Finding Colin Firth: A Novel

by March, Mia

  So yes, Gemma had been crazy about the warm, tell-me-your-every-thought Hendrickses. But a few years into their five-year marriage, it all got to be too much, and they wanted her to change, become more like them. When she and Alexander argued, he’d strike below the belt with what he knew would hurt the most: “You’re acting like your mother, Gem.”

  She’d been so in love with him once—and she still loved him—but she was grateful to be getting away this weekend. The timing—at least on this—couldn’t be better. Maybe a weekend apart would make him miss her, make him see her again as a separate person who had her own ideas, her own opinions, her own dream life that didn’t include moving to Westchester and being a stay-at-home mother.

  That panicky feeling returned, and Gemma reminded herself that in about seven hours, if traffic wasn’t too bad, she’d be in Boothbay Harbor, sitting on that beautiful white wooden swing on the porch of the Three Captains’ Inn with her old friend June, and her smart, insightful friend would help talk her through this. Thank God for girlfriends who owned beautiful old inns in Maine.

  “I’m all set to go,” she told him, eyeing his computer screen. Real estate listings.

  “You look so tired,” he said, studying her.

  “Just worried about not being able to find a job—a job I really want. It’s been keeping me up at night.”

  He stood up and hugged her. “Everything’s going to be fine, Gem. You know why? Because I made an executive decision.” He glanced at her, as if bracing for her reaction. “I put in an offer on a house in Dobbs Ferry. It’s practically next door to my—”

  Steam circled in her ears. “Wait a minute. What? You made an offer on a house? When you know I don’t want to leave the city?”

  “Gemma, something’s got to change, and you’re being really stubborn about this.” He gave her the printouts. “This house is perfect for us and I didn’t want to lose a shot at it. It’s practically next door to my parents—that means when we have a baby, my mom can help out on a moment’s notice. It’s walkable to downtown. There are a few regional newspapers you can apply to for part-time work if you really insist on working. It’s a good commute for me into the city. Just look at it, okay?”

  Part-time work. If I insist on working. A shot of anger hit her in the gut. “You shouldn’t have made an offer without talking to me, Alex.”

  “We’ve been talking for months now. Nothing ever changes. So we’re just going to stay here because it’s what you want? What about what I want?” He let out a frustrated breath. “I don’t want to argue before you leave, Gem. Just take the listing and information with you,” he said, handing her a sheaf of papers. “Just promise to look at them, okay?”

  Fury gripped her. How dare he? “Promise me right now that you won’t buy the house if your offer is accepted. Promise me, Alexander.”

  “I’ll promise that if you promise to look—really look—at the information.”

  Let it go for now, she told herself. Just get in the car and drive away. But before she could even think it through, she blurted out, “Alex, I’m going to stay up in Maine for the week instead of just the weekend. I think it’ll do me some good.”

  He stared at her, then his expression softened. “Actually that’s a good idea. All that fresh air, the beautiful cottages, the water. I think you’ll see life in a small town is pretty great.”

  That wasn’t what she’d meant at all. She glanced at her watch. “Like you said, I’d better hit the road if I want to get to Maine before dark.”

  He gave her that look, the look that said they weren’t done talking about this, but they’d both been over this so many times that there was little left to say. Alexander had gotten the thing he needed to tip the scales in his favor; she’d gotten laid off and couldn’t find another job. The pregnancy would send the scale plummeting down on his side. In a flash, she’d be in that house in Dobbs Ferry, her mother-in-law breathing down her neck, Alexander making to-do lists for her and creating feeding and napping schedules. Gemma pictured herself nine months pregnant, asking herself what the hell had happened to her life.

  She got her suitcase, already packed, from the bedroom, wondering if she had to think about how heavy it was. She wouldn’t drink at the wedding reception, of course. There were probably a hundred other little things she needed to know about how to live as a pregnant person. Foods she couldn’t eat, like Brie and Caesar dressing, she was pretty sure.

  But this was Alexander Hendricks, who’d taken the morning from work to see her off, so, upset with her or not, of course he carried her suitcase down to the garage of their building and put it in the trunk of their car. Then he hugged her good-bye and reminded her to look at the listing. Only when she was on I-95 did she finally exhale.

  The moment Gemma arrived in Boothbay Harbor, she relaxed. She hadn’t been here in years, but she knew this place, it was inside her. Starting at age eleven, she’d spent a month every summer here with her father after her parents’ inevitable divorce, running up and down the docks with her friends, getting crushes on boys, living for tans and new wave music. She’d always felt like a different person in Boothbay Harbor—carefree, lighthearted, happy, instead of tiptoeing around her mother back home on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, walking on eggshells for fear of saying something her mother would deem stupid. Here in this picture-postcard-perfect summer town, where you wore flip-flops all summer and your biggest problem was what kind of ice cream to choose, Gemma had always felt most herself. She’d even charmed the Boothbay Regional Gazette editor into allowing her a kid’s column for the summers, polling people on the best fish and chips, who had the best ice cream, and favorite places to jump in the bay. Gemma smiled as she drove slowly through downtown, crowded with tourists, the harbor and the boats glittering just beyond. Yes, she could think here. She could never live in Boothbay Harbor year-round; she loved New York City with its grit and beauty and eight million stories, but she was very relieved to be here now.

  Gemma lowered her car windows and breathed in the scent of summer, of the Atlantic, of nature. The bay shimmered in the late June sun as Gemma drove up Main Street with its one-of-a-kind shops, then turned onto Harbor Hill Road. The Three Captains’ Inn came into view on its perch two winding streets above the harbor. Gemma loved the inn, a robin’s egg–blue Victorian with white trim and a white porch swing, pots of flowers blooming everywhere.

  She pulled up in the small parking lot beside the inn, her gaze on the woman on the porch swing. She held a baby on her lap and was swinging gently. A guest maybe. As Gemma carried her suitcase up the three steps the woman stood, put the baby in a baby swing on the porch, then slipped on a BabyBjörn and had the baby inside in under ten seconds. Gemma felt the usual rise of panic at how easily mothers seemed to do these things. There was so much to learn, so much to know.

  The woman was smiling at her. “Gemma, right? I’m Isabel, June’s sister.”

  Isabel, of course. Gemma had met the Nash sisters when she was eleven, the first summer she’d come to Boothbay Harbor with her dad. She and June Nash were the same age and had hit it off immediately, but Isabel was three years older and in a different orbit. “Isabel! Wow, you look fabulous. I’ve been in my own world and completely forgot that June said you’d gotten remarried and had a baby. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks. Her name’s Allie. C’mon in and I’ll get you settled. I manage the Three Captains’. June said she’d be by at seven to whisk you away for dinner.”

  Gemma followed Isabel inside the inn past an antique-filled foyer and into Isabel’s office, unable to take her eyes off the baby. She was so beautiful, with lots of dark hair, blue eyes, and tiny bow lips. Gemma tried to imagine herself multitasking with a baby on her hip. She couldn’t see it. “I’m a little early.”

  “No problem. We’re happy to have you at the Three Captains’. You’ll be in the Lighthouse Room, on the third floor. It’s a single and small, but cozy with views of beautiful old trees. And like I tell all my
guests, don’t worry about hearing Allie cry in the middle of the night. I don’t live at the inn, but we’re very close by in town if there are any problems.”

  Gemma followed Isabel up the staircase to the third floor, which held two guest rooms and a full bathroom, since the Lighthouse Room didn’t have a private bath. The room was just as Isabel had said, small but cozy. It held a full-size bed with a pretty scrolled headboard, a small antique bureau with an oval mirror above it, a round braided rug on the wide-planked wood floor, and a painting of the Portland Head Light lighthouse on the rocky cliffs of Maine. The one window looked out on the big backyard, trees as far as Gemma could see. Yes, she would be able to think here. It was perfect.

  Isabel stopped by the door. “Oh, before I leave you to get settled, I wanted to let you know that we’re officially starting up an old Three Captains’ Inn Friday night tradition—Movie Night.”

  Gemma was glad to hear that. Two years ago, when June and Isabel’s aunt Lolly, who’d left them the inn, had passed away from cancer, the sisters had put a hold on Movie Night. Every month they’d changed the theme. Romantic comedy. Food. Foreign. Meryl Streep. John Hughes. Dirty Harry, which always attracted the male guests, who usually passed on Movie Night. Gemma and Alexander had flown up for Lolly’s funeral, but both had had to get back to work, and Gemma hadn’t been able to spend much time with June.

  Isabel shifted baby Allie to her hip and leaned close to whisper. “It’s Colin Firth month in honor of him coming to Boothbay Harbor to film scenes for his new movie. Three members of a Colin Firth fan club are in the room across from you, so hit the parlor a bit before nine to get a comfy seat. We’re starting with Bridget Jones’s Diary.”

  Gemma’s heart skipped a beat. “Colin Firth is here in Boothbay Harbor? I love him.”

  “Me too. I’m not sure if he’s here yet—the fan club says there’s no sign of him, but there have been supposed sightings. Big lights and trailers have been set up over by Frog Marsh.”

  Colin Firth. Here in Boothbay Harbor. Maybe Gemma could get a press pass from the Boothbay Regional Gazette and do a story on the effect of a movie set on a small tourist town, and score interviews with the stars. You can take the girl out of the newspaper, but you can’t take the newspaper out of the girl.

  Isabel left Gemma to settle in, and Gemma surprised herself by flopping down on her bed and staring out the window at the trees. She thought she’d lunge for her notebook to jot down ideas for the piece on the movie set to pitch to the Gazette on Sunday morning. She had to admit she was tired, though, in a way she’d never felt before. Pregnancy tired. And she was angry and frustrated that Alexander had put an offer in on that Dobbs Ferry house when he knew how she felt.

  “Gemma!”

  Gemma glanced up to find her dear friend June Nash in the doorway, her arms open for a hug. June, co-owner of the inn along with Isabel and their cousin Kat, who was away in France, looked as she always had—her beautiful long, auburn curly hair wild around her shoulders, and wearing a pretty cotton sundress. June had a nine-year-old son and had recently eloped in Las Vegas with her longtime love, Henry Books.

  “Let’s go to dinner and catch up. You hinted in your e-mails that you had something big to tell me.”

  “I sure do,” Gemma said, two days of pent-up worries whooshing out of her. She’d finally share her news with someone. Someone who’d listen and help her work through the situation.

  Dinner with June had been as good as an hour-long deep-tissue massage, except for the texts from Alexander. “Let me know you arrived safely. Don’t forget to look at the information on the house.” And a final one with a link to an article on how Dobbs Ferry, New York, was a great place to live. She’d texted back that she was here safe and sound and ignored the rest.

  Over delicious steak fajitas at a Mexican restaurant, Gemma had told June everything. About the pink plus sign. About losing her job. About Alexander putting an offer in on a house near his overbearing family. About not being ready for motherhood—and definitely not being ready for the life Alexander was ready for. June had understood, just as Gemma had known she would. And since June was a mother, she gave Gemma an unscary introduction to Baby 101 and had stopped at the bookstore she and her husband owned for a book on pregnancy. June believed you didn’t need instinct so much as love and commitment and a good book on what to expect when you were pregnant and during the first year.

  “When do you think you’ll tell Alexander you’re pregnant?” June asked as they pulled back into the driveway of the Three Captains’ Inn, with just minutes to spare for the start of Movie Night at nine.

  Gemma bit her lip. “I’m not sure. I know I can’t keep it secret much longer. It’s too big. And I know it’s unfair to keep it from him when it would make him so happy. But I just need to come to terms with it, what it means for me, us, before I tell him and get bombarded with what he wants, how he sees our future unfolding. We have such different ideas on what that is.”

  June leaned over and gave Gemma a hug. “You’ll figure it out and you two will make it work for both of you.”

  Gemma wasn’t so sure. On the long drive up, one thing she hadn’t even thought of before came crashing down on her: who would hire her when she was pregnant? She’d have to disclose it at her interviews; it would be disingenuous not to. How would she ever get back what she’d had at New York Weekly? Alexander would realize this in a hot minute and argue her into that Dobbs Ferry house before she knew it. He’d make his case until she had no arguments of her own. And once she had the baby? He’d bombard her with articles about working mothers and bad nannies and reckless day cares. She would morph into a copy of Alexander’s sister-in-law in no time.

  When Gemma and June entered the parlor, it was packed with Movie Night attendees. Isabel and her elderly “helper,” Pearl, who watered the plants, were sitting on the sofa with Isabel’s sixteen-year-old stepdaughter, Alexa, who was very close to Isabel. The three members of the Colin Firth fan club, who wore “Happiness Is Colin Firth” T-shirts with his image on them, were on the love seat, and four others, including one man, were scattered around the large room on chairs. June went to get two more folding chairs and they sat down, a bowl of popcorn and a pitcher of iced tea on the antique table next to them.

  The lights were turned off and Isabel slid the DVD of Bridget Jones’s Diary into the player. Gemma had seen and adored the film when it first came out. A movie like that—warm and funny and true to life—was just what Gemma needed. That and the company of women. And popcorn.

  “I had the biggest crush on Hugh Grant a bunch of years ago,” Isabel said, sitting back down, a handful of popcorn on a napkin on her lap. “He’s so great in this movie.”

  “For me, Colin Firth all the way,” June said. “He’s our generation’s Cary Grant—that swoon-worthy older actor, tall, dark, and handsome, debonair but still very masculine and completely epitomizing everything a woman wants in a lifetime partner.” June held up the DVD box of Bridget Jones’s Diary. “Just look at how politely good looking he is. He’s so British!”

  The Colin Firth fan club rattled off a bunch of stats about Colin Firth. That he’d appeared in over fifty films and had a few in postproduction. That he’d been twice nominated for the Academy Award for Best Actor, for A Single Man and The King’s Speech, winning for the latter. That as a young actor, he’d been involved with the actress Meg Tilly, with whom he had a son, and had lived with her in a remote Canadian town for years before resuming his acting career. And did everyone know that he’d been romantically linked to his costar in Pride and Prejudice, Jennifer Ehle, who appeared in The King’s Speech? He was now married to a beautiful Italian woman named Livia with whom he had two children. And, if anyone wanted to know, he was a Virgo and six feet two.

  The movie began so the fan club finally hushed up.

  Renée Zellweger, an actress Gemma had loved since Jerry Maguire, appeared on-screen, woefully singing along at the top of her lungs to that old seven
ties ballad “All By Myself” in her pajamas. Gemma burst out laughing, as did everyone else. This was her, exactly how she felt, all by herself, her husband far away and as unconnected as if they weren’t married at all, but the scene was hilarious, and Gemma felt herself loosening up inside. June had been right to suggest a movie—this movie.

  Single in her thirties, bumbling but honest Bridget Jones swept Gemma out of herself to London, where Bridget, working as a publicist for a publishing company, has a huge crush on her boss, played by the always appealing Hugh Grant. Bridget’s mother wants to set her up with a well-to-do lawyer named Mark Darcy, and they do meet at a Christmas party, he in a ridiculous sweater with a big moose on it, but she overhears him insult her, which is fine with her, since she’s hardly interested in the smug jerk. She and cad Hugh Grant get involved, and when he tells her a big lie about Mark Darcy, she believes it and thinks even worse of him. Until the truth comes out . . . as does her own true feelings for him.

  “No, I like you. Very much. Just as you are,” June and Isabel repeated in unison after Colin Firth uttered those beautiful words in his gorgeous British accent.

  Which was what everyone wanted, including Gemma’s husband. “This is who I am,” he’d said often over the past few months. “You knew that. You supposedly fell in love with that. Now you want me to be someone I never was.”