he says.
“Like Ralph Waldo?”
He nods. “My parents are both writers. What do you expect?”
His mom is a writer . I can’t help but wonder what that story is. Did Jackson’s wife know about the affair and about the resulting child? How could she not know? I wonder how she felt about it.
“Madison?” He guesses, bringing me back to reality.
I shake my head. “Nope. Not Madison.”
He rubs a finger on his chin for several seconds. He’s giving my name way too much thought.
“Madeline,” I say finally.
“Like the children’s books. The girl with the hat.”
“Just like that. But my mom’s not a writer. I’m not even sure she ever read the books. She’s a serial wife.”
He frowns. “What does that mean?”
I’m not even sure why I’m telling him this. It’s not normally something I lead with. “She keeps marrying up the food chain. She marries a guy for a few years then divorces him for a richer model.”
My confession seems to have rendered him speechless.
“The apple fell very far from the tree,” I tell him. “Honestly I’m not sure I’ll ever get married.”
“My pop was married to the same woman for over thirty years,” he says. “Just not to my mother.”
“I know it’s none of my business…”
Before I even have a chance to satisfy any of my curiosity about his origins Jackson shuffles up to us.
He must have taken a shower because his hair is still a little wet, but at least now it’s combed. He’s also wearing a fresh shirt and pants.
“Spring break already?” he asks as he gives Emerson a hug.
“I left you a message, Pop. Did you get it?”
Jackson waves the question away. “You know I don’t use those things.”
Emerson eyes him. “You’re still not using your cellphone?”
He points to me. “My new assistant will get to it. She’s going to be handling all of my correspondence.”
“How are people supposed to get in touch with you?” I can hear the frustration in his voice.
Shaking his head he replies, “They don’t have to. You’re here now. We can talk. That’s all that matters. Who else is there who needs to reach me?”
Emerson takes in a deep breath and looks like he might say something else, but presses his lips together instead.
“Have you eaten yet?” Jackson asks.
“I grabbed a quick sandwich.”
“You need more than that, Son.” He puts his hand on Emerson’s shoulder. “Let’s see what else Earl left us to heat up.”
When Emerson gives me a quick glance the exchange of energy between us is more powerful than I expect. It actually takes my breath away.
I’m not sure how to respond. I don’t want Jackson to think there is anything going on between us.
Not that anything was going on between us.
Or ever would .
Even if I wanted it to.
Which I don’t…
Do I ?
I’m usually a very decisive and driven person, but right now I feel extremely confused. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this confused.
Maybe it’s because no guy has ever made me feel the way Emerson is making me feel.
It’s overwhelming and frightening, but also a little bit exciting.
My rational mind knows I need to rein in whatever I’m feeling because nothing can happen between us.
I need this job, more than I need a relationship, which I don’t need at all.
And I’m not sure Emerson is even interested in me anyway.
Jackson looks back and forth between the two of us. “Just so we’re clear,” he says. “When I said no hanky-panky that rule applies to my son as well.”
I can feel my face heat and I’m sure I’m turning red with embarrassment. Are my thoughts that transparent ?
“Of course,” I somehow manage to utter.
I’m not sure I should look at Emerson again. I don’t want to get myself in trouble.
Until he says, “Pop, you know I’m not a fan of vanilla.”
Now I’m glaring at him, but he won’t meet my gaze. Did he just call me vanilla ? Is it because I’m white, or does he think I’m plain and unexciting? He
“Like Ralph Waldo?”
He nods. “My parents are both writers. What do you expect?”
His mom is a writer . I can’t help but wonder what that story is. Did Jackson’s wife know about the affair and about the resulting child? How could she not know? I wonder how she felt about it.
“Madison?” He guesses, bringing me back to reality.
I shake my head. “Nope. Not Madison.”
He rubs a finger on his chin for several seconds. He’s giving my name way too much thought.
“Madeline,” I say finally.
“Like the children’s books. The girl with the hat.”
“Just like that. But my mom’s not a writer. I’m not even sure she ever read the books. She’s a serial wife.”
He frowns. “What does that mean?”
I’m not even sure why I’m telling him this. It’s not normally something I lead with. “She keeps marrying up the food chain. She marries a guy for a few years then divorces him for a richer model.”
My confession seems to have rendered him speechless.
“The apple fell very far from the tree,” I tell him. “Honestly I’m not sure I’ll ever get married.”
“My pop was married to the same woman for over thirty years,” he says. “Just not to my mother.”
“I know it’s none of my business…”
Before I even have a chance to satisfy any of my curiosity about his origins Jackson shuffles up to us.
He must have taken a shower because his hair is still a little wet, but at least now it’s combed. He’s also wearing a fresh shirt and pants.
“Spring break already?” he asks as he gives Emerson a hug.
“I left you a message, Pop. Did you get it?”
Jackson waves the question away. “You know I don’t use those things.”
Emerson eyes him. “You’re still not using your cellphone?”
He points to me. “My new assistant will get to it. She’s going to be handling all of my correspondence.”
“How are people supposed to get in touch with you?” I can hear the frustration in his voice.
Shaking his head he replies, “They don’t have to. You’re here now. We can talk. That’s all that matters. Who else is there who needs to reach me?”
Emerson takes in a deep breath and looks like he might say something else, but presses his lips together instead.
“Have you eaten yet?” Jackson asks.
“I grabbed a quick sandwich.”
“You need more than that, Son.” He puts his hand on Emerson’s shoulder. “Let’s see what else Earl left us to heat up.”
When Emerson gives me a quick glance the exchange of energy between us is more powerful than I expect. It actually takes my breath away.
I’m not sure how to respond. I don’t want Jackson to think there is anything going on between us.
Not that anything was going on between us.
Or ever would .
Even if I wanted it to.
Which I don’t…
Do I ?
I’m usually a very decisive and driven person, but right now I feel extremely confused. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this confused.
Maybe it’s because no guy has ever made me feel the way Emerson is making me feel.
It’s overwhelming and frightening, but also a little bit exciting.
My rational mind knows I need to rein in whatever I’m feeling because nothing can happen between us.
I need this job, more than I need a relationship, which I don’t need at all.
And I’m not sure Emerson is even interested in me anyway.
Jackson looks back and forth between the two of us. “Just so we’re clear,” he says. “When I said no hanky-panky that rule applies to my son as well.”
I can feel my face heat and I’m sure I’m turning red with embarrassment. Are my thoughts that transparent ?
“Of course,” I somehow manage to utter.
I’m not sure I should look at Emerson again. I don’t want to get myself in trouble.
Until he says, “Pop, you know I’m not a fan of vanilla.”
Now I’m glaring at him, but he won’t meet my gaze. Did he just call me vanilla ? Is it because I’m white, or does he think I’m plain and unexciting? He
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