While popstars and rockstars had energetic blowouts, writers and producers had banquets and quiet galas. At the start of every summer Mercedes' label had a gathering to celebrate a few behind the scenes members. She hadn't been honored yet, but she was glad to cheer on others.
Sam sat through the award ceremony, but couldn't help noticing how he stood out. Diamond necklaces, gold watches, name brand purses, he never thought he'd elevate to be in a room full of people so luxurious. "I mean, I didn't come up. I just got married." He looked around his table and saw songwriters that were married to singers, actors and professional models- not ones that had a short go at it.
Mercedes spent the ceremony whispering to her friend, Monica, commenting on the work of the award winners. They met while co-writing Mercedes's second album. Like her other friends, they worked in different cities; Monica was (self proclaimed) Houston's Queen of Soul. The two had plenty in common and took pride in being black women with a strong standing in the industry.
The event ended, and while waiting for their table to be excused to leave, Monica offered, "I could use your help with a writing workshop I'm hosting." She pouted after being rejected. "You can't leave me to revive R&B by myself. Think of it as a six weeks paid vacation away from the kids. The students have already been selected. They're college grads that need a leg up in the business and a woman who admitted in her essay that her first child was conceived to our songs. During the week, you get treated like the goddess that you are…"
Mercedes let her friend ramble with stars in her eyes. "You are too much," she laughed. She declined again.
Monica was running out of time to convince her. She reached across and reintroduced herself to Sam; she couldn't be forgotten in just three hours. "You're a teacher, but can I give you a little homework?" She hugged the other woman's shoulders and gave a wide smile. "Please convince her to come with me next week. I will take good care of her."
Sam chuckled at her, but before he could make any promises, their table was released. He spent the entire ride home trying to sway his wife. After parking in their driveway, he summarized all his reasons for her to go. "Show other people why you're the best at what you do. This job sounds cool. I can take care of the kids."
"So you're telling me that you can work through summer school and take care of eight kids alone without having an emotional breakdown?"
"...Uh, yeah." He had to try it at least once. He didn't want to put too much pressure on the older kids to help out, but they surely wouldn't let their younger brothers starve to death. "You have to go. The future of R&B depends on you," he joked.
She scoffed, "Monica says that every year, and I always said 'no.' If you don't mind, I'd rather not talk about this any more." She took Sam's hand, and her lips stretched into a grin. "The kids don't know we're out here, and the babysitter was paid for an extra hour. There's a really romantic spot I want to show you." she jumped as her door was yanked open.
Whitney peeked into the car and looked over the couple that was leaning in too close to be talking about bills. She reminded, "There are enough kids inside." She took her mom's hand and pulled her out.
Mercedes rolled her eyes at her daughter's attitude before she asked, "How was the party?"
"Someone got sick in the pool. We just changed and went to our usual spot," she huffed. During summer break, everything in Whitney's life was second to her music. She'd give her friends the first weekend, but after that, she didn't see them unless they were meeting somewhere with a stage. "Superstars have to make sacrifices," she'd say.
Sam joined the two women on the other side and shared the news of Mercedes's offer. He thought if the kids were comfortable with the idea of six weeks without their mom, she'd go. "Do you think I could handle caring for all of you alone?" he asked Whitney.
"No," she quickly answered. She grew a wicked smile. "But I want to see you cry in agony, so you should give it a shot."
Mercedes nudged her daughter. "I'd rather take care of my family than be idealized by a room of strangers. I know where I'm needed."
"Complain for a few more minutes before you agree," Whitney declared as she started up the walkway. She didn't care what the argument was; it was time for her mom to get back to living her dreams. She would put up with Sam if he kept his distance.
Prince rushed to greet his family in the foyer. Rocking between his heels and toes, he asked them about the event. "Was it fun?" He grabbed at Sam's white tuxedo shirt as a warning to stay put.
Sam moved the little hand and noticed the pink stain on his shirt. "Strawberry jam?" he questioned, earning a nod. He began to pick out the strawberry stems resting in the six year old's curly hair. "What else did you get into?" Although Prince wasn't his biological kid, he could still recognize the guilty look in his eyes.
He knew he had failed his mission when the adults passed him. "Don't go in the kitchen!" he yelled after them. If he couldn't stop them, he knew he could outrun them.
They gaped at the scene of the cooking area and three of their kids covered in flour. Their 'be on your best behavior' speech wasn't followed. "How did this happen? Where's Mrs. Ferguson?"
"She just flew away on her broom," Braxton growled as he wiped the counter.
Logan, who stood in the middle of the scene, explained, "After dinner, I decided to make a swiss roll to go with lunch tomorrow. She got mad that Thor and Prince were eating the strawberries." He always pretended that he didn't notice Thor sneaking his ingredients, and he wasn't shocked that Prince would follow the youngest's lead.
"I was upstairs getting my film equipment so I could show him how to make a real tutorial video- I mean, the boy talks to himself, Ma," Braxton added; he couldn't let that detail go unnoticed. "Then I came down and saw Prince on the floor. I didn't know if she was shaking him or if she hit him. I got mad, and I had to push her."
From the stool, Thor announced, "They were fighting." He licked at his sticky fingers. While his brothers were cleaning, he was helping himself to the jam.
Logan continued, "When she went down, she knocked over all of my ingredients." He lifted the large bowl that was filled with flour just minutes before. He looked at the mess. "We're sorry."
"Mom!" Whitney called from the second floor.
If the kitchen looked bad, the third bedroom was… "God"; that was the first word Mercedes could get out. The walls had paint splattered across them. A half painted canvas had a drumstick driven through its center. On the floor, there were two boys rolling and their sister trying to break them apart.
"Stop!" the mother ordered, making the room freeze. She demanded that all the kids stand up. "Now, ONE AT A TIME, tell me what happened?"
As if she never warned them, Peter and Jackson started talking over each other. "Tell him not to touch my stuff!" and "See what he did!" It was a lot of bickering that didn't tell the adults anything, but it did manage to rile both of the preteens back up. In seconds, they were back to trying to put the other in a wrestling hold.
Sam was the only one who could put a stop to it as he tugged his son up and out of the room.
After being cleaned and put into his pajamas, Thor sat on the sink counter of the master bathroom. He tilted his head back as he watched his stepmother perform her nightly ritual. "You're really not a princess?" His long eyelashes blinked as he waited for confirmation.
Mercedes couldn't suppress her giggles. "No, I'm a queen." She continued, answering all of Thor's questions about her products. She smiled at the boy, wishing all her kids could revert back to having his innocence. "The greatest gift is the ability to ask questions," she quoted to herself.
"Can I have some?" he asked. After Mercedes squeezed a drop of cream into his hand, he turned towards the mirror and copied her actions. Rotating his hand around his cheeks, he asked, "What does this stuff do?"
"It keeps your skin from wrinkling. It helps you look younger."
He stopped and looked at her with raised eyebrows. "I'm only five." How could he look any younger?
Sam followed the joyful sound of his wife's laugh. "Sorry to interrupt the party, but it's time for bed." He helped Thor hop down, and then he took his hand. He couldn't make it through the bedroom before noticing Prince blocking the exit. He knew there was no way the boy had a nightmare. "I just put you down," he huffed.
"I have to sleep in here." The only argument Prince had was "Jackson doesn't have to sleep in his bed."
If everyone was choosing rooms, Thor jumped, "I want Whitney's room!" He liked her string lights.
Sam gave his free hand to Prince. Leading them down the hall, he declared, "You have to sleep in your room." For a quiet night with his wife, Sam gave two bedtime stories.