The Redhead Revealed (2) (16 page)

“Jack, oh, God, so good…I…mmm…please…Jack!” I screamed as I came hard around him, clamping down and shaking as I threw my head back. He caught me, sitting up beneath me, driving deeper and further into me as his own orgasm made him cry out.

“Grace,” he murmured as his body shook with rapture.

I cradled him to my chest, feeling him pulse inside me. I wrapped my legs firmly behind his back, making sure to keep him where I wanted him. My hands slid across his back and into his damp hair, rocking him slowly as we settled in. I was thoroughly overwhelmed with feeling for him, this man who was so dear to me. He felt so close, so warm, so mine.

I kissed his cheek, pressing my forehead against his as he smiled. “I love you so much. You know that, right?” I looked him dead in the eye, suddenly serious. I was overcome with a longing—almost anxiety—to hold him here, in this bed, in this room, and never come out. We were perfect, in this bed, in this room.

“I do know that. I love you too, sweet girl.” He sighed, crushing me to him, face tight against my chest.

We were quiet. We were still. We were content. It was the calm before the storm.

***

The rest of that day was…well, it just was. The best word to describe it is surreal.

It began with Holly’s arrival with bagels and the laughing judgment of our performance she’d heard over the phone. She was a dirty girl and hadn’t hung up right away, instead enjoying the free phone sex we so thoughtfully provided.

Jack took an indulgent shower while we had some girl time. She complimented me again on the colors I’d chosen for my kitchen as we sat and talked. It was the first time I’d seen her since I’d left for New York.

“I do love how you laid out this kitchen, Grace. It’s perfect. I’m thinking of redoing mine. Maybe next year,” she said thoughtfully, swirling cream cheese on her Asiago bagel.

“Don’t you dare! Your kitchen is perfect. You just miss me cooking in it, which I’ll do as soon as I get home. Michael and I cook all the time in my kitchen in New York, but it’s nothing like this one,” I added, spreading butter on my own everything bagel.

“When do you think you’ll be coming home?” she asked, looking around for Jack.

“He’s in the shower, why? What’s up?” I looked at her carefully.

“Well, do you think the show’s going to be picked up? If it does, are you ready to move across the country? If it does well you could be there a year, maybe even longer,” she said, arching an eyebrow and taking an obnoxiously big bite. Cream cheese oozed out the side of her mouth.

“You’re disgusting. You know that, right?” I frowned as I handed her a napkin.

“Shut it, and don’t change the subject. What will you do? Are you prepared for that? You sure this is what you want?” she asked again, wiping her chin.

I sighed and leaned on my elbow. I’d been thinking a lot about this lately. When I first got to New York, it was just so busy and exciting and thrilling. But now that we were getting close to the previews, and there was a real shot at this becoming a fully mounted production, I realized things could change. For real. But Michael made things easier. He made me feel at home in New York. Like I belonged there.

“This is the single most amazing thing that’s ever happened to me. I’d be an idiot to turn my back and walk away,” I answered, putting down my bagel and laying my head on the counter. My stomach had felt strange all morning, and now it was fluttering like crazy. Must be nerves about tonight.

“Grace?” Holly asked, placing a hand on my shoulder and shaking me a little.

“How could I walk away?” I asked, almost to myself.

“From the show or from Jack?” she asked quietly. I heard her bagel thunk down on the plate—a plate from the set I’d ordered and never even eaten a meal off of.

“What does Jack have to do with this?” I asked the countertop sharply.

“Grace, look at me,” she commanded. I peeked at her through my arms.

“Where’s your head? Why does it sound like you’re making a choice all of a sudden?”

“Well, don’t I have to? I mean, it’s going to come down to that eventually, right? How the hell can we keep this going like this? This is insane…” I began, surprised by the words coming out of my mouth.

Where was this coming from?

Where do you think? You have a giant mental drawer of “I will think about you tomorrows” you’ve piled up and never gone through. Someone asks you one little question and Now It Will Rain Shit.

“Grace? You really want to do this now? What else is going on?” she asked.

I looked at my best friend. The one who’d taken care of me so many times, looked out for me, and opened her home to me. The one who helped me get back on track and never, ever asked for anything in return, other than my friendship. She knew me as well as anyone, and the knowledge that I wouldn’t be able to hide anything from her made me lose it.

The tears came in a rush, flooding my eyes and dripping onto my cheeks and my shirt—his shirt. He’d cut a slit in each side of the neck hole so it would never get stuck again, making it mine now. When I’d said something about it, he smiled and said, “Heh-heh, you said neck hole.”

I sobbed silently, with no idea exactly why I was crying. All I knew was it had to come out. My thoughts were swirling, not letting me take a breath.

Holly just sat and watched me. Neither one of us was big on the sister hug. She patted my hand, then wiped my snot when I began to calm down.

“Okay, start at the beginning,” she said, her eyes kind.

“I don’t even know where the beginning is! I didn’t even know I was upset. I—I—” I began to wail again.

“Grace! Grace, get control. Calm down, ya dillhole,” she instructed.

Her words broke through my wail and made me laugh a little. I took some deep breaths and laid my head back down on the cool granite.

“Just talk, fruitcake, and we’ll see what sticks to the wall,” she said.

So I talked. And I talked. And I was terrified at what came out of me. I talked about how amazing the show was, and how happy I was in New York. I talked about how glad I was to be back up on a stage again, thrilled to be working with such amazing people. I talked about Michael, and how glad I was we were friends. I talked about Michael, and how close we’d gotten again.

I closed my eyes in sudden exhaustion. I was frightened by the images playing in cinemascope on the inside of my brain. My own little highlight reel:

Snapshots of Jack and me driving up the coast, happy and carefree.

Michael and me arguing over lunch. Him stealing my fries when he thought I wasn’t looking.

Jack and I sexing it up on the floor of the closet together.

Michael walking away with Abigail, her tiny hand in his.

I stopped suddenly.

“Holly, do you ever think about having kids?”

“What?” she asked, her face astonished. Neither of us had ever wanted kids. It was one of the things we’d bonded over right away. We both promised we’d never turn into breeders.

“I mean it. Do you ever think about it?”

“Umm, no. Why? Is there something you want to tell me? You’re not…”

“No! I mean, no. But don’t you ever think about it?”

“Do you ever think about it?” she asked.

I chewed my lip. I hadn’t thought about having kids for years. I always assumed it meant something that I’d made it this far in life without an inkling of thought toward the subject. It meant I wasn’t meant to have children. I’d decided something at twenty-two, slapped a sticker on it that said DECIDED, and filed it away in the don’t-have-to-worry-about-it drawer.

I would have wanted them by now, right?

Kids made me uncomfortable. I didn’t know how to talk to them, they were weird, and they smelled funny. I hated baby talk, and I never went ass-over-apple cart when I saw a stroller go by, trying to peek inside. Isn’t that what women did when they wanted kids?

Not all women behave that way. That doesn’t mean you wouldn’t be a great mom. No one would be more entertaining.

Had I made a decision about this too long ago—not allowing myself to even consider a different life, a different path? Did I need to think about whether I wanted kids? Could I allow myself to think about it?

I was thinking about it…

Let’s timeline this. You’re thirty-three, about to turn thirty-four. If you want kids, and marriage, and that life—well, hell! Let’s pretend, just for a second, that you’re with someone other than Jack, someone who wants kids.

I flinched thinking about it not being Jack.

You’d need to get married, and that would mean dating for at least a year. Engaged at thirty-five. Then, depending on how long the engagement lasts, maybe married at thirty-six. You wouldn’t want to have kids right away—be a wife for a while. So, maybe Baby Number One at thirty-seven.

Baby Number One?

Wouldn’t you want more than one?

I flashed to a picture in my head that I didn’t even know I’d stored away. It was a family on the beach: a toddler walking in front of the parents, a little one in Daddy’s arms, Mommy smiling. A family of four.

Yes. Yes, I would. I’ll have two hypothetical children with my hypothetical husband. Mr. and Mrs. Hypothetical.

So Baby Number Two at thirty-nine, maybe even forty.

Fucking hell. Pregnant at forty…when did I get so damn old?

“I am thinking about it,” I finally responded. “Not in the sense that I want them, but in the sense that I need to consider things very carefully now. I’m not getting any younger. And neither are you, by the way,” I said slowly.

“Yes, but you look so much older than I do. It’s natural that you’d be there and not me,” she said, deadpan.

I stuck my tongue out halfheartedly, feeling the room begin to spin. “Seriously, Holly. If we want kids, we have to think about this. Maybe not now, maybe not next year. But it’s not like we have twenty years in front of us to consider this shit. We have a finite amount of time,” I said, surprising myself.

That Drawer is full of stuff you haven’t dealt with. You sure you want to shed light on all of it right now?

“Where does Michael factor in to all this?”

I smiled involuntarily, thinking of him with Abigail in his arms. Her questions and his patience. His good, good heart and his strong arms.

Holly caught the smile. “Where does Jack factor in to all this?” she asked.

My stomach clenched at the thought of him. I loved him so much. Did we want different things? Maybe. Maybe we did. Could I spend my last baby-making years with a man who was too young for babies? And didn’t want babies? Do I want babies?

“I love Jack. That’s not in question,” I stated firmly, and my body immediately betrayed me. Fresh tears rained onto my cheeks, and Holly watched in horror as I hunched over, my stomach now convulsing.

“What is in question Grace?” she asked, her voice a whisper.

“Whether or not what we have is enough,” I heard my voice say, and then my body took over. I made it to the sink just in time, my bagel and coffee rushing back up at the realization of what I’d said. My brain and my heart needed a moment to fight. Holly held my hair.

As I rinsed my mouth out, I heard the shower shut off. I could hear him moving in the bathroom, and he was singing. He was singing “People Will Say We’re In Love.” I wiped my face quickly, splashing water. Holly watched in silent resignation.

“Hey, sweet girl! Have you seen my jeans from last night?” Jack bellowed.

I looked at Holly with panic in my eyes, shaking my head furiously. I backed away and ran for the door. She walked toward the bathroom.

“You better have some clothes on, Hamilton. I’m coming in to help you find your jeans. Do you know how many women I could have here in two minutes to help you with that?” she said.

Then I heard the beginning of Jack’s protesting yell as she pushed her way into my bedroom.

I didn’t hear anything else. I was in my car and out of the driveway.

The Redhead Revealed

Chapter 12

When I got back to the house, Holly and Jack were holed up in what was supposed to be my home office. They’d turned it into Premiere Central. He was on the phone, she was on the phone, and they both looked up when I came in.

“Hey, love, where’d you run off to?” he asked, covering the phone and gesturing me over. I went to him, sinking into his lap as he sat at the desk. He was talking to his dad, making plans to meet at the theater tonight.

Holly was trying to get a seamstress over to the house to take up her hemline just a little bit more. The entire day was taking on the feeling of prom: heightened expectations, limo drivers, updos, and just-under-the-surface tension.

“I had to run to the drugstore, pick up a few things,” I lied smoothly. The thirty-minute drive I’d taken had put me in a strangely calm mood. I was very good at squelching things down, and after my breakdown and potentially scary realizations this morning, I was calling on all my squelch-down skills to keep things in check. Were these very skills part of the morning’s problem? Perhaps. But no time for that now. I was in meltdown-management mode.

Holly had one eye on us and one eye on her computer screen as she tried to manage every aspect of the day from this ill-equipped office. My house was not yet ready for someone to be in it on more than a temporary basis. No DSL. No wi-fi. And her air card was not working for some reason. It was driving her batty.

Finally, she’d had enough and threw her cell phone into her bag in disgust. “That’s it! I’m heading back to my house. That’s now the command center for this entire operation. Grace, you’re in charge of bringing your dress, your lunch, and your Brit to my house by noon, got it?” she yelled, getting that wild look in her eye that often appeared just before a big event.

“Yes. No problem,” I said, somewhat numbly. I was curled into Jack’s lap, his arms around me while he talked on the phone. I could barely feel him.

She rolled her eyes at me and waved at Jack. “I’ll see you at my house in a little while,” she said to him, then nodded at me. “Walk me out?”

I peeled myself off of Jack. He kissed me on the cheek as I pulled away, and I followed Holly out to the front door. Once there, she rounded on me.