Page 20 of When Stars Collide
Jackson peered back at me over his shoulder. “Hi,” he greeted me before turning back to his dad.“I met her. Can we go now?”
Yep, he’s definitely Peter’s kid.
“Jackson, you know that’s not how we greet people.”
Jackson let out a sigh as he turned back around to face me. Following in Peter’s footsteps, I crouched down until I, too, was face-to-face with him. Granted, I didn’t have to crouch very far. I studied Jackson’s features, noting how many more of them were Peter’s versus Amanda’s. Just about everything about the kid screamed Peter, except for his nose, which was truly a blessing from above.
“Don’t worry, I’ve met me, and I would rather ride the rides, too.”
A small smile tugged at his lips.
“It’s nice to meet you Jackson. I’m Mena.” I extended my hand out to him, which he took after a quick glance back at Peter for reassurance.
“I know,” he said confidently. “My mom told me who you were.”
Peter and I shared a glance with each other, his eyes reflecting the exasperation he was keeping to himself.
“Well, that’s good. At least I wasn’t a total stranger to you, then.” I noticed Jackson’s piercing blue eyes trailing down to the bag in my hand. “Because I know it can be kind of awkward meeting new people, I thought I’d get you a little something to get you to like me better.”
Jackson smiled, taking the bag from my hand. “Whoa.” He took the turtle robber thing out and studied it appreciatively.
“What do you say, bud?” Peter laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Thank you,” he said sheepishly before looking behind his shoulder at Peter. “But Mom doesn’t like me to have toys that don’t teach me anything.” Peter rolled his eyes behind Jackson’s back as Jackson returned his attention to the plastic action figure in his hands.
Peter placed his hands on his son’s shoulders. “That’s why we’ll keep it at my place.”
“And besides,” I added, “who says these things aren’t educational? I mean, if anything it’s teaching you how to be fashionable while simultaneously wielding swords in the middle of committing grand theft auto.”
Peter shook his head, his lips pursed. Jackson chuckled, lighting up before my eyes.
“They’re called katanas,” he replied matter-of-factly, rubbing the plastic blades between his fingers, “and they aren’t the bad guys, they’re the good guys.”
“See, your new toy taught me something.”
“Thank you, Mena.”
“You’re very welcome, little man.”
“Now can we go on the rides, Dad? Pleeeassee.”
“Okay, kiddo, let’s go.”
We spent the afternoon walking around the fair, Peter accompanying Jackson on the rides that could accommodate his six-foot-five frame, and me watching them from afar. In doing so, I felt like I was on the outside looking in, and maybe I was. But I didn’t mind. I was seeing a side of Peter I hadn’t seen before—a devoted father whose life completely revolved around his son. It felt like he was leading a double life, except far less tawdry than that expression usually implied. I guess, in a way, we all were. We all keep pieces of ourselves hidden away, only revealing them to a personally vetted, hand-selected list of people when the situation called for it. This was Peter’s way of sharing his secret piece of himself with me, and I wanted nothing more than to become a part of this parallel life of his, to really get to know him as a father.
“I want Mena to go on the honey bear ride with me,” Jackson pleaded, snapping me out of my reverie. He tugged on Peter’s arm, pulling him in my direction like a lone ox struggling to pull an overloaded wagon down the Oregon Trail.
“Rides aren’t really Mena’s, thing, buddy,” Peter argued.
“Please,” Jackson begged. “I want to ride one of the rides with Mena before we leave.”
I smiled at the idea that in just a couple short hours, the kid felt comfortable enough to be strapped inside of a hastily constructed steel death trap with me.“Where are these honey bears?” I asked, smiling at Jackson’s tenacity.
“Over there.”
I followed his outstretched finger to a cluster of brightly-colored bears arranged in a circle, each holding a honey pot on its lap. A harmless enough ride, some may even say a little kitschy. And if it malfunctioned, the worst that would happen was that its passengers would become trapped in said delightfully whimsical honey pots, forced to sit tight until help arrived.
“I’ll go with you,” I said, much to Peter’s astonishment.
