“How is Fin going to come with us?”
I walk into his room to see him peering into the fishbowl. “Well, um, honey, Fin is actually going to stay home with Grandma. He’s going to help her take care of the apartment for us while we’re away.”
“Oh, he’ll be good at that. He’s always looking out of his bowl.”
I nod. “Yep, you got it. Now come help me pick what clothes you want to bring.
“Look, Mommy look! It’s Brad!” Ben points to the TV.
Brad had texted to say that they expected their meet and greet in the local mall might be covered by Entertainment Tonight, so I’ve had the TV turned on since the afternoon, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. And there he is.
“Stupid, sexy fucker,” I mumble under my breath, again and probably not for the last time.
The camera focusses on each band member for a few seconds at a time, and each time it lands on Brad, my heart rotates like a fidget spinner in my chest.
The video cuts to the guys finishing their set and a bunch of women rushing onto the stage, trying to reach for the guys. They just laugh and stand back, letting their security push the horde back. The knot of jealousy simmering in the pit of my stomach tightens, and again I ask myself what the fuck I’m doing.
“Look, Mommy, look!” Ben yells again, calling my attention to the TV.
Brad appears on screen again. This time he holds his palm out and the camera zooms on the words “Can’t w8 2 c u soon, Butter & Ben!” A red love heart encircles the words. And it’s like a cool breeze washes over me, assuaging the fear.
“What did it say, Mommy?”
“He says he can’t wait to see us soon, baby.”
“That’s so nice, isn’t it, Mommy?”
“Yeah, buddy, it’s so nice. He’s so nice.”
They cut to some footage of the guys performing, and the knot that was in my stomach relaxes to a warm, throbbing heat a little lower, where my hips meet my legs. And I can’t help but wonder what it’ll be like when we see each other again.
Ding dong
The bell rings and I run to it, sliding my feet into the slippers by the door.
“Hello?” I’m greeted by a delivery guy carrying a bike.
“Are you Ben?” the pimply teenager asks, not caring that he has a mouthful of gum.
“Um…do I look like it? What’s this?” I point to his delivery.
“It’s a delivery for, um, Ben…” he says, checking the delivery sheet.
“It’s a bike.”
“You’re about as observant as me,” the little shit fires back.
“Ben’s my five-year-old son. I’ll sign for him.”
“Fine.”
I hand him the signed board and push the bike into the hallway just as Ben wanders in.
“Who was it, Mommy? OHMYGOSH! Is that for me?” His face lights up and he runs his good hand along the handlebars.
“I guess so. Let Mommy read the card. ‘For my brave boy, love Dad.'” My blood runs cold. Who’d gotten in touch with him?
“It’s from Daddy?” Ben asks, crouching down to look at the tires.
“Er, I guess so. I guess he heard about your accident.”
“A new bike! I can’t wait to ride it!”
“Whoa, it’ll be a while yet. You can play with it in the apartment, but no riding until your cast comes off and the doctor says it’s okay,” I warn him.
There’s a ding on my cell phone and I brace myself before reading it.
I just got a text to say the bike’s been delivered.
Yeah, thanks. You shouldn’t have done that. It’s too much, I reply to Ben’s father.
It’s fine, I knew you probably couldn’t afford another one. He’s right. And I hate that that’s the case as well as that he knows it.
Who told you about Ben’s accident? I ask.
Your mom, but it should’ve been you. Can I talk to him?
Yeah, call on the home phone in five minutes, I tell him.
And you? Can I talk to you?
No.
I turn off the ringer on my phone and put it down, returning to Ben’s room to pack, watching him play with his new bike’s handlebars.
The dread runs through me as it always does when Ben’s father gets in touch. Irrational, maybe, but I feel it nonetheless. Maybe a trip away really is the best thing for us both right now. Get out of London, and out of reach.
The phone in the hallway rings, and I flinch.
“Ben, why don’t you get that. I have a feeling it might just be for you.”
I watch my little boy jump off the bed and run to the phone, his happy jabbering making me smile even through the fear.
Brad
It’s been three days since I left London and met up with the group in Birmingham. Three days of walking the tight rope between elation that Emily and Ben are going to be joining me soon, and sheer terror of receiving a phone call to say she’s changed her mind.
After the show in Northampton the other day I expected her to call or text, but it’s been radio silence. She had mentioned that she was very busy getting everything ready for Ben, what with interviewing nannies and packing and getting her house ready for her mom. But I’ve heard nothing. And I’ve been trying to tell myself that sometimes no news is good news.
“Oi! Get out here, numb-nuts! We’re playing a drinking game!” Jez yells to me from the living area on our bus.
I wander out to see the guys have got a big head start on me and have developed an acquired fashion style of wrapping their ties around their foreheads.
“All right, what are the rules?” I ask them.
“Every time they cut to a commercial, we drink!” Marius explains.
“What the hell kinda stupid game is that? What show is this anyway?” I glance up at the screens.
“World’s Best Commercials!” the three yell out in unison.
“Ah. That explains why Sebastian’s trying to eat that cheese stick with the wrapper still on.”
“Wha?” Sebastian looks up from his snack.
“Where’s your ball and chain?” I grin at him, tugging on his tie.
“On her bus where she belongs!” he says cockily.
“Ooh, wait ’til she hears that!” I threaten him.