by Heidi Betts
Antagonism had quickly turned to passion, however, and the two were now cheerfully involved, living together and maybe, possibly, perhaps one day willing to take the next step toward a ring- and vow-related commitment.
Considering Jenna’s own failed marriage and current romantic dry spell, it wasn’t always easy to see her two best friends happily involved. She’d wallowed in her own misery long enough, however-and boy, had she ever. So now whenever compare-and-despair depression threatened to swamp her, she tried to remind her-self of how very much she cared about Grace and Ronnie, and that someday she, too, might find someone and fall in love again.
Hey, it could happen.
“I’ll take care of the food,” Grace offered, loading up a tray with mass quantities of Mexican take-out that she pulled from multiple bags and containers.
“Ronnie,” she continued, “you take the radio into the living room and find somewhere to plug it in. We must have music to make Mexican Night fantastico.”
Ronnie bustled around, unplugging the radio and hoisting it off the counter.
“Jenna, don’t just stand there,” Grace, ever the take-charge kind of gal, ordered, shaking a lock of hair away from her face. “Grab some glasses and start pouring. I’ve been waiting all week to get plastered.”
With a chuckle, Jenna grabbed three jelly jars-the only drinking glasses her eccentric aunt had to offer-from a nearby cupboard. Carrying them in one hand and the pitcher of thick margaritas in the other, she headed for the living room.
“See you in there,” she threw over her shoulder, knowing Grace wouldn’t be far behind.
Moments later, all three women were sitting cross-legged on the floor behind the low coffee table, backs resting against Charlotte ’s faded red old-fashioned brocade settee. Jenna poured them each a healthy dose of the thick, frothy, pale peach concoction while Ronnie and Grace took turns loading up plates with a little bit of everything their favorite Mexican restaurant had to offer.
As was typical of their Girls’ Nights, they’d gone overboard with both the food and the drinks. There were cheese quesadillas, chicken enchiladas, beef and bean burritos, crispy fish taquitos, side orders of rice and beans, and for dessert, mini churros. The very thought of those sweet cinnamon snacks waiting at the end of the meal made Jenna’s mouth water.
“So how are you doing out here all on your own?” Ronnie asked after they’d each taken several bites and downed half of their slushy drinks.
Jenna swallowed before answering. “Fine. Caring for the alpacas means no sleeping in, but I’m used to being up early for school. And it’s quiet with no one else around, but I’m used to that, too.” She took a sip of her margarita. “Thanks for coming all the way out here, by the way. I could have just as easily driven back into town.”
Grace flicked a taquito-filled hand. “Don’t be silly. It’s nice to meet somewhere new for a change, and I have to admit it’s kind of fun to be here without Charlotte around.”
Ronnie’s face blanched as she choked on a mouthful of Mexican rice.
“Oh, I didn’t mean it that way,” Grace quickly corrected herself with a small eye roll. “I just meant that it feels sort of… wicked, like when I was a kid and my parents would leave me home alone. I’d poke around for secret hidey-holes, hoping to find hidden birthday and Christmas presents.”
“And did you?” Jenna wanted to know.
“Sometimes. But I sort of lost interest after I snooped one time too many and ended up discovering their sex drawer.” She shuddered with revulsion, sending Jenna and Ronnie into peals of laughter.
“Oh, my God,” Ronnie gasped, “what did you find?”
Grace shook her head as though it were too horrific a memory to put into words, but then said, “Some magazines and… toys.”
“Eeew!” The three of them cringed and shuddered, simultaneously doing their best to shake off the mental image.
“I didn’t fully understand what everything was at the time, but I sort of knew instinctively that I shouldn’t be seeing them. It was traumatizing, believe me, especially later when I did start to figure out what they were for. There are some things a child just should not know about her parents, no matter how old she gets.”
“Did they ever find out?” Jenna asked.
“God, no!” Grace’s normally unflappable demeanor slipped, showing a flush of color on her cheeks. “Can you imagine? I’d have had to shoot myself or move to Siberia or something out of sheer embarrassment.”
“Well, you’re not the only one trying to block out childhood trauma,” Ronnie said, pulling a slice of quesadilla apart to eat section by section. “I once walked in on my father just after he’d stepped out of the shower and was still naked. I don’t think we looked each other in the eye again for about six years.”
They all howled again, continuing to eat and imbibe great gulps of mango margarita.
“How about you, Jenna?” Grace pressed. “Any ‘walked in on Mommy and Daddy doing it doggy-style’ issues that it took many years in therapy from which to recover?”
Jenna shook her head adamantly, grateful she’d survived her childhood blessedly unscathed, at least where parental nudity and bedroom habits were concerned. Then again, her parents hadn’t exactly been known for their overt sensuality or spontaneity.
She’d been an only child, and her parents had both been rather quiet and austere. Her father had been the tie-and-pocket-protector type, more interested in his work at a local accounting firm than in his wife or daughter. And her mother had never worn a skirt that fell above the knee or a blouse that didn’t button all the way to her chin.
“Definitely not. As tightly wound as my folks were, it’s a wonder I even exist. I swear, I’m not sure Marvin and Bernadette Langan even took their clothes off to bathe, let alone actually had sexual intercourse.”
She pronounced the last “seshual intercourse” in a prim, near-British accent, nearly causing Grace and Ronnie to spit their Mexican fiesta halfway across the room.
“Maybe your dad accidentally rolled over on your mom on the way to the bathroom one night,” Grace offered, completely straight-faced.
“Or maybe you were an immaculate conception.” This from Ronnie.
Jenna bit extra hard into her cinnamon churro, savoring the crunchy sweetness before finally swallowing. “I wouldn’t be surprised. And if that’s the case, I sincerely hope it runs in the family, because divine intervention is about the only way I’m ever likely to get knocked up myself.”
“Awwww.” Ronnie put down her now-empty glass, wiped her hands on a paper napkin, and scooted a couple of inches closer to wrap an arm around Jenna’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, sweetie, you’ll find someone soon and probably end up with a dozen fat, happy babies toddling around at your feet. You’ll have so many kids, you’ll think you’re running an orphanage, and you may even attempt to adopt some of them out just to get a good night’s sleep.”
Where a moment ago she’d been feeling happy and festive, now a lead weight seemed to be pressing down on Jenna’s chest, causing her eyes to water.
“I don’t think so,” she admitted, sounding pathetically whiny even to her own ears. If she weren’t so emotionally miserable, she’d be tempted to smack herself upside her own head.
“I’ve tried,” she told her friends. “You know I have. I’ve gone out with so many different men these past six months, I’m starting to feel like my entire life is one of those pathetic speed-dating sessions.”
“And there was no one you’d consider seeing again?” Grace asked.
Jenna shrugged. “They were okay. A couple of them were cute, a couple of them were funny, but none of them…” She trailed off, not quite sure how to describe her almost total lack of interest in the male species of late.
“Flipped your switch? Rang your bell?” Ronnie suggested.
“Put the zip in your Miracle Whip?” Grace added with a teasing wink.
Jenna stuck her tongue out at her friend even as two s
mall tears spilled past her lashes to run down her cheeks. “No, not even close. I think I’m turning into an old maid, drying up inside and losing interest in men altogether.”
“What about Gage?” Ronnie asked.
The mention of her ex-husband, so unexpected and out of the blue, caused her stomach to flip-flop and sent a wave of heat flooding through her entire system. A lump formed in her throat, keeping her from being able to respond… a reaction her friends noticed immediately.
Ronnie’s arm around her shoulders tightened and she pressed her brow to the side of Jenna’s head. “See, you’re not a dried-up old maid. You’re just still caught up in wanting Gage, and until you’re really and truly over him, no other guy is going to be able to get close to you.”
“Oh, God, I’m damaged goods!” Jenna wailed, drawing her knees up to her chest and burying her face against the material of her flowing, tie-dyed skirt.
“Honey,” Grace said flatly, shifting until she was closer, too, and they were all hip to hip, arms linked, “we’re all damaged. We all have baggage. Your problem is that instead of being packed up and tucked away in a closet somewhere, your issues are still fresh and raw and strewn all over the bed.”
Jenna lifted her head and Grace took a napkin from the coffee table to dab the tears from beneath her eyes. When she was finished, Jenna took the tissue from her and blew her nose.
“Now, I know I can be bossy and opinionated sometimes,” Grace said, “and if you want to ignore me entirely, you go right ahead. But I’m going to say something I’ve never said before. Something I’ve been thinking for a long time.”
The air hitched in Jenna’s lungs and she let it out on a sigh. “Do I want to hear this?” she asked softly.
“I don’t know if you want to, but I think you need to,” Grace said, her tone brooking no argument.
Reaching for the margarita pitcher, Ronnie refilled Jenna’s glass and handed it to her. “Here, have some more to drink and then let Grace have her say. It’ll be like tearing off a Band-Aid… it will only hurt for a second and then it will be over.”
Grace’s lips, still shaded with the long-lasting gloss they put on her at the television studio, twisted. “Gee, thanks.”
“Okay,” Jenna said, her voice only slightly watery, “lay it on me.”
“I don’t think you’re over Gage. I think you’re completely hung up on him being the father of your children, whether the two of you are married or not, and that no other man will ever even come close to filling your extensive mental list of criteria for a DNA donor.”
Jenna wished she could be angry with her friend’s brutal assessment, but the sad truth was that Grace was right. She’d never really wanted to divorce Gage in the first place, so how could she be expected to stop loving him, to just get over no longer having him in her life?
With a groan, she let her head fall back until the short strands of her dark hair dusted the seat of the sofa behind them.
“So what am I supposed to do?” she asked them. “Go through the rest of my life miserable and childless and alone all because my husband changed his mind about loving me and wanting to start a family with me?”
A beat passed while she waited for one or the other of her closest friends to come to her defense, reassure her, say something, anything to disparage her rat of an ex-husband.
Of course, he was only a rat when she was really mad at him and feeling particularly sorry for herself. Otherwise, she at least had the moral fortitude to admit that he was a decent guy.
Better than decent; he was one of the best. When they’d first been married, she’d thought he was Prince Charming, Sir Galahad, and Superman all rolled into one. It was only later, when he’d started to pull away from her, that she wondered if she’d ever really known him at all.
“Well,” Ronnie said, drawing out the word so that it took up about six syllables, “I guess that depends on what kind of woman you are.”
Jenna’s heart thumped painfully and her eyes went wide. “What’s that supposed to mean? Are you saying I’m less of a woman than either of you are? That I was a bad wife or I’d make a bad mother?”
She was shaking now, her tone edging toward hysteria, as every deep, dark, subconscious fear she’d ever had about the breakup of her marriage reared its ugly head.
“Of course not,” Ronnie replied calmly. She reached for the pitcher again and drained the last of the slushy mixture into their three glasses. “But you’ve been divorced for almost two years now, and I think it’s time to make some hard-and-fast decisions about your life. That, however, is a conversation better had with more colorful, girly, tequila-based liquids coursing through our veins. Come on, let’s go to the kitchen and whip up another pitcher of margaritas.”
“And then what?” Jenna wanted to know as the three of them pushed to their feet.
“And then,” Grace supplied, “we hatch a brilliant and daring plan for your future.”
Jenna didn’t know about “brilliant,” but the plan was definitely daring. So daring, she wasn’t sure she could go through with it.
Sitting around the island in the kitchen, they’d gone through two more large pitchers of margaritas. They’d opted for the lime and then watermelon, mixing in more and more tequila with each batch, while Grace and Ronnie grilled her like a salmon until she’d been forced to come to terms with exactly how she felt and what she wanted.
Did she want to be single or married?
Did she want to date a lot or just a little? Locally, or maybe online or through a service?
Did she really want a child, and if so, was she prepared to be a single mother?
Did she want to be impregnated by a living, breathing male, or would a test tube sort of deal do the trick?
And what she’d quickly realized-much to her somewhat nauseating chagrin-was that she didn’t want to be a serial dater. The only man she’d ever really been interested in, or could see herself being involved with in the very near future, was Gage. And if she couldn’t have him, then she’d rather be alone.
That particular revelation had come as something of a surprise, considering how hard she’d fought over the past year and a half to convince herself she was over Gage and fine being a happy and independent divorcée.
She really did want a baby, though. She always had. And though she was still young, she didn’t know how many truly good years-or farm-fresh eggs-she had left.
Having grown up as an only child in a household where there was very little demonstrative interaction and almost no laughter or merriment, Jenna had always wanted her own family to be a big, boisterous one.
She wanted a husband who loved her and loved their children, and a passel of kids running around, making the windows rattle and floors quake. She’d spent years dreaming of holding her own babies to her breast, watching them learn to crawl and then walk and talk, of getting them ready for school in the mornings…
And when she’d met Gage, he’d folded perfectly into those hopes and dreams. She’d been almost giddily eager to start making babies with him, and then to see those little replicas with his Hershey bar brown eyes and mops of black hair similar to both of their dark locks.
They would take walks in the park, swinging a toddler between them, or go on weekend excursions to the lake where they’d deal with inner tubes and water wings, sunscreen and sand castles. She could so clearly picture Gage tossing their son or daughter into the air and catching him or her-or maybe one of each-in his strong arms, eliciting squeals of childish glee.
The day he’d told her he didn’t want kids after all, and had no intention of getting her pregnant, had been the darkest day she could ever remember. Her whole world had come crashing down around her, sending her life and everything she thought she’d known spinning out of control.
Ronnie and Grace knew all that. They’d been the first people Jenna called after the fight to end all fights that had resulted in Gage’s life-altering pronouncement and her eventual petition for divorce. They’
d come running immediately, then held her hand, patted her back, let her sob on their shoulders for weeks on end, and alternately sympathized with her or railed at the duplicity of men in general and Gage in particular.
Which was why Grace’s announcement that she thought Jenna had been wallowing for the past year and a half had come as such a surprise. Jenna had tried to work up a good mad at her friend, but any sense of betrayal went down the drain when she realized Grace was right. She hadn’t been herself in months, and she darn well knew it.
But what had shocked her even more was what Ronnie and Grace thought she should do to get herself out of her recent funk.
Maybe it was the margaritas talking. Hell, there was a ninety-five percent chance it was the margaritas talking. But it was what she wanted, what she’d always wanted, and the idea of going through with it gave her a warm, fuzzy feeling deep in her belly that put the tequila-laced smoothies to shame.
So now the kitchen and living room-which twenty minutes ago had looked like a frat house on party night-were spotlessly clean. The dirty glasses, plates, silverware, and blender were all stuffed in the dishwasher. Leftover Mexican food had been boxed and put in the refrigerator. And any signs that Grace and Ronnie were in the house had been completely hidden or removed.
“Okay, I think we’re set.” Ronnie ran a rag over the island countertop one last time before tossing it in the sink. “Are you ready?”
A blip of panic sparked in Jenna’s chest, causing her lungs to freeze and her heart to skip a beat. “I don’t think I can do this.”
“Of course you can,” Grace said matter-of-factly. “We did the whole pros and cons list, you did your little self-examination psychoanalysis, and this is what you said you wanted. You said you were sure.”
“I am sure, I’m just… not sure.”
Grace rolled her eyes. “Stop worrying. Stop second-guessing yourself. This is going to work like a charm, and when it’s over, everyone will have exactly what they want.”