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“Hey, are you okay?” Carson asks, concern etched in the tiny lines around his eyes as he looks at me carefully. “I don’t mind meeting your brothers. I thought you said you were okay with them?”
I nod absently. “I am. We are.”
“Then why did we ditch him and run away? What’s going on, Jayme?”
If I’m a wild, raging tempest of a sea during a storm, Carson is a still, serene pond. I’m on the edge, about to jump, and he’s calmly waiting for me to explain myself and my reaction to seeing my brother here.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” I confess.
“Okay, you can tell me anything,” he answers easily.
If only it were that easy! “Remember when I said my parents are kinda like Fight Club? We don’t talk about them?” He nods, humming in agreement. “Well, we need to talk about them right now because they’re here.”
I stop, freezing in place to see his reaction. But he doesn’t get it. He couldn’t, because he still doesn’t know what I’m trying to tell him.
“I’d love to meet them. Unless you’re not ready for me to meet them?” He sounds hurt by the very thought, as though he wasn’t kissing me goodbye earlier.
Well, you were being a meddling meddler, I remind myself, knowing that Carson has every right to need to step away from me and stand on his own. And this informational nugget is only going to add to that likelihood.
I snort ungraciously, not quite a laugh, though, because this is anything but funny. “If only that were the issue. I’m ready, they’re ready, and they already know about you, which is probably why they came. My mom’s sort of impatient when it comes to us kids. She wants to see us happy.” I say as if that’s a bad thing. It’s not, at all, but right this minute, I can’t even begrudgingly cut Mom slack when she’s forcing my hand. “But you’re not ready. They’re . . . they’re . . .”
“Jayme! There you are, honey!” Mom’s voice rings out from behind me.
My time is up. My chance to tell Carson, my opportunity to prepare him, and most likely, my relationship with him . . . are all gone.
I take a deep breath, apologizing to Carson with my eyes. I spin, putting him behind me as though that’ll protect him. Or maybe protect me if he can’t see Mom and Dad.
“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad,” I say flatly.
Mom smiles big, her shoulders doing a little shimmy shake of happiness. She leans in, kissing my cheek in greeting. “And you must be Carson,” she says to him. “Wow, you are even more handsome than Jayme said!”
“Mom, Dad . . . this is Carson. Carson, these are my parents.” Manners and politeness take over automatically, though I have no idea what I’m saying.
Dad looks at me with worry, his mouth turned down into a heavy frown. “Honey?”
Carson takes a big breath, the inhale audible to us all, and then swallows heavily. “You’re Jayme’s parents?”
Mom doesn’t seem to notice the awkwardness and grabs Carson’s hand, giving it a friendly shake. Dad extends his, but Carson doesn’t take it.
He seems . . . gobsmacked. His eyes are flicking from Mom to Dad and back again, and I can virtually see his brain whirling between his ears. It’s not the first time I’ve seen this reaction to my parents, but it’s the first time it hurts like this.
“But you’re . . .”
Dad helps as much as he can. “I’m Jameson Brooks, and this is my wife, Leah Brooks. I know Jayme uses her mother’s maiden name professionally, so it’s sometimes a bit of a shock that she’s related to us.”
A shock that I’m related to them? That’s putting it mildly, Dad.
My parents—well, my Dad—is basically the present-day version of a Kennedy. No, more than that, he’s more like Warren Buffet. Richer than God, his face on the cover of magazines proclaiming his financial prediction brilliance, his name on buildings and invitations to dinners at the White House. He’s more recognizable than most politicians or celebrities. Hell, he’s probably more notable than the Queen of England because while she rules a country, Dad directs and controls the global economy in ways I can’t begin to explain.
But to me, he’s just Dad.
The man who kissed my boo-boos, taught me to ride a bike, and would listen to me whine about math homework. Later, he was the man who encouraged me to chase my own dreams, step into my own spotlight, and be the captain of my own destiny. All things I was only able to do because he had the foresight, long before James was even born, to decide with Mom that they would keep their children out of the spotlight.
Because though Dad is a hugely known and recognized powerhouse and Mom has been on his arm in countless photos and at hundreds of events, the five of us kids are virtually unknown. Dad wanted it that way, and I’ve always been grateful for the opportunity at a somewhat normal life that choice gave me.
