“And I’d want Jace to be there with me, for all of it.”
In my mind, I’d pictured Jace beside me in each of those scenarios. I wanted a future with Jace. Or at least a chance at one.
I inhaled a shaky breath. “What if I do that, ask him for that, and he doesn’t want me—want us? I’m so tired of being hurt, Leah.”
In response, Leah, best friend of mine, didn’t tilt her head with sympathy. She didn’t come around the booth to give me a hug. She merely frowned and put down her burger, which was how I knew she really meant business. “Life is a risk. Weren’t you just telling me that you want to be brave? To be free and try new things? If there’s a future out there that you want, fight for it.”
“It’s not that simple—” I started, but Leah cut me off, eyes imploring and voice wholly serious.
“It is.It isthat simple, Polly. You’ve always had these flashes of your true self come out here and there throughout the years. But now, it’s like someone turned on this light inside of you. Like you’re finally yourself. And you’re just as fucking great as I always knew you’d be.”
She reached across the table and gripped my hand fiercely, an intense look in her eyes even though they’d become glassy.
“It’s time to fightfor you.Don’t let your head overrule your heart. Don’t give anyone up who makes you look and feel this alive, just because you think you’ll lose them. And certainly not because of what others may think. Think about you and your kids and what’s best for all of you.” She let go of my hand and picked up her burger, shoving the rest of it in her mouth. “To hell with everyone else.”
I brushed away a tear and smiled at Leah, suddenly remembering one of my first memories of her.
“You know that day in second grade when Steven Barns shoved his pet snake in my face during show-and-tell and you stomped on his foot?”
She nodded, then swallowed. “Little creep deserved it.”
“I won the lottery that day and didn’t even know it.” I reached across the table, placing my hand over hers.
“Damn, straight.” Her words were soft as she turned her hand over and gripped mine, squeezing twice.
After a few moments of making big spectacles of ourselves, Leah suddenly made a chopping motion. “Alright. Enough of this emotional crap. It’s time for a serious talk. I still require the answer to my question. And you know what that is.” Leah quirked her eyebrow and I groaned.
“Leah, we’re almost forty. We have children. Can’t I just call it sex and not a home run? I don’t even watch baseball.”
Leah’s look was flat as she shook her head.
“Fine,” I intoned, giving in. “But I don’t think I can use bases. Or home runs.”
Leah widened her eyes. “Are we talking grand slams?”
I nodded, not able to keep the grin off my face. “And Jace has a Louisville Slugger.”
* * *
After work that night, I walked into a quiet house. Any mother will tell you that when your house is quiet, start worrying.
“Jace? Max? Anyone home?” I was walking into the living room, wondering if someone was sick again before stopping short. Jace was standing at the bottom of the stairs, dimples popping.
I bit my lip, trying not to laugh nor tackle him to the ground like a cougar in heat. Because Jace was standing there, looking so ridiculously, goddamn cute in a tuxedo T-shirt and jeans, that my ovaries quivered.
“Jace. What in the world are you wearing?”
“Ho ho ho! ‘Tis not Jace, this evening, madam,” Jace said in a horrible faux-French accent. “Tonight, you may only call me Jacques!” He paired this with a flourish of his hand. I heroically smothered my laughter.
“Ze magic show es all ready for you and ze performers do not want to be kept vaiting.” Jace tsked and pointed to his watch. “And you are already late! Hurry, madam, I do not vant you to miss ze best seat in the house.”
Jace extended his arm for me to take. I swallowed hard as my fingers trailed along his biceps, the smooth touch reminding me how, after peeling off my leggings, he would lightly trail his fingers up my leg, making me shiver in delight.
Jace led me up the stairs to the playroom door, where a bedazzledStage Doorsign hung. He opened the door to the playroom and ushered me inside.
“Right zees way, ma chérie. Ve have a reserved seat for you. Ze best seat in the house!”
I gasped. The playroom had been transformed into a theater of sorts. The room was dark. The red rose curtains from my parents’ bedroom hung over some sort of wire to give the impression of stage curtains. Flashlights were propped up by pillows and placed at regular intervals along the floor, illuminating the curtains to make them seem like old fashioned stage lights.
