Month of Sundays (10 page)

“Maybe she fears you. Have you thought about that?”

“What does she have to be afraid of?”

“You. She was better with you than she is without you. You’re better on your own than you were with her. Maybe she can’t handle that. Where is she now?”

“She stayed in Los Angeles and I moved here. Part of me wanted to stay and challenge her for the title of best chef in southern California, but coming here represented a huge opportunity for me, and I would have been crazy to turn it down. I wanted to live and work in this city. I wanted to prove I was on par with the best chefs in the world. That remains to be seen, but I think I’m on my way. Plus I sleep better at night knowing there are three thousand miles between us.”

“What would happen if there weren’t three thousand miles between you?”

Griffin’s eyes darkened. “It would probably be the start of World War III.”

“Hey, you two,” Colleen called out. “If you’re done with KP, come in here for a sec.”

Rachel started the dishwasher. She and Griffin headed to the living room, where Colleen stood in front of the Christmas tree.

“Jane and I always open our presents on Christmas Eve,” Colleen said. “Since it’s after midnight, it’s technically Christmas Eve.” She selected three brightly wrapped gifts of various sizes and passed them out. “One for you, one for you, and one for you. Don’t open them all at once. Open them one at a time. I want to see the looks on each of your faces. You first, Griffin.”

“But I didn’t bring anything.”

Griffin attempted to return her gift, but Colleen wouldn’t allow it.

“Sure you did. You brought the best pot roast I’ve ever eaten. Now open your present.” Her eyes were shining and her cheeks were awash with color. The ginger ale must have helped. Or was playing Santa responsible for her apparent turnaround?

Griffin tore into the wrapping paper. The plain cardboard box underneath revealed no clues to its contents. She opened the box and slowly reached inside as if she were afraid of what she might find. She pulled out an apron that looked like a cocktail dress and a pair of elbow-length pot holders designed to look like opera gloves.

“You can use them for cooking or role play. That’s entirely up to you,” Colleen said.

“I vote for role play.”

“My kind of girl.” Jane held out her hand for a fist bump.

“Your turn, Rach.”

Using Colleen’s enthusiasm as a guide, Rachel opened her present with gusto. Her box contained a gag gift, too, though not one as stylish as Griffin’s. Hers was a leather-bound organizer with several pre-filled entries.

She flipped through the pages. She understood the entries for Jane’s and Colleen’s birthdays and anniversary, but the one for July 25 had her stumped. “Kiss and cry,” it read.

Colleen seemed to notice her confusion. “All will be revealed in due time.” She turned to Jane. “Your turn, lover.”

Jane’s present was the smallest of the three, the box about the size of a pen case. Jane untied the red bow wrapped around it and flipped the box open. Rachel craned her neck to see what was inside. Judging by the expression on her face, Jane’s gift was no gag. “Is this for real?” she asked, her voice choked with tears.

Colleen nodded, her eyes starting to glisten, too.

“Oh, babe.”

Jane kissed Colleen and pulled her into her lap while Rachel scrambled to get her hands on the box. Peering inside, she saw two pregnancy tests. The indicator on one sported a bright blue plus sign, the other read Pregnant.

Rachel piled on the happy couple for a group hug. “How long have you known?”

“I’ve suspected for a few weeks, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up again,” Colleen said. “I took a home pregnancy test on Monday. When it came back positive, I took two more. Okay, five more. I made an appointment with my OB-GYN the next day and she confirmed the results.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before now?” Jane asked.

“I wanted to make this Christmas the best one ever.”

“You already have.”

Jane puddled up again. Rachel felt herself beginning to do the same. “I’m so happy for you guys.” She gave Jane and Colleen another hug and kiss. “Congratulations.”

“We were hoping that if this day ever came, you would agree to be our child’s godmother,” Colleen said.

“This is a lifetime commitment we’re asking you to make,” Jane said. “We wouldn’t do it if we didn’t think you were in it for the long haul. Are you game?”

Jane and Colleen each extended a hand to her. Rachel took their hands in hers. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

“Any child of mine is bound to be a handful,” Jane said.

“No shit,” Rachel said, laughing through her tears.

“You’ll need backup.” Colleen squeezed her hand. “We’re going to ask Dieter and Kevin to be godfathers. Between the three of you, I know the baby will be in good hands.”

“You can count on me.”

Rachel wiped her streaming eyes. She couldn’t have been happier if the baby on the way were hers. The way things were going, being a godmother might be as close as she’d ever get. Would it be close enough?

*

“This is perfect, thank you.”

Griffin slipped the greeter a twenty for seating her and Rachel so close to the stage. Rachel, obviously still buzzing from Jane and Colleen’s unexpected news, practically floated to her seat. Griffin could feel the excitement pouring off her in waves. She couldn’t blame Rachel for being over the moon. She felt the same way each time her brothers announced another little Sutton was on the way, but she didn’t plan on making a similar announcement herself. Her career was going too well to put it on hold.

“Any time. Would you like to see our wine list?” the waiter asked.

“No need.” Longing for a taste of home, Griffin ordered a bottle of Napa Valley’s finest.

“Coming right up.”

“How do you always manage to be seated at the best tables?” Rachel asked.

Griffin tapped the side of her nose with her index finger. “It helps to have connections.”

“Can your ‘connections’ get tickets to
The Tempest
?”

“I doubt it.” The all-female version of Shakespeare’s classic play was the hottest ticket in town. The entire run had been sold out for months, ticket sales spurred on by the presence of Academy Award-winning actress Helen Mirren reprising the role of Prospera she originated on film. Griffin put Rachel’s request in her memory bank but didn’t hold out hope she’d be able to make a withdrawal. But if she could, she might earn some serious brownie points.

Time to put Tucker to work.

She looked around the club. All the tables were filled. The booths, too.

Every time she came to Avenue C, she felt as if she were walking into a time machine. Vintage concert posters and album covers adorned the walls. Interspersed between them were autographed photos of artists who had graced the stage. Billie Holiday, Ella Fitzgerald, Duke Ellington, Charlie Parker, John Coltrane, Miles Davis, Thelonious Monk. What she wouldn’t give to have been able to see those legends perform live.

The house band took the stage. Rachel applauded enthusiastically instead of snapping her fingers. A rookie mistake. She was instantly apologetic.

“I’m sorry I’m so weird.”

“It’s okay.” Griffin rubbed her back to take away the sting of embarrassment. “I like weird.”

Rachel surprised her by voicing her inner thoughts. “I like you.”

“I like you, too, Puddles.”

Rachel laughed softly at the private joke. Griffin wanted to hear the sound again.

“I hadn’t pictured you as a jazz fan,” Rachel said.

“It’s in my blood. My grandfather used to own a jazz club in Los Angeles. The first integrated club of its kind.”

“Used to own? Who’s the current owner?”

Griffin shrugged. “Grandpa sold out during the sixties when acid rock took over and jazz lost its popularity. The place has been through several incarnations since then. Today it’s a comedy club, but I don’t know whose name is on the lease. I’d love to buy it back one day and return it to its original roots as a haven for up-and-coming musicians and a hangout for established artists.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Because my business manager says restaurants and nightclubs are bad investments. I know he’s right, but sometimes you have to follow your heart.”

The waiter brought the wine and two glasses. Griffin took a preliminary sip and nodded her approval. The waiter filled both glasses and left to attend to customers at another table.

On the stage, the drummer laid down a furious solo. His sticks moved so fast Griffin was surprised they didn’t catch fire.

“I think you were almost as excited about Jane and Colleen’s news as they were,” she whispered when the stand-up bass player took center stage. Wendy Harrison, her trumpet tucked under her arm, stood waiting her turn.

Rachel slid her chair closer to hers so they could continue their hushed conversation. “They’ve been trying for a baby for years. I’ve shared every setback and disappointment with them. I’m ecstatic to be able to share the culmination of something they’ve struggled so mightily to achieve.”

“I have to add another accolade to your growing list. Smart, funny, loyal, sexy,
and
loving. You’re going to be a great mother.”

“You mean godmother, don’t you?”

“No.” Griffin ran her hand through Rachel’s hair and rested her palm on the back of her neck. “I’ve never met anyone with a heart as big as yours. Any kid would be lucky to be able to call you Mom.”

Tears flooded Rachel’s eyes. “Thank you,” she said, her voice breaking. “If my kids need surf lessons, I know who to call.”

Griffin draped her arm across the back of Rachel’s chair. “I’m your girl.”

*

Rachel didn’t want to go back to her empty apartment after the last set ended at Avenue C. She wanted to go home. Jane and Colleen’s news was too good not to share. She said good night to Griffin outside the club, then headed to her parents’ place.

It was nearly three when she rang the bell. Despite the late hour, flickering light filtered through the front window. The TV was on in the living room. No surprise there. Her mother was a notorious night owl. Her father, on the other hand, usually fell asleep as soon as the eleven o’clock news ended. He was probably snoring soundly in his armchair, waiting for his wife of forty years to wake him and tell him it was time to head up to bed.

Rose Bauer drew back the curtain and peered out the window. Her hair, a halo of salt-and-pepper curls, framed her heart-shaped face. Her cautious eyes softened when she saw Rachel. She let the curtain drop and unlocked the door. She poked her head outside and looked around.

Rachel sighed. “It’s just me, Mom.”

“Is everything okay, sweetie?” Her mother gripped the lapels of her terry cloth robe to ward off the cold. “What are you doing out this late?”

“I wanted to see you.”

“At this hour?”

“It’s never too late to come home, is it?”

“Of course not.” Her mother wrapped her in a hug so tight Rachel saw stars. “It’s been ages since you’ve made the trip out here. Come inside before you catch your death of cold.” She pulled Rachel into the house and called out for Rachel’s father. “Gene, wake up and get out here. Rachel’s home.”

Rachel’s mother linked her arm through hers and led her through the living room to the kitchen.

“You look skinny. Haven’t you been eating?”

“Yes, but not as much.”

“I can tell. I can practically see your ribs.” She poked a finger into Rachel’s side for emphasis. “There’s some leftover apple pie in the refrigerator. I’ll put on a pot of coffee and we’ll have a nice chat.” She warmed two slices of pie, pressed a healthy scoop of vanilla ice cream on top of each, then placed one saucer in front of Rachel and saved the other for herself.

Rachel’s latest conversation with Griffin had left her feeling at odds. Family meant so much to Griffin. How could she not want one of her own? At Avenue C, Griffin had paid her the ultimate compliment by saying she thought she’d make an excellent mother, but the kind words reminded Rachel that Griffin didn’t want to be a mother herself.

She eyed the thick slice of apple pie dripping with melting ice cream. How long had it been since she’d had real sugar?

One slice couldn’t hurt.

She grabbed a spoon and began to help herself to the pie.

The smell of brewing coffee drew her father to the room. Gene Bauer’s sleep-tousled silver hair was sticking straight up on his head like Don King’s in his heyday.

“Jane and Colleen are having a baby,” Rachel said around a mouthful of ice cream.

Her mother squealed in delight, but her father was noticeably underwhelmed.

“Glad to hear it, but I doubt that’s the real reason you dragged yourself all the way out to Long Island.” He tightened the sash of his robe across his round belly and bent to give her a kiss on the forehead. “What’s her name?”

“Who?”

He sat across from her and reached across the table to give her hand an affectionate pat. “Whoever has you this bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. What’s her name?”