Chapter Twenty-Five
Rose
"No way." James turns slow circles in the middle of the room, taking everything in. "No. Freaking. Way."
"You like it?" I ask, and I hate that I can hear the nerves in my own voice.
I agonized over this. Worried he'd think I was trying to buy his love.
Worried Samson and Lauren would think I was overstepping.
Worried he'd walk in, see the room, and feel like I'd made some massive assumption about where I fit in his life.
I came up with at least a hundred ways this could go wrong, and every single one of them evaporated the second his face lit up.
Jackson and I have worked tirelessly over the past few weeks getting James his own room in our place.
Our place.
It's been weeks, and that still sounds weird.
Jackson finally moved into the Sullivan building, and I took a unit on Michael's floor, directly across the hall.
Well, two units. We knocked down the wall between them because once I decided James needed a room here, that somehow became James needs a bedroom, a full robotics workspace, proper ventilation, enough electrical capacity to prevent him from burning down the building or half a fucking apartment.
The final touches went in this week. He can come whenever he wants, stay as long as he wants, and there's a key sitting on the desk with his name on it.
"Like it?" James turns toward me, incredulous. "I love... is that a robotic arm?! Holy shi..." His hand flies over his mouth. "...Snickers bar. Holy freaking Snickers bar, Batman."
Jackson chuckles in my ear.
He's not actually here. He's listening through the phone with one AirPod tucked into my ear because he wanted to be part of the moment without inserting himself into it.
Just James and you, he'd said. Mother and son.
I love him for that.
"It is. Anything you can think of has been installed, so you can build whatever you want.
I talked to your mom and dad about everything first, obviously, and they okayed it.
But this is completely up to you, James.
Whenever you want to visit, it's here. If you want to stay over, great.
If you don't, also great. I know this is a big step, and I don't expect you to suddenly start spending weekends or summers here or anything. I don't have any expectations."
I'm wringing my hands now.
Fuck.
I'm tanking.
"And if you'd rather, I can set something like this up in your bedroom at home.
Actually, that might've been smarter. I probably should've asked you first instead of doing all of this and then springing it on you because now there's pressure even though I'm specifically saying there's no pressure, which probably creates its own kind of pressure and... "
"Ma."
"...I can move the equipment if you..."
"Take a breath, baby. You're spiraling," Jackson says in my ear.
I barely hear him.
Did he just...
Did he just call me Ma?
I stare at James with my mouth open.
He called me Ma.
James walks over and pulls me into a hug. "This is the best thing anybody's ever given me. And I don't mean the room or the stuff, even though the room fucking slaps."
I smack his shoulder.
"Ow!"
"No F-bombs."
"You didn't even give me time to correct it!"
"I know your tricks now."
He laughs and hugs me tighter. "I can't wait to hang out here with you and Jackson." Then he leans toward my ear. "Hey, by the way."
"This kid," Jackson says softly through the AirPod.
I pull back enough to look at James. "You called me Ma."
"Yeah."
Just yeah.
Meanwhile, I am experiencing organ failure.
He takes both of my hands. "Is that okay? I've been work-shopping some names. Thought I'd take that one for a spin. What do you think?"
"Breathe, baby," Jackson reminds me.
"I am breathing," I snap at the man who isn't even in the room, then hiccup hard enough to undermine my entire argument.
James starts laughing.
"I, uh..." Another fucking hiccup. Fantastic. "You can call me whatever you want. I love Ma. I really love Ma. But don't ever feel like you have to call me anything other than Rose, okay? I promise it doesn't bother me."
"I know. But it bothers me." He taps his palm against his chest. "In here. You're more than Rose to me."
Well, there goes whatever resolve I had left.
"You have no idea how much respect I have for you," he continues.
"I love Mom and Dad. They're my parents, and they've given me everything.
That's never going to change. But you gave me to them because you knew they could give me what you couldn't then.
And you still stayed close enough to watch me grow up.
" He shrugs, suddenly looking a little embarrassed by his own sincerity.
"I don't know. Calling you Rose just doesn't feel like enough anymore. "
Jackson sniffles directly into my ear.
Oh, for fuck's sake.
"Are you crying?" I ask him.
"No."
"You're absolutely crying."
"I'm having allergies."
"Indoors?"
"Very aggressive indoor pollen. Focus on your son."
James is grinning at me even though he can only hear my half of the conversation. "Is he crying?"
"Like a little bitch."
"I heard that," Jackson says.
"I figured."
James laughs and squeezes my hands. "I did consider Madre."
"No."
"I know. I scrapped it."
"Good."
"I practiced it in the mirror and everything. It was bad."
"Thank God you have some self-awareness."
"I also tried Mother."
I stare at him.
He immediately shakes his head. "Yeah, no. Creepy. Felt like I was about to ask you for permission to go churn butter."
A laugh bursts out of me right through the tears. "Ma is good."
"Ma?"
I nod, biting my lip because if he says it again right now, I may need medical intervention. "Ma is perfect."
"Cool."
Cool.
My son just decided to call me Ma, and this motherfucker gives me cool.
Teenagers are emotional terrorists.
He wanders off to inspect the robotic arm again while I wipe my face and try to get myself together.
The room is black and gray, with a queen-size bed and posters of his favorite scientists and engineers on the walls because he's an intellectual like his uncle.
But most of the square footage belongs to mechanics and robotics: workbenches, tools, storage, monitors, components, and enough equipment that I made him promise three separate times not to accidentally create sentient life without adult supervision.
"So cool." He shakes his head, then turns to me. "But I'm starving. Can we grab Jackson and go to Atlas for pizza and wings?"
I put my hands on my hips. "I have to feed you too? God. So needy."
"Did you know I won a wing-eating contest two years ago at the carnival? I've been hooked on Atlas wings ever since."
"No, I did not know that. See? This is exactly why I need you around more. Critical biographical information has been withheld from me."
We head for the door and find Jackson waiting in the hallway.
"Hey, kid."
"Hey, Jackson. Thanks for the room, man. It's awesome."
James walks straight over and pulls him into a hug. A man hug, naturally. Linked hands, shoulder collision, aggressive back slaps, because God forbid two males embrace without making it look vaguely combative.
"Pizza?" James asks.
"That's why I'm here." Jackson falls into step beside us. "I'm not turning down double cheese, pepperoni and pineapple."
James stops walking.
His face goes slack.
Then he turns very slowly toward me and points an accusatory thumb at Jackson. "This is who you associate yourself with? People who put pineapple on pizza?"
"You can't choose who you love. The heart wants what it wants." I wrap my arm around Jackson's waist.
"Gross."
"You're the one who called me Ma ten minutes ago. You're legally required to tolerate my romantic decisions now."
"That's not how that works."
"It is in California."
"You're making that up."
"I'm a lawyer. You'll never know."
Jackson laughs and hooks an arm around my shoulders as we reach Michael's door.
I bang on it three times, crack it open, and stick my head inside.
"PIZZA!"
Then I close it again and keep walking.
Jackson looks at me. "That's all you're giving them?"
"That's all they need."
Sure enough, a door bangs open behind us less than five seconds later.
"PIZZA?" Blaire yells.
I grin and keep walking.
She'll be waddling up behind us at full speed any second now, with Michael right on her heels telling her not to run.
Some things really are better when you come home to them.