Page 28 of And Now, Back to You

DELILAH STEWART: Jackson?

DELILAH STEWART: You haven’t answered.

JACKSON CLARK: Yes, the contents within are still valid.

DELILAH STEWART: Great.

CHAPTER 6

JACKSON

“I can’t believe you’re going to be on TV.” Adeline bounces her way across my bed, one of my dress shirts around her neck like a cape. She launches herself in the air on her third bounce and extends her legs, then lands flat on her back. My shirt flutters over her face while I have a silent heart attack. “This is so cool,” she adds, her voice muffled.

Cool. I can’t believe I’ve gotten to the place where a teenager’s opinion on my professional life makes me feel like I’ve swallowed a helium balloon, but here we are.

I fold another sweater and place it in the open suitcase. “You really think so?”

“It’s super cool.” Penelope flops down next to Adeline on the bed. “You’re going to be on the news, Jackie. Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?”

“No.” Pretty sure I’ve had nightmares that start this way. “I wanted to work at the National Weather Service, not be on television.”

Penelope and Adeline give me matching unimpressed looks. “C’mon. Not even a teensy-tiny part of you is excited about this?” Adeline asks.

I fiddle with a folded pair of socks. “Maybe a little bit,” I admit.

While I’m not thrilled about the broadcast piece of it, I am excited to cover a storm in real time. Fifteen-year-old me who used to fall asleep with his face buried in his science textbook is absolutely losing his mind.

“I knew it.” Penelope points at my face. “Look at you. You’re smiling.”

“I’m not smiling.”

“You are.” She shifts so her head is resting on her sister’s lap. “Gosh, just think of it. You could have been doing cool stuff like this for years if you never got saddled with us.”

“Stop acting like I didn’t actively pursue custody of you guys.” I poke her in the forehead, then do the same to Adeline. “I wanted you with me.”

I wanted them so bad, I spent months working every odd job I could to pad my bank account. I put together a presentation for my mother with timelines and data sets and graphs, trying to convince her it was the best for everyone. I went to Bed Bath & Beyond and stood in front of the comforters, debating if they’d want lilac or sky blue. I got a house with enough room for all of us. I built a bunk bed.

And in the end, my mother didn’t even fight me on it. She simply said, I love that idea! Like granting me custody of the girls was the same as dropping off dry cleaning or picking up pizza for dinner.

I refold my socks and nestle them into the proper spot next to my sweaters, then do it again with the next pair. The debilitating doubt creeps out of the corner I’ve shoved it into. Am I doing enough for them? Are they happy here, with me?

My mother’s voice coils around my apprehension and tugs. You’ve gotta make sure you’re giving those girls fun. Teenage girls need fun.

Am I fun? Am I what they need?

I try to think of the last fun thing we did, but come up blank. We went ice-skating at the harbor over the holidays. They loved that when they were little.

But they’re not eight anymore. They need something different. They’re changing and growing and expanding and I need to change with them. I’ve spent so much time focusing on the practical, the rest of me feels like a garden gate with vines growing over the hinges.

I’m hoping this trip fixes that for me. I’m hoping I can figure out how to be someone they want to be around.

“Why do you look like you’re mad at the socks?” Adeline asks, eyes narrowing.

“Yeah. What did the socks ever do to you?”

“The socks did nothing,” I mumble. I drag my fingers through my hair, tugging at it in frustration. I don’t usually tell the girls when Camille calls, but it’s been the devil on my shoulder since she reached out a few days ago. It’s not unusual for her to call out of the blue after months of radio silence, but it is unusual for her to ask about anyone other than herself.

“Jackson,” Adeline sighs. “You look like you’re about to explode.”