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.

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.

“Now, look. Whatever you’re planning on doing, do not do it tonight! Not on his night. He’s nervous enough as it is. I’m not convinced of this anyway. You need to really sit down and think about all this before you say or do anything,” she added, hands firmly on my shoulders as if she were physically trying to ground me.

“I won’t. It’s fine. I’m fine,” I said.

“And, promise me you won’t talk to Michael today?” she said, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“Not that he has anything to do with this, but whatever,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Mmm-hmm, sure, Grace. I’ll see you at noon. Go take a shower. Remember, not tonight,” she shot back as she walked out to her car.

I gave her the finger and turned back inside. I could hear Jack still on the phone, so I made my way toward the bathroom. If we were going to pick up lunch, we’d need to get a move on.

I grabbed my things and headed in, my mind still racing. I heard him coming toward the bedroom, and I quickly locked the bathroom door. I stood, eyes wide in the mirror as I heard him come into the bedroom and walk across the floor. Then I saw the doorknob turn—once, twice, a third time, followed by a tentative knock.

“Gracie?”

“Yes?” I answered, eyes clinched tight.

“Why did you lock the door?”

He was right to question it. I’d never locked him out before. “Sorry. Habit from New York, I guess,” I said leaning against the door. I took a deep breath. Why was this suddenly so hard? I loved him. I knew this completely.

I could hear him breathing on the other side, probably wondering what was going on.

“Are you going to open it?” he asked, his voice teasing, but laced with something else.

I choked back a sob that had formed quickly and said, “Can you give me a minute? My tummy is a little upset.”

“Oh, hey, do you need anything? I can run and grab something for you. Ginger ale?” I could tell from his voice that his eyebrows were knit together, and he probably stared at the door with a curious look.

“No, no. I’ll be okay. I’ll be out in a bit. Start thinking about what you want for lunch, and we can pick it up on the way to Holly’s,” I said before the tears began to fall again.

I turned on the water and was instantly underneath, the water and my tears mixing together. It was like everything I’d thought before this morning—and the carefully constructed calm I’d felt when I first returned from my getaway drive—was crumbling like a house of cards. Within the last hour, the very foundations of everything I thought I knew had been thoroughly shaken, and it was me who had shaken them! I needed to get this under control fast if I was going to be in any kind of shape to make it through tonight. This was going to be a long evening.

Ninety minutes later, we were at Holly’s. We’d picked up sandwiches from Nate and Al’s in Beverly Hills. Her place was a circus, and as we brought everything in we saw car after car, including Nick’s. Holly had hired hair and makeup for the two of us, and we’d be getting ready here. Jack had brought his suit with him last night to my house and now had it draped over his arm along with my dress, still hidden in a garment bag.

We all ate, and then Holly put Jack on the phone to do a few last-minute interviews. I’d managed to avoid any more mini-meltdowns, and I was feeling a little calmer. I was going to be there for Jack tonight. This was the man I loved. I’d figure the rest out later.

As the day progressed, everything seemed to simultaneously speed up and slow down. Jack and I had no time alone together, and before I knew it, I was in my old room, in my bra and underwear, with rollers in my hair and a woman applying my makeup. Holly showed up in the doorway, looking similar, although she’d had the taste to put on a robe.

She plopped down on the bed and watched me get primped. “You ready for this?” she asked.

“Yes, why?”

“Okay, then, I’ll give you the ground rules. Jack, get your British ass in here!” she yelled.

Almost instantly, he popped his head into the room. He raised his eyebrows at my skimpy attire, and I giggled in spite of myself. He made me melt like a thirteen year old every time he did that.

“Here are the rules, you two. No hand-holding, no touching, no kissing of any kind, obviously. You’ll arrive separately, and Grace, you’ll walk the red carpet with Nick. I’ll have one of my assistants working the line ahead of time, and if there’s too much speculation about whether Jack will be bringing a date, or any mention at all of an unidentified redhead, you’ll skip the red carpet altogether. Got it?”

At this, Nick stuck his head around the corner. “I’ll still get to walk it by myself, though, even if this little whore ruins it for herself, right?” he asked, outrage on his face.

“Nice, Nick,” Jack muttered.

“I would never take a red carpet from you, Nick. You can walk it alone if I can’t.” I laughed, seeing his eyes light up.

“So we can’t touch or kiss. Are we allowed to talk?” Jack said with a heavily sarcastic tone.