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I watch Bree as she talks to her son in front of the car. I’m transfixed on the interaction between the two of them, honestly a bit taken by just how much he looks like her. Even from my vantage point I can see he has the same dark hair, the same nose, and the same wide eyes. I don’t know why, but I expected to see a little Blake walk out. A weird sense of relief floods through me that the little boy really looks nothing like his abusive, girlfriend-beating father.
Even the thought of him putting his hands on Bree has me clenching my fists in my lap. It’s been years and yet my reaction to this knowledge still hasn’t changed.
Bree stands, crossing around the driver’s side of the car before opening the back door. The little boy climbs in, his big brown eyes landing on me the moment he does.
“Hi, buddy,” I smile, greeting him.
“Why are you named after an ant?” he asks, his face scrunched up in a way that has laughter bubbling out of me before I can even think to form a response.
“Jackson.” Bree gets on to him though it’s clear she’s fighting back her laughter.
“What?” he asks, looking at his mom who leans in the car and fastens his seatbelt.
“You can’t just ask people things like that,” she says. “It’s rude.”
“It’s okay, buddy,” I cut in. “Some of my friends started calling me that when I was around your age. I guess it just kind of stuck,” I explain.
“I wouldn’t want people to call me an ant,” he says bluntly.
“Jack,” Bree scolds, fighting the smile on her lips.
“I didn’t like it much either at first,” I admit. “But I got used to it.”
“Are you taking me to the park?” He switches subjects without missing a beat.
I look at Bree who climbs into the driver’s seat and then turns around to look at her son.
“Yes, buddy, we’re going to go to the park,” she answers before I have a chance to.
“Can Ant push me on the swings? I bet he can push me really high,” he says, turning his attention to me.
“I just so happen to be the best swing pusher in California,” I state proudly.
“Really?” He bounces excitedly in his seat.
“Really, really.” I wink, turning to Bree to find her watching me with a weird expression on her face.
The moment she catches my gaze the look disappears, leaving me questioning if it wasn’t just in my mind.
“Well, shall we?” she asks, looking from me to Jackson and then back to me.
“Let’s do it.” I grin back at Jackson who returns my smile with an even larger one.
Spending the afternoon at the park with Bree and Jackson is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. While I have two nieces back home in Connecticut, I’ve never spent much time around little boys. To say he’s kept me on my toes would be the understatement of the year.
Jackson, or Jack as I’m learning his mom usually calls him, has more energy in one finger than I think I possess in my entire body. Everything is interesting to him, and he bounces from one thing to the next so quickly that sometimes I have trouble keeping up.
After making a go of the swings, Jack decided that I was, in fact, the best swing pusher around. This didn’t keep him entertained for long, though. He whipped through every piece of equipment at the park three times over before we’d even been here ten minutes.
Bree chases him around from here to there with a sense of ease that I never knew from her as a teenager. Honestly, there is very little about this girl I even recognize. The girl I remember was wild and fearless, always down for a good time.
She wore her hair much shorter than it is now and always had it dyed bright red. There wasn’t a thing that girl wouldn’t do. Of course, I always suspected there was something that fueled that wild behavior. Finding out about Blake and the abusive relationship she had been in connected a few of the pieces together for me, but I never got to complete the puzzle.
I think that’s why I was always so drawn to her. She always put on this tough girl act, but the façade never fooled me. Only someone who knows that kind of deep-rooted pain would recognize it in another person.
It’s easy to see someone’s mask when you’re wearing one yourself.
But this girl—this woman—she’s different. Not in the sense that the pain isn’t still lurking behind those golden eyes, but rather that she’s found something that makes it bearable.
