56 - On the List

“Wanna tell me what happened in here?”

Petra’s muttered question when dropping a baking dish in front of Jon was not that of a happy woman.  He glanced up from the farmhouse table suitably dressed for the cover of Better Homes & Gardens, and that glance was all it took for her darkened features to confirm his assessment.

He’d obviously known something was wrong when Delaney flew from the kitchen like a bat out of hell, but it felt more important to act normal than to chase after her.  His daughter didn’t need to know that her words, facial expression or simple consumption of oxygen was responsible for triggering unpleasant emotions – and Delaney wouldn’t want her to. 

That, coupled with Jesse and Ali’s timely arrival, was why he stayed behind to pour a cup of coffee and listen to them relay last night’s Surf Lodge events to Stephanie.  Meanwhile, he was stuck wondering what the fuck had set off the girlfriend who was still mysteriously absent, even as Pearl added another plate of baked goods to the existing mountain on the island and introduced herself to Stephanie. 

“Where is she?”

“Brushing her teeth.”

“What’d she say?” he murmured into his coffee while lifting a corner of tinfoil from the baking dish.  Whatever it was smelled of onion and savory spices.

“Say?” Petra scoffed quietly, and perched on the adjacent chair’s edge.  “Not a frigging thing, but she threw up in the bushes.  You didn’t get her pregnant did you?”

“God, no.”  There wasn’t a chance in hell of that happening.  That possibility was snipped away soon after Romeo’s birth, when it became clear that four kids was enough.  “She was chatting with Steph one minute and out the door in the next.”

“Fuck.  Pregnant would be preferable.” The sigh was bigger than the woman who leaned close to whisper, “If you think there’s a chance in hell you can make her actually deal with this shit instead of swimming in denial, I’m begging you to do it.  After suffering a life-altering tragedy, all she does is act like those girls never existed.  If you could’ve seen how involved in their lives she was….  Nobody can flip a switch and make it all go away.”

That involvement was yet another similarity in their stories.  He would’ve sworn to any and everybody that he and Dorothea knew every facet of Steph’s life.  They talked to her every day, knew all her friends, were aware of every political view the child had.  None of it could’ve prepared them for that night, but even if it had ended differently, Jon thought he would hold his other kids closer instead of allowing them to walk away.

He didn’t quite understand, but he hoped to.  When she would let him.

“How do you think she’s supposed to act?”

“I don’t know,” sighed the woman whose pinned hair, dress and diamonds were overkill for having cereal with his brood.  “Genuinely happy to spend time with my kids and yours rather than wearing a mask of happiness that slips every once in a while?”

It wasn’t that he disagreed with Petra’s assessment.  He knew Delaney was holding onto unhealthy shit.  He’d seen it himself and knew she’d be undoubtedly happier after working through it.  The trick would be convincing her to do so.  She’d already put him off a couple of times for valid reasons, but would she continue to find reasons until someone forced her hand? 

Was he the one that should be forcing her?

You’re the one who can see past the surface.

“Mou’s strong,” was his noncommittal response.

“Nobody’s that strong, Jon.  Not even a bitch like me.”

He inspected irises that were physically familiar but couldn’t see past the color when he looked in Petra’s eyes.  They didn’t let him see inside the way Delaney’s did, and it required her pucker of impatience to tell him that she was waiting for him to literally do something.

What the fuck that might be, he couldn’t fathom, but giving a good faith attempt was less troublesome than pissing off Petra.  It was the first time he saw a valid reason for Delaney’s willingness to dress in accordance with her sister’s wishes.

Focus, Bongiovi.

“When’s the last time she saw Poppy?” he asked quietly as Romeo entered and joined the others picking at the food-infested island. 

“About a year after Violet died, on the girls’ birthday.  She flew out to Chicago one day and back the next, saying she’d never make that mistake again, but that was all she’d say.  And of course, that little shit Poppy won’t speak to any of us.  I could just wring her neck.”

“You don’t find it strange that she’s held a grudge against the entire family for this long?  I mean, if Delaney was so close to the girls, it seems bizarre that Poppy can just cut everyone out of her life without looking back.  What am I missing?”

“I don’t know.”  With the return of her twin through the back door, Petra’s response was muttered from the corner of her mouth as she rose.  “Figure it out, and I’ll get you all the corporate and private solo performances you could ever want.”

He didn’t bother telling her that there weren’t enough days in the month for the offers he already had and that work would never be a reason for reassembling the pieces of Delaney’s broken heart.  His sole interest was in seeing how beautiful this brokenly perfect woman could be once she was glued back together.

“I’ll talk to her.”

That was good enough for Petra.  She gave him a quick nod before pasting on the Congressman’s Wife smile and going to introduce herself to Stephanie. 

“Mou.  C’mere.”

Determined dimples faltered a bit at his summons from across the room, and she held tight to the oven door with a potholder at the ready in her other hand.  “I’ve got to pull this quiche out before it burns.  Where’s Jake?  Everything’s ready.  Can somebody yell at him?”

Jon sighed and stood with his coffee mug in hand.  Now wasn’t the time for an in-depth conversation.  He got that, but she could spare two seconds to tell him she was okay.

“Romeo, go get your brother’s ass out of bed,” he directed, taking the long route toward the coffee maker to intercept Delaney and her quiche.  “Jess, you’re in charge of mimosas.  The rest of you grab a plate or pitcher to take with you to the table.”

“Excuse me.”  A smile as polite as the request was in place, but gray eyes pled with him not to turn this into a scene. 

She needn’t have worried.  Making things more complicated wasn’t his method of operation.  Jon was all about the KISS method whenever possible, and “keep it simple, stupid” was definitely a good fit here.

“Tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m okay.”

Turning his back to the rest of the room and hooking a knuckle under her chin, he spoke softly enough so that only she could hear him over everyone else’s chatter.  “Later, you’ll tell me what happened here.”

“Nothing-“

“Don’t waste your breath on that bullshit,” he advised gruffly.  “You’ll tell me later.  End of discussion until then.”

There were arguments aplenty sparking in flinty eyes, but she didn’t utter one of them.  Delaney only issued a terse nod that convinced him to let her pass, and Jon continued to the coffee maker for a refill. 

“I guess if I hadda get out of bed, there are worse reasons.”

A smirk kicked up one side of Jon’s mouth at his middle son’s groggy entrance.  Jake loved to sleep but more than sleep, Jake loved to eat.  It came with the territory of being a sixteen-year-old boy, and that particular boy owned the territory.  He was the one Jon had in mind when saying the kids would turn up on Delaney’s doorstep begging for food.

Pouring the rest of the pot into a thermal carafe, he returned to the table to place both it and his cup next to his place-setting at the head, where a mimosa also awaited.  The crystal glass that held it was the one he chose to stand behind the chair and raise. 

“You all can see that our guests went above and beyond the call of duty this morning.  I, for one, appreciate all the time and effort it took to create this bountiful brunch feast, so thank you.” 

The rest of his clan lifted their juice, coffee and mimosas with sincere, if not effusive thanks.  It was still early for most of them, but the three women didn’t seem to mind.  Petra smiled while peeling back tinfoil on the dish she brought, and Pearl lifted her glass briefly before knocking back half the mimosa in it. 

Delaney was wedged between Jesse and Ali cutting the quiche, and when finished, she straightened to pat them each on the shoulder.  Jon again intercepted her en route to the empty seat beside Petra, and stepped sideways to hook her waist, leaving his arm looped around it when positioning her in front of him. 

“And before anybody gets too far into a food coma, I’d like to say something else, so attention up here.”  Hands went from grabbing muffins to being tucked in laps as three pairs of brown eyes, three blue and one gray all obediently turned his way.  “This isn’t going to be Hall of Fame induction long, but it’s gonna take a minute, so bear with me.”

“Dude.  War and Peace wasn’t as long as that damn speech.”

“Spoiler alert, Pearl.  Unless he changes his mind, you win at the end of this story, so shut it,” Delaney warned, and he cinched his arm for an approving hug.

 Before the gentle warmth of relief washed over him, Jon hadn’t realized he was unsure about her desire to proceed with this.  Her mad dash out the door could’ve included a change of heart, whether he wanted to admit it or not.  It was good to know that, while her every thought wasn’t clear, she was still his Mou.

“Using as few words as possible…”  He shifted his grip on the champagne glass so that his middle one could flick a quick salute down the table.  “Delaney and I are seeing each other, and it’s serious.  I was going to take her back out to Montauk last night and make it public, but she wouldn’t let me since you guys hadn’t officially been told.  Any objections before Pearl feeds the tabloid wolves their first pictures?”

A pointy elbow found his gut, causing Jon to grunt before he scowled down into a similarly scowling face.  He’d obviously done something wrong from Delaney’s point of view. 

“What?”

“You’re not supposed to throw it out there like a hand grenade and hope nobody has objections before it blows up.” 

Her criticism incited a few laughs and Jon directed his scowl at them.  “It’s Pearl’s fault.  I was gonna make it more eloquent, but she was all bitchy.  Make her do it.”

“How about you do it – the right way?” She suggested with a cattily arched brow and a blunt fingertip in his sternum.  “This is your family, and if they aren’t okay with it, this isn’t happening.  Reassure them it’s not as crazy as it seems.  Explain it to them, Jon, and then listen to what they have to say for as long as it takes them to say it.  The public can wait.  Your children take priority over anyone else.”

He adored the little woman giving him hell.  It didn’t make a difference that she had such deeply personal issues with one of those children.  It didn’t matter that she’d run twice because it was too much to handle.  It didn’t matter that she was suffering her own deep-buried trauma. 

Delaney was adamant that his children were the priority here, and Jon didn’t give a fuck how broken her heart was.  There might be a million pieces that would never fit together quite right again, but even shattered, she still had one of the purest and kindest hearts he’d ever known. 

“I think you just gave them all the reassurance they needed, Mou.” 

He lifted smiling eyes to each of his kids to find that they were all smiling back.  They knew.  Anyone that looked at the events of this morning would know.  Delaney Gardener was one of the good ones, and Jon would be crazy not to take the chance he’d been given.

Delaney wanted it all on the record, though.  “Freeping fish sticks, Bongiovi!  Stop being an aardvark anus and do what’s right already.” 

“I’m sorry.  What did she just say?”

“Freeping fish sticks,” Petra reiterated to Jon’s daughter with a sigh and grabbed her mimosa.  “Freep is her version of the f-word.”

“She isn’t from Jersey,” Jon informed his kids as lightning-lit eyes flashed at him.  Mou wasn’t impressed with the side banter.  She wanted this shit handled already.  “She either swears in Greek or in a Sesame Street version of her own making.  Aardvark anus is about as insulting as it gets and means I’m on her shit list.”

“You’re working on a permanent spot if you don’t start talking.”

I see your soul, and it’s the most beautiful thing I ever saw, Delaney Gardener.  

Lifting his chin, Jon met each of his children’s gazes in turn to tell them about how they met, Matt and David’s insistence that she was his rebound girl, the semi-innocent friendship that built, Delaney’s ignorance to the upcoming divorce, his visit to her shop, her visit to Dorothea and Dorothea’s stamp of approval. 

“Delaney’s been different from the minute I met her,” he concluded.  “And I mean that in the very best way.  If you guys have concerns about the relationship, we’ll talk until they’re resolved.  The public won’t get anything until then, but Delaney’s with me.  Period.  Any questions?” 

Jesse’s attention shifted to the woman who’d stood quietly beside Jon throughout his short speech.  “Yeah, I’ve got one.   Delaney, you do realize Dad can’t get through a conversation without saying ‘fuck’, right?”

The tiny florist raised a dimpled face to Jon, drawling, “Oh, I’m aware.  He can swear like a mother trucker, but as long as he’s not on the anus list, it doesn’t bother me in the least.”

“Shit list, Delaney," Jon sighed.  "We call it a shit list, because ‘shit’ is less offensive than ‘anus’.  And am I off it now?”

The laughing agreement around the table was loud, but Jon could still make out her quiet, “Yes, androuli mou.  You are.  Thank you.”