's clear he's watched the damn thing more than once.
More than that, it's becoming clear that this boy knows nearly as much about me as I know about him.
We've both been looking.
That realization settles quietly between us while we go back to our plates and actually eat this time.
We order dessert and hot chocolate, and James tells me about his favorite teachers, his best subjects, the internship he's applying for and the contraptions he's built all over Samson and Lauren's house.
By the time we look up, the restaurant has emptied out. The only other occupied table is Samson, Lauren, and the kids, all of them watching us with tears in their eyes because nobody had the heart to interrupt whatever this turned into.
"We shut the place down, James." I hold up my hand, and he high-fives me as we stand and make our way over.
"Mom. Dad." James shuffles on his feet, nervous all over again. "Could I go stay the night with Rosalie?" Then he turns toward me, face immediately uncertain. "Is it okay if I call you that? Or Rose? I mean, Mom is Mom, and I don't... I just don't think that..."
"You can call me Al," I say, cutting him off before he ties himself into a complete knot.
His head drops back and he laughs, and thank God, because I could see the poor kid drowning in his own sentence.
Samson turns away and wipes at a stream of tears he clearly thinks nobody saw. Lauren crosses to James and takes his face gently in both hands.
"You don't have to ask permission to spend time with your mother, honey. And she is your mother." Her voice is steady, even with her eyes full. "I'll always be Mom. That will never change. But so is she. Always. And you don't ever have to feel bad about that."
Then she reaches for me, takes one of my hands and one of James's, and folds them together between hers.
"You take your time with all of this. Both of you. This is a good, good thing."
James's eyes fill again, and Lauren wipes the tears away with her thumb before he pulls her into a hug. Over his shoulder, Samson catches my eye and gives me a wink.
I press a hand over my heart.
For the wink. For the photographs. For fifteen years of doing exactly what they promised me they'd do, and somehow doing it even better than I ever let myself hope.
"You two go on," Samson says. "Have fun. Get to know each other. Take all the time you want."
"What kind of chores is he good at?" I ask. "I need a good housekeeper, and he's young and strapping."
James looks at me with a smirk already forming. "Does that make you old and drabby?"
I narrow my eyes.
"Oh, I'm going to enjoy this," Lauren says with a shake of her head.
That gets another laugh out of him, and we say our goodbyes before making our way outside.
Gerald is waiting by the car and gets out to open the rear door for us.
James stops dead. "You have a driver?"
His voice cracks on the last word.
"I do." I point toward the back of the car. "But visitors ride in the trunk. Pop it, Gerald."
"You behave now, Ms. Rose."
I turn on him in mock outrage. "Traitor. I'll have your badge."
"I never got a badge." He gestures toward the open door. "In you go. You're taking years off my life."
We slide in, and James immediately turns into a kid in a candy store, touching everything, pushing every button, testing the window three times like the third result might somehow differ from the first two.
"Do you want to take a picture with me?" he asks, already pulling out his phone.
I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.
None of tonight feels realistic. I came here prepared for tears, anger, questions I wouldn't know how to answer, maybe even a rejection I would have to accept with a smile on my face.
Instead, he's sitting beside me asking for a picture like this isn't the biggest emotional event of my life.
But he's here. He wants to know me.
He slides closer, lifts the phone, and we both smile. The screen shows us back side by side, and fuck, we look so much alike it's almost ridiculous. Same eyes. Same mouth. Same streak in our hair. If there were any lingering doubts about biology, the front-facing camera just closed the case.
He snaps the photo.
"I'm going to follow you on social media. Is that okay?"
"Absolutely."
"Do you lift? You're pretty ripped," he asks while I shrug out of my blazer.
I glance down at my arms and give them a little flex because I have earned these motherfuckers. "No, but I've thought about it. I started boxing this past year. Krav Maga and Jiu Jitsu, too."
He shakes his head slowly, grinning. "Bad. Ass."
"Thank you. I worked very hard to become intimidating in comfortable clothing." I fold the blazer beside me. "Do you do anything sports-related? I haven't seen anything on your socials."
"No, I'm not really athletic like that. I'm the computer nerd at school."
"You're like my brother, then. He was exactly the same at your age. I'll introduce you. We're headed toward his neighborhood now, but you can meet him whenever you're ready. No rush."
"Bennet? I know him." James looks at me like I'm the one who's behind on current events. "He comes by the restaurant like once a week and hangs out at the house all the time. He's who I'm doing the internship with after I graduate."
I stare at him.
"That fucker."
James cracks up. "Can I curse around you?"
"Do you curse in front of your parents?"
"No."
"Then is that really a fair question? What, you think you can just make me feel guilty about the adoption and I'll cave to your every whim and demand?"
He smiles, all teeth and absolutely no shame. "Is it working?"
"Fuck yeah, it is." I point at him before he can celebrate too much. "Within reason. Boundaries: no F-bombs, no sexual stuff. Only the softer ones."
"Deal."
We shake on it, very official, and Gerald's eyes find mine in the rearview mirror with a look that says he's already picked a side.
It isn't mine.
Traitor.