Page 18 of When Stars Collide
Elle read Mark Damsky’s messages with Luke by her side, asking questions to fill in some of the blanks his story left behind and answering the few that Mark posed to her. For some reason even he was entirely uncertain of, he’d been thinking about Betsy and decided to try to find her online. Although married—happily, he’d assured Elle—he couldn’t quite shake his curiosity, wondering whatever had become of the woman he’d fallen for so many years ago; the woman he wanted so desperately to help. And it was during his internet search that he happened upon Betsy’s obituary. And Elle.
When he found Elle’s social media account, all he wanted to do was send her a message to give her his condolences and share with her his story of his time with her mom. But then he saw her. He noticed that her nose was his nose, and her jawline was his jawline. Elle looked a great deal like Betsy to anyone who saw them together, but as much as she resembled her mother, she also bore a striking resemblance to Mark Damsky … and Mark Damsky’s daughter. Some light internet stalking later, Mark had been able to discover that Betsy Sloan’s daughter had turned thirty-three this year—the same number of years it had been since he last saw Betsy Sloan.
“We’ll need … to do a … paternity test,” Elle said, after several minutes of confoundment.
Luke rubbed her shoulders, equally as dumbfounded. “I’ll try to get something arranged through the hospital. We’ll need a third party to control the testing. He’ll submit his swab and you submit your swab and then we’ll know.”
Elle nodded. “And then we’ll know.”
“Or, and hear me out on this,” I interjected, “we could all go on the Maury-You-Are-The-Father-Povich Show.”
“Then, after the results come in, we could head on over to theJerry Springerset and throw some chairs around; you know, pending the outcome and all,” Peter added.
“See, Peter agrees. And then later, we can drive back to New York and crash at my place. Really make a day of it. Hell, you could even bring maybe-your-father with you.”
With the way Elle and Luke were staring at us in total silence, I knew they were nowhere near in the mood for our lighthearted commentary.
“Or we could try it your way, party poopers.”
*****
I was thankful for the events of the night before because they kept me too preoccupied to think about how nervous I was to be heading to the fair with Peter to meet Jackson. It felt silly to me, to be nervous to make the acquaintance of a second grader, yet here I was. My hands were clammy, my shoulders so tense they ached. Peter was a regular Chatty Cathy on the ride over, which I took as a clear sign his nerves were presenting themselves.
“Jackson has been pumped for this fair. It’s all he’s been talking about for the last week. He’s been bouncing off the walls. He’s seriously so geeked he’s been driving me crazy.”
“Peter?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you think Jackson is excited for the fair?”
“I thought I just …” Peter snorted as he caught on to the joke. “It doesn’t happen very often, but I tend to ramble when I’m—”
“Nervous?”
“I prefer the term grossly excited.”
“I’ll see your ramblings of excitement and I’ll raise you an embarrassingly gross amount of perspiration.” I wiped my clammy hands on the hem of my shorts for at least the fifth time that afternoon.
We pulled into the gates that led to an otherwise barren field, presently being used as the parking lot for the county fair. When we reached the front of the line, Peter paid the attendant for our parking and turned into the improvised parking lot.
“Amanda said to meet her by the merry-go-round,” he said as we walked hand in hand into the depths of the fair on our way to the children’s rides, dodging said children and errant 4-H animals while also simultaneously avoiding their droppings—the animals’, not the children’s, hopefully.
I’d never met Amanda, and the mention of her name shouldn’t have had any effect on me. She and Peter had ended their relationship almost as soon as it began several years ago. Still, she was his ex, and the mother of his child, which I hated to admit intimidated me a little. A part of them would always be tied to each other, while I was the outsider, hoping to one day fit in and add another link to their chain.
“Wait here,” Peter instructed, letting go of my hand and kissing me on my forehead. “It looks like Jackson is just getting off the ride now, but I need to talk to Amanda first, and I kind of want to introduce you to him without Amanda butting in—which she would probably try to do, otherwise.”
I nodded, watching as he jogged over to a tall redhead standing near the carousel exit. I’d seen pictures of Amanda once before on social media, curious about who she was after Peter and I started dating again. After finding her, I instantly wished I hadn’t picked up that mouse and, instead, listened to that annoying bitch of reason whose voice often reminded me of me whenever I lectured Elle before she was about to do something stupid. Something stupid like comparing herself to Luke’s gorgeous ex-wife, like I was doing with Amanda right now.
Even from several feet away, I could tell Amanda was statuesque, towering over me. Not like that was hard. My stubby legs, though spectacularly agile, would never look as good in a pair of butt-hugging shorts as hers. And then there was the matter of her hair, as brilliant as a flame—too brilliant to be organic, but natural looking enough to fool people into thinking that maybe she had been born with it like the folks at Maybelline suggest. The final knockout to my self-esteem, though, came when she turned around to reveal a figure that would put a vintage Barbie doll to shame, complete with a pair of boobs to match.
As Peter approached her, she turned to greet him, draping her arms around him in a tight hug that was lengthier than it should have been … or so it felt. When she finally let him go, her hand lingered on his arm, and they appeared to speak as they waited for Jackson to exit the carousel. Whatever it was that was being said had to have been all kinds of hilarious, as Amanda threw her head back in laughter frequently, her smile lighting up her face. She said something in return after regaining her composure, and Peter chuckled in response. Much to my dismay, Amanda then turned her attention in my vicinity, her eyes eventually landing on me. Under her gaze, I noticed myself standing up straighter, and plastering on a smile so exaggerated I thought my face would crack. Thankfully, Peter also glanced over at me, gesturing in my direction. Smiling, Amanda waved, and I almost turned around to make certain no one else was behind me before I returned her greeting with a wave of my own, all the while maintaining the same painful smile.
Don’t worry, face. We’ll be able to return to our regularly scheduled glower soon.
Jackson ran over to Peter and jumped into his outstretched arms, laughing as his dad hoisted him up onto his shoulders. As happy as I’ve seen Peter, the absolute joy he emitted with his son in his arms was on a whole new level. Fatherhood clearly suited him, and I could watch this side of him all day with a smile that required zero effort or discomfort on my part. In fact, I was so mesmerized watching Peter’s interaction with his son that I completely failed to notice that Amanda was no longer standing next to them, until she was standing next to me.
“Mena.” Her voice was as smooth as velvet, with just the slightest hint of a Southern drawl. She extended a delicate hand out to me as she spoke. Our hands barely clung to one another in one of the shortest handshakes in history. “I just wanted to introduce myself while Peter’s distracted. I’ve heard so much about you.”
