Weathered Love

EPILOGUE

I stepped into a warm cafe and relished the heat after stepping out of the biting cold. I should have dressed more warmly. But I had been too preoccupied to take note that I had underdressed.

"Mommy!" came his sweet little voice. I looked at my little boy, who looked like Andrew's mini-me, and smiled at that toothy grin.

"Yes, Johnny love," I stated to him as I caught up to him at the counter. I decided I'd give Ivan what he asked for, but not in the exact way he wanted. I found out Ivan was the alleged translation of John, so I named my baby John Andrew Jones. When Andrew was alive and we had talked about our kids' names, he outright turned down my suggestion of naming any children after him. He didn't like the idea of an Andrew Jr. and wanted our kids to have identities separate from our own. So, I gave John his father's name as his middle name. He never said I couldn't do that. I sometimes liked to imagine Andrew shaking his head and muttering something about me being more lawyerly, finding such a loophole that he couldn't dispute from beyond the grave.

"Can I please, please, please have a cookie?" he pleaded. I should have known better. He only gave me that sweet smile if he wanted something that he knew I'd likely say "No" to.

"You already had your cupcake at school today," I pointed out.

"But it was a small cupcake," he reasoned. When did negotiation become part of the kindergarten curriculum? Five-year-olds already had so many convincing tactics in their arsenal. It wasn't fair to have such a smart kid. This was definitely an argument for nature over nurture. John never met Andrew, but already spoke a lot like him. He was his father's son, that much was definite.

"We already agreed, no more sugar," I firmly responded. I didn't need him staying up all night. "We came in for some warm milk, so that's what you're getting." He was starting to tear up, but I knew better than to fall for those crocodile tears. "Hey, no tears. You already knew this."

"Fine," he pouted. I ordered our drinks and we sat down on a couch nearby as we waited for our order.

I began responding to some messages when I got a call from Vyola. "I don't like it," she stated as soon as I picked up.

"Well hello to you too," I warmly greeted. "What's the matter this time?" I inquired.

"It's too poetic. It's not my voice," she continued to criticize.

"You explicitly asked for that intro to your book. Now you don't want it?" I inquired, trying to mask my frustration.

"It's amazing writing, I'm just second-guessing. People will think I'm putting up a front. I'm not exactly known for my prose," she stated.

"First, you're an artist. You've written some amazing songs. What do you mean you're not known for your prose? Second, you wanted me to write your book, and you asked for that intro specifically. How you found it, I have no clue. I can only guess you colluded with Ella, who's supposed to work for me, not you. She may be at the same agency but she's my rep, not yours," I huffed, albeit in an amused manner.

"I bribe her better," Vyola joked.

"You guys just have too similar a personality," I quipped.

"Hey, just because you're mad at her, doesn't mean you should insult her like that. She's a classy lady," Vyola joked.

"You're a classy lady, hence why my writing works. If it's that bad, mark it up and send it back to me," I instructed. "Again," I sighed.

"Mommy," John tugged at my arm.

"Mommy's on the phone, baby. Can you wait a minute?" I instructed him.

"You're busy," Vyola stated. "I don't have a problem with it. I'm just nervous about sending it to be published," she admitted.