All or Nothing (36 page)

She stopped trying to run. “Don't they cook turkey with giblet gravy?”

“Who cares? Grey Gables is one place I'd be happy to never go again.”

“Grey Gables?”

“Where I grew up.” Zach glanced down. “Where my father killed himself.”

“Ah.” Jen watched him carefully. “Your not going there doesn't change the fact that he's dead.”

“I know. I know.” Zach shoved a hand through his hair. “I'd just rather not.”

“What's the worst thing that can happen?” Jen asked. “They flick peas at you and throw you out of the house?”

He chuckled despite himself. “I know, it's stupid. And no one throws food: my mother would throw us all out for that.”

“You want me to come along just to protect you?”

He met her gaze steadily. “I want to be with you, I'd just rather that we were together somewhere else.”

The corner of Jen's lips tugged into a smile. “Too bad Maralys got to me first, then.”

“If she could have planned it, she would have. You don't mind going then?”

“I can't let you go alone, not now.”

“Thanks.” Zach reached out and touched Jen's shoulder. She moved closer, watching him carefully and he smiled. “Let's start over,” he murmured. “Good morning.”

She smiled then, really smiled. “Good morning,” she said, then reached to kiss him. She wrinkled her nose then and hesitated. “You smell like you've been licking carburetors.”

Zach laughed. “Sorry. It's the coffee.” He grabbed her by the hand and headed for the bathroom, then brushed his teeth again. “What do you say to a whole grain bagel?”

“Is that a lawyer joke?”

“No, it's supposed to be an offer you can't refuse.”

Jen leaned in the doorway, smiling as she watched him. “There you go, sweet-talking me with whole foods.”

“Hey, whatever works.” He rubbed a hand over his chin. “I'd better shave first. Maybe you should take off your coat again.”

“Afraid I'll make a run for it when you're at a disadvantage?”

“Pretty much.”

Jen looked at him, the warmth of her smile making Zach think of what they'd done the night before, never mind what they could do together in the future.

“Okay,” she said. “I haven't had my coffee yet, anyway.”

She hung up her jacket and retrieved the coffee. Roxie bounced along beside her when she went into the living room, and Zach heard Jen talking to the dog. He smiled when Roxie brought her a favorite toy and Jen exclaimed over it.

D
isaster had been narrowly averted and lo, it was good.

Jen was glowing when Zach and Roxie walked her to the T station later that morning. She was walking on air when Zach gave her a kiss good bye and grinned when he muttered that it should be illegal for her to melt his Jockeys in public. Jen paid her fare, smiled at the conductor, and rode home blissfully happy.

She'd never had so much fun in bed, that was for sure.

And she'd never had a partner so determined to both give and receive. Her impulse to go with Zach the night before had definitely been a good thing.

Life was good.

Jen floated through her day, ignoring her mother's comments about the beneficial power of orgasm. She headed to Teresa's later that day, filled with significantly more optimism about the evening ahead than she had been earlier.

Orgasm was potent stuff.

Or was it love?

Either way, Jen was going with it.

* * *

Teresa's apartment was every bit as glamorous as Jen remembered, and the black cashmere prosthesis didn't help that much.

It was always a bit daunting to step into Teresa's home, always an occasion to feel underdressed and inelegant. It would have been more intimidating if Jen hadn't helped with the decorating, or if she hadn't known how much of the work Teresa had done herself.

It was still perfect. Always perfect. Jen didn't imagine for a minute that even if she lived alone, her home would be perfect. There'd always be a bra hanging from the bedroom doorknob, or a boot on its side beside its partner in the foyer. There'd be a dirty tea mug in the sink and a towel that wasn't hung exactly perfectly in the bathroom. Jen didn't worry about such things. They were how, in her opinion, you could tell the difference between real homes and those fake homes featured in magazines.

Teresa's apartment shouldn't have actually had a live occupant. It was elegantly decorated in pewter and white, and always made Jen feel as if she was standing inside a cloud. The tables were chrome-edged with mirrored tops; the cushy sofa was upholstered in silvery leather; the shaggy white rug on the floor looked like the hide of some alpine beast. The walls were pale grey, the vertical blinds matched that hue perfectly and the floor was a darker anthracite.

Even the art was pale and ethereal, prints pressed between layers of glass framed in silver, a framing technique that let the wall show where the mat would otherwise have been. The view out the windows, looking over the glitter of Boston and the ocean beyond from the forty-second floor, added to the sense of it being an eagle's eyrie.

As did the quantity of Teresa's stash. The stash poured out of closets with the slightest encouragement, where it was trapped into color coordinated boxes. The stash seemed to find these boxes too confining, because spilled on to the floor and piled on the couch in a glorious riot of color and texture with amazing speed.

It could have been said that Teresa's nest was well-feathered, but feathers were about the only natural fiber that she hadn't yet managed to collect. She had alpaca and llama and musk ox and angora and mohair. She had wool in a hundred varieties from merino to superwash and every color in the rainbow. She had sock wool and aran weight wool and fingering weight and chunky. She had Lopi and baby wool and every damn weight in between.

It was a kind of nirvana to be let loose in Teresa's stash and to admire her new additions. The two friends sat on the floor, piling skeins and balls of wool across the couch, the floor and the coffee table, drinking cranberry martinis and retrieving stray balls from the pouncing paws of Teresa's tiger-striped tabby. Gingerbear finally retreated under the couch, his eyes bright as he watched his prey being moved back and forth, his tail thrashing against the floor in anticipation.

Jen had brought her knitting, including the completed avocado. The sum of her work and her stash appeared meager in comparison to the marvels of Teresa's collection. Teresa, after all, had knit a glittering twin set for evening wear—with a daring halter—a bikini and four shawls since Jen had seen her last. Teresa gave the avocado a critical inspection, asking questions about its construction, then pronounced it ‘brilliant'.

“What's next?” she asked, pouring their second crantinis even though Jen's was only half gone.

“I don't know. First I have to finish my Christmas knitting.”

Teresa sat back in surprise. “Go on—you're making gifts?”

Jen nodded. “Well, yes, you see...”

“Wait a minute. This is Ms. I-Can't-Commit-Beyond-A-Cherry sitting before me, isn't it?”

Jen smiled. “It seemed time to get beyond that. The avocado was a bigger project, after all.”

Teresa regarded her skeptically. “How many Christmas gifts?”

“I've made socks for my mom,” Jen began, unpacking the gifts from her backpack.

Teresa exclaimed over the little cable on the heel of the socks for Natalie and fingered the wool with approval. She put on the mittens for M.B. and framed her face with them. “They're so soft and thick! Comforting and mysterious, just like M.B.” Before Jen could comment on that, Teresa admired the lace scarf that was still on Jen's needles for Gran. “You'd better get moving or that will be a hanky by Christmas Eve.”

“I know. Do you mind if I knit?”

“No, go ahead. I'll just drink to excess instead.”

“You don't have a project in the works?” Jen asked with surprise.

Teresa shook her head firmly, threw back the rest of her crantini and changed the subject. Jen knew it would be better to wait, that the truth would come out in time. “So, why are you knitting like a fiend? Is there something you aren't telling me about your prognosis?”

Jen looked up in surprise. “You don't think these are death gifts?”

“I wouldn't put it past you to be that organized.”

“I'm fine.”

“Good.” Teresa considered Jen. “You look good. You look, in fact, suspiciously happy.”

“Maybe I am.”

“Maybe you're getting some action.”

Jen laughed. “You sound like my mother.”

“And you sound like the Jen who was my roommate, all those many years ago. She had an infectious laugh like that.” Teresa stuck out her hand. “Welcome back.”

“I wasn't that bad.”

“You've been pretty grim. And you know, not unreasonably so. I would have been downright morbid, but you're tougher than you look.” She winked, softening her words with her expression. “So, what gives? Who's the guy? And what are you knitting for him?”

Jen gave her friend a quelling look. “I'm not going to invoke the sweater curse.”

Teresa laughed. “Ah, the infamous sweater curse. Does every man run in terror when the woman he's dating makes him a sweater?”

“There must be a bunch of them who do, otherwise there wouldn't be a curse.”

“True. All true. Did you knit Steve a sweater?”

“No.”

“Maybe you should have.”

Jen laughed.

Teresa drank, watching Jen's response with interest. “I never thought you'd laugh about that bastard.”

“Well, I am.”

“Good. So, tell me about the new guy. You must be serious if you don't want to scare him off.” Teresa mixed another round of drinks. “Not to mention that glint of sexual satisfaction I see in your eye.”

“Jealous?” Jen teased, fully expecting that Teresa would be seeing someone. Her friend never seemed to lack for male company.

To her surprise, Teresa nodded. “You bet.”

“You're not seeing anyone?”

“Not since Mark.” Teresa shrugged. “It just seems so pointless, kind of like my job. I'm tired of ambitious and driven people, and I sure as hell don't want to date any more of them.”

“I thought you were one of those people,” Jen said. “I mean, you don't make CFO without working pretty hard. It's what I've always admired about you.”

“But what's the point, Jen? I just get to work harder. I'm surrounded by people like me, all chasing more money and more toys and finding themselves less satisfied all the time.” She drank, then grimaced. “Some days, I'd like to drive over my cell phone and Blackberry and smash them to bits, so no one could call me up out of the blue and demand that I answer for something. Some days, I'd just like to get into the car and drive away from it all.” She looked around the gorgeous apartment with dissatisfaction, then forced a smile. “But then they'd come after me when the lease payment wasn't made, wouldn't they?”

“It wouldn't look good for a CFO to get nailed for non-payment of personal debts,” Jen said, trying to make Teresa laugh.

“True. All true. But then, wouldn't bailing on the CFO job be the point?”

“What would you do instead?”

Teresa sighed. “I just don't know. It's the only thing I know how to do, although sometimes it feels that I spend more energy playing office politics than doing my actual job.” She shrugged and topped up their glasses, although Jen's was still full. “Sorry. I must just have PMS.”

“It's too soon for you to have a midlife crisis.”

“Maybe it's my biological clock.”

“I didn't even know you wanted children.”

“I don't know if I do either. It would be nice, though, to have the choice before it gets made for me.”

“Ambitious men make good providers,” Jen noted, trying only to be helpful.

Teresa half-laughed. “But they make crap fathers. I should know. You know, you're lucky in way that your father just bailed.”

Jen remembered the crushing disappointment of finally meeting her father when she was twelve, only to have him prove to be completely disinterested in her. He'd made an excuse, bolted—to the relief of both of them—and she hadn't seen him since. “No, but there were times when I wished there'd been more.”

“Only because you're such a giving person. Think what kind of attitude you could have caught from a man like that.” Teresa dismissed Jen's father with a wave, knowing as she did all the details of the one story Jen had about him. “You were better off with Natalie checking your chakras.”

“I guess so.”

“I know so. You don't have much baggage, or at least less than you would have if he'd hung around and messed with your expectations.”

“Maybe you do have PMS,” Jen said in a teasing tone. “Or did you catch grim from me? I didn't think it was contagious.”

“You're right. I'm sorry. I've just gotten everything I thought I wanted, at least the parts that I can get myself, and it seems like so little.” Teresa picked up Gingerbear and spoke solemnly to him. “I should be like you, and be happy with having one ball of wool to play with.”

“You have enough stash that you could open a store,” Jen noted.

Teresa shook her head. “No way. Then other people would want to touch my stash, even buy it and take it home. I could never let that happen.”

“But I'm touching your stash.”

“I know where you live.” Teresa gave Jen a fierce look. “If anything's missing tomorrow, I'll come get it back.”

“Are you sure you can take me? What if it was something I really wanted?”

“Then I'd have to be sneaky and get Cin on my side.” They laughed together and Teresa drank some more. “Do you have any stash yet?” she asked abruptly.