Chapter Text
Looking back on my life, I can see that it’s been pretty well. It was never perfect and it has definitely had its rough patches, but whose life goes exactly the way they wanted it to? No matter the past, the present is good. Most of the time.
See, when you’re raising a little girl, things aren't always… smooth.
It all began about eight years ago when my mother fell pregnant. I was eighteen at the time. Due to my mother’s older age, there were quite a few complications with the birth and she didn’t make it. Either way, my little sister was born.
I thought everything would be okay, but, for my dad, it wasn’t. He couldn’t really even look at Jellybean because of what had happened. He fell back into his drinking habits, leaving me to take care of her. One night, he didn’t come home. I found out later that he was riding his motorcycle while drunk and died almost instantly when he drove into oncoming traffic.
Being eighteen, I could have taken custody of my sister, but I didn’t want to raise her without my education and a good job to support her. So, for the next three years, I hunkered down and got my degree. During that time, I wrote the first book in my bestseller series. All the while, I had left my sister in the foster program. I didn’t like the idea, but I knew she wouldn’t remember much of her time there from being so young. I always made sure to visit her, and I made sure she was kept in a good home.
When I released my first book, it hit the best seller’s list. I took custody of my sister when I was twenty one. Since then, we have remained well over financially stable. I released a book a year to my series for the next five years and I also work on stand alone novels which I release whenever I can.
I work from home, so I have almost too much time to write; especially when Jellybean began going to school. She is gone from 9am to 2pm. Due to that and the fact that I don’t have many friends that live near, I have a total of eleven books, seven of which are best sellers.
Despite my ‘fame’, I don’t have much trouble with the press because I use a pen name. Any interviews I do are over the phone and all signings are done in my home and mailed out.
So, my life has been good. I know what I can expect day to day, apart from whatever Jellybean’s new thing is. Currently, that thing is soccer, and I have to get her to practice.
I sigh, watching as Jellybean bounces around. I decide we can walk to practice and maybe help get some of her energy out. Today is her first practice, so I don’t imagine there will be too much running around. After all, they need to learn the rules of the game first. I figure walking the few blocks to the park is my best bet at getting her to bed at a decent hour tonight.
As we leave the apartment, Jellybean rants, “And sometimes I wish I could just punch some of the kids because they’re mean, but my teacher says I’m not allowed to.”
A nod along, keeping Jellybean’s hand firmly grasped in mine so I don’t lose her in the streets. “Yes, Jelly. You can only punch people when they hit you first.”
“So I have to get them to hit me first?” she asks.
I laugh a bit. “No, you don’t try to make them hit you, Jellybean.”
“But then I won’t be able to hit them.”
“You don’t need to hit them!” I exclaim.
Jellybean rolls her eyes. “Whatever you say, Dad.”
That’s another thing. Jellybean knows I’m her brother, but she calls me dad. I’m not against it, but it makes me feel much older than I actually am.
We're almost to the soccer fields when Jellybean moves to a new topic. “Amy says her mom got married and that now she has two dads, but I know you can’t have two dads because that’s not how sex works.”
I sigh. Jellybean has never been one for book smarts, but she catches onto everything else fairly quickly. The girl has got some mad street smarts. I attempt to explain, “Well, one of them is her step father. He’s not really her father but she can call him that.”
“Like how I call you ‘dad’?” she asks.
“Sorta,” I tell her.
“So if you got married would I have a mom?” She asks when we arrive at the fields.
I look down to see that she’s staring up to me, waiting for the answer to her question. “I’m not getting married, Jellybean.”
She furrows her brow. “Why not?”
I sigh, sitting on the bottom row of the bleachers. She stands in front of me, eye level. “Well, I don't have anybody to marry.”
Jellybean nodes along. “Okay.”
I thank God that she took the answer as it was and had not questioned further like she normally does. I send her off in the direction of the field after making sure her shoes are tightly tied. I move a few rows up in the bleachers so I can see most of the field without turning my head.
I’m the only guy in the bleachers, naturally. The rest of the parents or guardians are soccer moms. I glance down at the field to see the boys and girls running around, warming up. The soccer team is a community program, so they don’t separate teams by gender in the younger kids.
My gaze travels next to me as a woman sits down. She’s the literal embodiment of a soccer mom. Her hair is pulled in a high ponytail. It is such an intense shade of blonde that the sun reflects it harshly, forcing you not to stare directly at it. She wears an old pair of jeans, stained in paint and a simple light pink t-shirt. She had sun shades covering her eyes and her legs crossed, propping up a book.
I can't help but roll my eyes. Despite the stereotype, she’s pretty. Probably beautiful behind those sunglasses.
“Good book?” I ask.
The woman looks over to me and smiles. “Oh yeah. Completely messed up, but intriguing.”
I smile and hold out my hand to her. Maybe if I made a friend here then I wouldn’t have to sit alone for an hour and a half being bored out of my mind. “Jughead Jones.”
“Betty Cooper.” She says taking my hand. I notice that the ends of her fingers have calluses, much like mine. Mine are from spending hours upon hours typing away at my computer until the labeling of the letters rubs off.
“Which one’s yours?” I ask.
Betty points to the side of the field where two children sit. Twins maybe. “My niece and nephew.”
I nod, “Mine’s the one that just tripped over the ball.” I point in her direction, chuckling a bit.
Betty laughs. “Sister?”
I give a puzzled look. “How’d you know?”
Betty smiles. “Because, you laughed when she fell. Most fathers would chuckle and comment that she received her clumsiness through her mother. You seem to find the situation more funny which is more attuned to a brother. While there’s a possibility for or to be her father, you look too young to have a child in the eight to ten year old age range.”
I smile, “Are you a psychologist or something?”
She laughs and shakes her head. “No, I just watch too many cops shows to not be able to profile a person. I’m actually a literary critic.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Oh really?”
“Yes,” She says. She gestures to her book. When she does catch a glimpse at the cover and see that it’s one of my books. It’s one of my earlier ones. “I can work just about anywhere.”
I smile and turn back to the field.
“What do you do for a living?” She asks.
“I’m an author actually.”
“Are you published?” She asks intrigued.
I chuckle. “You could say that. Seven best sellers.”
“I’m surprised I haven’t heard your name then.”
“I work under a pen name.” I tease.
“Would you tell me?” She asks.
“Well I’d have to kill you then,” I joke.
She laughs, closing her book and setting it aside. Well, I think, she’s fully invested in this conversation now. I position myself so I’m turned towards her and she does the same. I lean my elbow on the row of bleachers above us. “Well, then you would have a plot for your next book.”
I smile. “Ahh, an author/serial killer keeps his secret identity by murdering anybody who learns who he is.”
She laughs. “I would read it.”
I continue, “The book is from the point of view of the daughter of the author, who knows of her fathers doings and tries to exploit them.”
“You’re FP Jones aren't you?”
I froze, staring. “How-”
She smiled. “All of your books are written from an unexpected point of view. Murders in a small town not told by the sheriff, but by a high school boy. A murder on a plane not told by the investigators, but by a curious flight attendant. A prison story told from the point of view of an innocent inmate, all the while still capturing the drugs running in and out and the affair between a former gang banger and a murdering son of a preacher. When you joked about the point of view it gave you away. FP Jones is the only author that uses that style and a penn name.”
Through her speech, a smile slowly forms across my face. “Well, now I have to kill you.”
“And how will you do that?” She asks.
I wink. “You’ll have to wait and see.”
What the fuck, self. What the hell are you thinking? Why are you flirting with her, over the topic of murder no less? She is just a simple soccer mom, well, soccer aunt. You cannot flirt with her. You do not have time to fall in love!
Betty smiles. Her smile is bright, happy, and real. I’ve not seen many real smiles in my lifetime. Betty’s is genuine though, and it’s refreshing. “That’s assuming you’ll see me again.”
“Will I not?” I challenge.
Betty shakes her head. “I’m only taking the kids this weekend because my sister is on a weekend business trip.”
“Well then, I guess I’ll have to ask you for that date now, since I may not see you again.” What the hell am I doing? I've gone nuts. Absolutly bat shit crazy.
“Well, if you were to ask me out, I would inform you that I don't put out until at least the third date.” She smiles.
I laugh. “I’m sure it’s worth the wait.”
At that, Betty blushes. I take the chance. Maybe it’s the fact that Jellybean was grilling me about my love life earlier, or It could be that I enjoy this stranger’s company, but I want to see more of her. I’m only human.
“Will you go out with me?” I ask.
She smiled, “How could I say no?”
I smile back. At the end of the practice, we exchange phone numbers just as the kids are bounding up the bleachers. Jellybean comes and sits in my lap, sweaty, panting, and giggling. “Dad! Did you see how I made a goal?”
“Yes,” I lie, standing, taking her up with me and parching her on my hip. “It was so cool.”
“Really, because I didn’t make a goal,” Jellybean says pointedly.
I hear Betty snort and I shoot her a glare.
Jellybean places her hands on my face and turns me to look at her. “You have to watch next time, Dad.”
“Okay,” I tell her just so the subject will be dropped. “I'll make sure to watch you extra close next week.”
Jellybean pats my cheek and hops down. I roll my eyes and take her hand. She leads me to the steps of the bleachers. I wave goodbye to Betty. I can feel her eyes on my back as I walk away.
“Can we get ice cream?” Jellybean asks when we’ve left the park.
“We have ice cream at home,” I tell her.
“But I want Pop’s ice cream,” She tells me.
I sigh. “Fine,” I say. Besides, ice cream sounds really good right now anyways.
XxX
That night, after I get Jellybean into bed, I pick up my phone and stare at Betty’s contact info. It’s not too late, so I figured I could propose when our date will be. But where do you take a woman like Betty? She obviously likes to read and watch cop shows. She seems like she would also be the person to like old movies.
Maybe… I’ve got the perfect idea.
I text her.
J- Are you free next Friday, 5:30?
In the time that it takes her to respond I shower and get ready for bed. I try not to get too worried about the lack of response. She could still be putting the twins to bed. When she does reply, I’m polishing up a chapter on my current work on my laptop.
B- Sounds do-able. May I ask where you’re taking me?
I smile and reply
J- Wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise.
B- You better not be taking me out to the woods to kill me.
J- Now, now, Betty. I never wrap everything up in a meere chapter. There must be a slow burn.
J- I have to at least wait till the fifth date until I bring out the hatchet.
B- Oh of course, my bad.
J- No worries, I know youre new at this whole ‘being a potential murder victim’ thing.
B- Yes, I’m quite inexperienced.
J- I can always help you.
B- Ah yes, murderer teaches victim how to properly be murdered.
J- It’s tradition. There's a ceremony and everything.
B- I bet there is.
I find myself yawning and squinting at the bright screen of my phone. I close my laptop and set it on the nightstand, getting more comfortable on the bed.
J- I must bid you farewell. These days Jellybean wakes up at the ass crack of dawn asking for pancakes.
B- Well, I bid you adieu.
J- Adieu, Betty Cooper.