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To this day, if I happen to hear “Smitten” on the radio or in a grocery store, I get physical goose bumps. Not only from hearing the recording itself, but from the memories the song evokes inside me. I love hearing my young, giddy voice mingling with Fish’s, and remembering the giddiness we both felt to have found each other. I love remembering those enthralling months we spent writing that first, magical album together. And remembering all the times we had to stop writing or recording to make love, simply because creating music together always got both of us so hot and bothered, we simply couldn’t continue working.
We were so damned smitten back then! So infatuated and horny and in love, we literally couldn’t stand being apart for a single night! Actually, we’re pretty much the same way now. We still can’t stand being apart.
I remember, so clearly, that first time I met my husband at Reed’s party. I told Matthew there’s nothing like a girl’s first love. I let him think I was talking about a song when I said that. But I think I knew, even then, somewhere deep in my heart, I was talking about him.
“Daddy!” Alfie shouts, leaping up from our blanket, and I’m barely able to grab my beloved ukulele from him to prevent it from plopping into the sand.
I glance to where Alfie is running and discover my son, Winston, walking across the beach toward us, alongside my nephew, Jackson. I quickly lay the two ukuleles down onto our blanket, and then get up to greet the men.
Oh, how I love my son, Winston. And the fact that his name is a tribute to my late father. Winston was my father’s middle name—his mother’s maiden name. Nobody but me ever calls my son by his given name, actually. To the rest of the world, Winston Fishberger is and always has been “Wi-Fi.” But, regardless, it’s a source of joy for me to know my son’s name honors my beloved father.
“Hey, boys,” I say. I hug my nephew, Jackson, first, since Winston is picking up his son.
Winston never meant to become a father three years ago, at age twenty. But, sometimes, life doesn’t go according to plan—especially when your horny, dumbass son doesn’t use a condom. But, that’s okay. Now that Alfie is here, none of us would have it any other way, including Winston or Alfie’s mommy, Emma.
Speaking of Winston’s ex-girlfriend, Emma, she’s a lovely young woman. And a wonderful mother to Alfie, too. She’s simply not in love with my son, unfortunately. And that’s okay. If you ask me, it’s far better to be honest about that sort of thing, from the start, than to make promises to someone, for the sake of a baby, that simply can’t be kept down the line.
It was certainly generous of Emma to agree to Alfie’s name. Apparently, when Winston first suggested the idea to her—unbeknownst to Fish and me, of course—Emma said, “Your parents have brought so much joy to the world through their music and also as an example of what love can be. I can’t think of a better name for our baby.” And that was that, apparently. As the story goes, Emma and Winston settled on our grandson’s cute little name in two minutes flat. If only every decision by those two could be settled that easily.
I hug Jackson and he kisses my cheek.
“Hey, Aunt Ally,” Jackson says. “How are you?”
“I’m wonderful. How’d your recording session go?”
“Great,” Jackson replies. “Wi-Fi was incredible. Everyone was impressed.”
Winston looks thrilled at Jackson’s compliment. And I don’t blame him. My nephew is a big fucking deal these days, every bit as much as Dax, his father, always was and still is. The fact that Jackson Morgan invited Winston, seven years his junior, to record with him and his famous friends for the past three days was a big deal. But, still, I know when to play it cool. I’ve been around musicians my whole life, after all.
“Glad it went well,” I say calmly. But I can’t resist shooting my son a little wink.
“Is Uncle Fish home?” Jackson asks. And I’m not surprised. Whether that kid is thirty or three, he’ll always have a special bond with his Uncle Fish.
“Yeah, he’s inside the house,” I say. “He wanted to take a nap, since we’re going out to dinner tonight, so I took Mr. Ants in His Pants outside for a bit.” I smile at my grandson in his father’s arms. “Alfie and I looked for shells, had a picnic, and then played our ukuleles. Didn’t we have fun, bubba?”
Alfie agrees we had a blast, and starts excitedly babbling to his father and uncle about our adventures. As he talks, I gather the blanket and remnants of our picnic, hand the ukuleles to my nephew, since Winston is holding Alfie, and then walk with the group across the sand toward the house.
