out of place, not a visible pore on her face. In an instant, all my hopes for a pimple in the middle of her forehead or the beginnings of a mustache were dashed. Damn it.
“Oh? I didn’t know my reputation preceded me,” I replied, glancing up at Peter, whose attention had turned from Jackson back to me. Rolling his eyes, he mouthed something that looked like “I’m sorry”.
“Yes, it certainly does. You have quite the reputation.” She looked me up and down, silently appraising me as I had done her.
I wasn’t certain what she meant by that and became curious as to exactly what she had heard about me. Shaking off my insecurities, I decided to move on. “I got a little something for Jackson. He’s still into those fighting turtle things, right?” I held up a small gift bag, adorned with cartoon characters I couldn’t begin to identify, opening it just enough for Amanda to peer inside.
“Yeah, he is. Personally, I’m trying to steer him toward more educational types of toys, though.”
I pulled the bag back toward my body, trying not to let my irritation show. “Now I know what to get next time.”
“What’s going on over here?” Peter asked, knowing damn well what the answer to that question was.
“Just meeting the woman who’s going to be spending the weekend with our son,” Amanda answered him. “You know, the one I feel like I know but have never personally met.”
“And I was getting around to introducing you. Mena, Amanda; Amanda, Mena. There. You’re introduced.”
“Smooth,” I said, thankful to have him as a buffer.
“I try.”
“Daaaadddd,” Jackson groaned, still perched atop Peter’s shoulders. “I want to ride more of the rides.”
“I guess that’s my cue to leave,” Amanda said, reaching up to brush her thumb across Jackson’s cheek. “I love you, bug. Behave for Dad, okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, I will. Now giddy up, Dad.” Jackson kicked his foot, striking Peter with his heel just under his ribcage.
“Whoa. Go easy on me, Wilbur,” Peter groaned after regaining his breath.
“Mena, it was a pleasure.” Amanda nodded.
“Pleasure’s all mine.” The forced smile returned to my face, and it occurred to me then that my smile probably looked pretty similar to the smile she’d had on her face when she was speaking to me.
“I’ll bring him back to your place at three on Sunday, after I drop Mena off at the airport.”
“Works for me.”
“Good-bye, Mom!” Jackson called to his mother, his voice louder than the situation warranted.
“Bye, sweetie.” Amanda turned to wave at Jackson as she walked away.
“That seemed less painful than I thought it would be,” Peter observed.
“If greetings laden with passive-aggressive exchanges are your thing, then yeah, I suppose it went swimmingly.”
“What’s passive-aggressive?” Jackson asked, sending another kick into Peter’s side.
“All right, buddy, time to get down.” Visibly in pain, Peter crouched down, allowing Jackson to climb down to the ground.
“Is Mommy passive-aggressive?”
“No, no, not at all,” Peter assured him, giving me a look that told me he’d have some explaining to do to Amanda later.
He remained crouched down, eye level with Jackson. Jackson was tall for a seven-year-old, the product of both his mother’s and his father’s genes. At the rate he was going, he would probably surpass me in height by the time he turned thirteen.
“Can we go back to the rides now?” Jackson asked, looking eagerly over Peter’s shoulder.
“We will in a minute. But first, there’s someone very important to me I’d like you to meet.”
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