Sweet Regret: A second chance, single mom, rockstar romance

“He’s getting so big,” I murmur to no one as my mom collects her things behind me and gets ready to head back to her place. Jagger is on my apartment’s small back patio. He’s set up a makeshift track and is “driving” his trucks around on it and occasionally smashing them into each other with the sound effects to go along.

“It goes by in the blink of an eye, doesn’t it?”

“It feels like it.”

“Just yesterday you were that age and now look at you.” Her chuckle is bittersweet, much like how I’ve felt over the past few days. “He brought up wanting to learn how to play the guitar again today.”

She says the words as if she already knows what I need to tell her. As if she already knows Vince is in town.

“I’ll have to get him lessons.” I sigh. “Just another thing to try and manage, another expense to figure out . . . and another thing I don’t want to deprive him of.”

She slides her arm around my shoulder and pulls me against her. “If you weren’t so damn stubborn and independent, things could be easier for you, you know. Less stressful. Living with me would mean a bigger yard for Jagg. Less work for you because we’d halve our expenses. A built-in babysitter that you don’t have to stress about asking to stay over because this or that got crazy at work—or God forbid, you had a hot date and wanted to get a little action. I’ve heard that relieves stress now and then too.”

I laugh as she bumps her hip against mine, but it sounds as distracted as my thoughts.

She deserves to know, doesn’t she? After all, she has been through all of this with me. Finding out. The aftermath. The heartbreak. The decision.

And yet, I’m hesitating.

Shit. Here goes nothing . . .

“Talking about stress, I need to talk to you about a few things, Mom.”

“Are these good things or bad things? They better not be you’re moving out of state and away from me type of things.”

“No. It’s nothing like that. It’s more like, I’ve gotten a temporary promotion at work.”

“You did?” She screeches loud enough that Jagger looks up from his demolition derby, offers an I’m glad you’re laughing but my cars are more interesting than your conversation smile, and then goes back to making a crashing sound. “That’s awesome, Bri. Tell me all about it. What are you doing? Why is it temporary? Does this mean that that McMann guy finally figured out what I already know? That my daughter is an absolute force to be reckoned with, and he’s missing the boat if he doesn’t utilize her full potential?”

I take a step away from her and motion in the calm down gesture. It doesn’t mean that the praise doesn’t feel good even if it’s your mom saying it. “It’s mostly because of a client. The one I had to stay late for the other night. McMann wants me to hold the guy’s hand while we’re working on repackaging him to the public, so to speak.”

“Please tell me that doesn’t mean the client gets to treat you like shit. McMann does enough of that already.” To say my mom hates my boss is an understatement. But then again, I don’t exactly like him either. To me, he’s a stepping-stone to get where I want to go.

“Actually, the client has stuck up for me numerous times thus far.”

“I like him already. Are you allowed to tell me who it is?” she asks. I always tell her though, even when our client’s identity is supposed to be kept confidential.

“Well, that’s the second part of what I wanted to tell you.”

“Oh?” She takes a seat on the couch, distracted by straightening the pillows on either side of her. But when she glances up and notices my expression, she pauses. “What are you not telling me?”

Rip off the Band-Aid, Bristol.

After a quick glance to Jagger, I confess. “It’s Vince.”

Her mouth falls into a shocked O. “Bristol.” My name is a warning, a question, and an exclamation.

“I know.”

“You knew this day might come someday.”

“I’m well aware of that fact.” I don’t know why I suddenly feel on the defensive, but I am.

“I don’t even know what to say or ask.”

“Neither do I, if I’m honest.” And I’m not sure why it suddenly feels like a weight has been lifted off my chest, but it does. I’ve been stewing on this for the past couple of days, worrying about this, and now I feel like I finally have a sounding board.

Albeit a very opinionated sounding board, but one nonetheless.

She glances toward Jagger and smiles softly. “Are you going to tell him?”

That’s the question, isn’t it?

“I didn’t intend to.” Do I want kids? That’s a hard fucking no. His words the other day struck me hard and reaffirmed my decisions. Then and now. “He didn’t want kids back then, and he still feels the same. Who am I to upend his life for a decision I made and would make again if I had to?”

“That’s one school of thought. The other is that he has every right to know. That maybe he’d feel differently once he met his incredible son.” She purses her lips. “You could get some financial support then, and you wouldn’t have to work your fingers to the bone—”

“I don’t want money from him.”

“You have a right to it.”

“I have a right to a lot of things, but that doesn’t mean I take advantage of them.”

She nods but her stare is weighted. “Why did you tell me if you don’t want any of my advice?”

“I do, I just . . .” I blow out a heavy sigh and move around my place. It may be small, but it’s mine and filled with so much love for Jagger that it makes me happy. “It’s complicated. My feelings. My thoughts. Just everything is complicated.”

“Anything to do with a child is complicated. I mean, look at Dad and me. We waited to divorce until you were nineteen because we feared how it would affect you. And even then, it devastated you.”

“We’re talking about apples and oranges,” I say but understand her point.

“We’re talking about your son and what you’re going to do or not do when it comes to his father.”

“I worry that I’m hurting him every day because he doesn’t have a father who’s present. You know that. I know that. But wouldn’t it hurt him more to have a dad who knows about him and rejects him than to not know him at all?”

“Telling Vince isn’t the same as Jagger knowing.”

I force myself to stop moving and sit down. She’s right. Maybe it’s my own heart I’m protecting. Maybe I’d be devastated if I did tell Vince and he rejected Jagger on the spot. That would be worse than ripping my heart out and stomping on it.

“I did tell him I was pregnant. Or tried to anyway but was railroaded by the manager. And then he wouldn’t answer my calls. Then he blocked them. I mean . . . that told me enough in and of itself.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. She knows all of this, but it’s almost like repeating it makes me feel better about my decision. “Maybe I didn’t try hard enough. Maybe, even though I was scared and heartbroken, I was worried Vince would try to talk me out of having Jagger when I knew I wanted him more than anything in the world.”

“Maybes aren’t going to give you your answers, sweetie.”

“I know. Believe me I know.” I rest my head on the back of the couch and look at the ceiling. Those fairy-tale visions I’d had in the past come back. The ones where Vince and Jagger are sitting on the floor playing. Where Vince was shirtless and holding our newborn son. Where Father’s Day is celebrated instead of being a day where I try to fill in for the things Jagger is missing out on.

“Have you had a chance to talk to him? Really talk to him? Or is that connection not there anymore?”

“It’s there.” I shake my head as if I don’t want it to be there. “But that doesn’t mean anything.”

She twists her lips in the way that has me wanting to know what she’s thinking. “Then I guess that means there hasn’t been any time for you two to talk about . . . things.”

“Like how we left it that last time we saw each other? Me waking up and him being nowhere to be found? Me calling him over and over without a single response? Being railroaded by his manager and being put in my place so I knew I was just one in Vince’s long list of many? You mean that talk?” I snort. “I’m pretty sure we’re either both avoiding it, or it only really mattered on my end because of what resulted from it.”

“You slept together. I’d think that would matter to both of you.”

“Mom, he’s a rock star. I’m not naïve enough to think that he doesn’t have women lined up outside his dressing room before and after every show.”

“And that doesn’t bug you?”

“I’m not with him, am I? It’s his business what he does. He’s a big boy.”

Her eyes hold mine, and her smile softens some as she sees what I’ve been trying to hide all along. Maybe even to myself.

“You never stopped loving him, did you?” she murmurs.

My throat burns with emotion. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Maybe I don’t have an answer to the question.”

“And maybe you’re being evasive like you are when you know the answer but fear it’s going to upset me.” She glances back to Jagger, her eyes steadfast on him when she speaks.

“Upset you? No. But, I mean . . . look at him and look at me.”

“Meaning?”

I tilt my head to the side and simply stare at her as I hold my hands out. “He’s ridiculously successful while I’m still in school and working toward getting accepted to law school and eventually passing the bar exam. He’s lusted after by millions, and this body of mine isn’t exactly in prime shape.”

“First, yes, you’re working toward the bar. Do you know how many people would have given up their dream? You haven’t, so I don’t want to hear a word about that. And second, do you really want to get me started on how you see yourself?”

“Noted. Never mind.” I laugh it off, but it doesn’t take away my insecurities.

“No. Not never mind. You asked it, so I’m going to say it. What’s wrong with your body? So your curves are more pronounced than they were in high school. That’s called being normal. That’s called maturing. That’s called having a baby. That’s called being a voluptuous woman.”

“It’s called having stretch marks.”

“And every damn one of them gave you that beautiful boy outside so I’m not going to hear it. Besides, I never remembered Vince being a shallow man. He did love you even when you had braces. Then that permed hair phase where you looked like a poodle.” She shivers. “Oh, and even the white, sparkly eyeshadow phase. I mean—”

“Yes. Okay. I get it.” I chuckle. “But that didn’t mean that seeing him again made me feel less than when he’s become so much more.”

“And he made you feel this way? He said oh, wow, you have Marilyn Monroe curves and a nice ass, and I don’t like that?”

“Seriously, Mom?”

“Did he?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Point made.” She gives me a resolute nod and then a smug smile. “Now that we’ve debunked that myth, I’m going to say this. Vince is the only man I’ve ever seen you upset over. Twice. That says a lot, which is why I asked if you ever stopped loving him.”

Her comment opens a door I’m afraid to step through. If I don’t give her an outright answer, then I don’t have to acknowledge it myself.

Who am I kidding, though?

I knew it from the moment I heard his voice that first night at the sound stage.

“I think a part of me will always love him,” I finally admit.

“Mmm,” she says in that way that makes me feel judged. No one ever wants to feel judged by their parents.

“I’m older now. I’m wiser,” I say, feeling the need to justify my comment. “I could love him all I want, but that isn’t going to make him stay. And I deserve that. Someone who will stay and make a life with me. Not someone who refuses to put down roots. He can say all he wants that it’s because of his lifestyle—touring and whatever—but I know it’s because of his parents. If you don’t put your feet down, you can’t get attached, and therefore you can’t get hurt. You can’t get left behind.”

“You’ve thought about this a lot.”

“It’s all I’ve been thinking about. Then and now. Besides, I’ve internally justified my decisions a lot over the years.”

“Unnecessarily, but I understand.” She takes a sip of her water. “So what now? If that connection is there, who says he isn’t going to ask you out while he’s here?”

“I know deep down that anything with Vince would be fleeting.” The almost kiss in the elevator fills my head. I haven’t stopped thinking about it or him, to be fair. “The problem is I’d get attached. He’ll move on to the next city, the next woman, the next whatever, and I’d be here hurting. I’ve already let the man hurt me more than enough.”

“No one ever said love always felt good.”

“Then why feel it at all?”

“Because it’s not a choice. It’s just something that happens even when you don’t want it to.”

“Why do you sound like you’re encouraging this?”

“The only thing I’m encouraging you in is whatever decisions you make.”