Ch 12 – Giving Thanks (2)

At five-thirty on the dot, Angela came down the stairs into the living room where Tony was already waiting for her. A bottle of champagne sat in the cooler next to the fireplace, and two glasses stood on the mantle, glinting in the dim light.

Dinner preparations had kept Tony nice and busy all day. Only now was he becoming conscious of his nerves as he watched Angela walk towards him in a tight black dress, her wavy blond hair a soft golden frame for her face.

"Hi," he said, surreptitiously wiping his hands on the seams of his pants. He felt as if he were eleven years old again, and she was a vision in shorts and sandals, stalking across a moonlit clearing, swatting away bugs and mosquitos.

"Hi," Angela said, and the high color in her cheeks told him that she was similarly affected.

He cleared his throat. "You're stunning."

A shy, but undeniably pleased smile lit up her face. "Thank you. You look very handsome yourself."

Tony ran his hands up and down his chest, over the front of his jacket. It wasn't anything special, but he knew that he cut a nice figure in it. He had bought it two years ago at a small menswear store in Queens that belonged to a buddy of Philly Fingers. They had the same parole officer or something.

"Uh, I figured we'd start this off with some of this," he gestured at the bottle. "Not too much, of course. Just to-"

"Take the edge off?"

He had to laugh. "Yeah."

She nodded, clearly relieved. "I'm a little nervous, too."

"Oh, I'm glad," he sighed. "I mean, I'm not glad that you're, you know. It's just- This is kind of big, isn't it? Us. Here. Alone."

She nodded again and looked him in the eyes. "It is."

Tony held her gaze for a beat, savoring the moment, before he poured them each a glass and handed hers to Angela.

"Happy Thanksgiving?" he suggested.

"Happy Thanksgiving."

They clinked their glasses together, and something crackled. At first, Tony thought that it must be the air between them, charged with expectation and possibility. But then he remembered that he had lit the fireplace not forty-five minutes ago.

After a generous sip of champagne, something drew them closer together. It seemed like magic to him because he wasn't aware of having moved his feet. Seconds later, any remaining insecurities dissolved in a gentle kiss.

Angela's soft lips and the way she teased his tongue with hers made him almost want to forget that he had worked in the kitchen all day to prepare a feast for them. On any other night, with any other woman, he would have suggested they take a detour through the bedroom, to work up even more of an appetite. But today was Thanksgiving, this was Angela, and they would do things the right way.

He withdrew from the kiss, not without giving her lips a final peck. "Wanna go eat?"

"Yeah, I'm starving," she said and looped her arm through his.

The dining room table was laden with food. Hot plates and warmers were keeping everything at just the right temperature, candles and a simple, elegant wreath helped set the holiday mood. All that was left to do was to bring in the turkey.

Once that had been accomplished, and after Angela had ooh-ed and aah-ed sufficiently, they filled their plates. A sense of utter calm descended over Tony.

"This is nice, isn't it?" he asked her in between bites.

"Yeah," she agreed. "It feels a little bit like we're a young married couple, celebrating their first holidays together. You know? Just us two. Before kids. Before everything gets noisy and complicated."

"Did you do that with Michael?" he asked. Her choice of words had very much registered with him – comparing them to a young couple, and a married one at that. Before kids …

Angela nodded. "The first year we were married, '75. That whole year felt like a dream. Well, almost. I suppose, looking back, I can tell where the cracks were going to form. But I didn't know that then. So, yes. We had a good first year. How about you and Marie?"

"We never had that. I mean, the first year was wonderful, don't get me wrong. But Marie got pregnant right away, so by the time Thanksgiving rolled around, Sam was six weeks old."

"That must have been special, too." The soft look in her eyes did something complicated to him.

"Yeah, it was. You remember when we went to Mrs. R's for Thanksgiving? It was like that, only three times as many people. And everybody wanted their turn to hold Sam. You know how Italians are around babies." Tony smiled at the memory.

"I know. I've seen you with Clint, and with little Katherine."

"I can't help it, it's in my genes." Tony shrugged. He did love babies. Sometimes he wondered what had become of the Clintster out in California, and how life was treating Katherine, Max's daughter, whose toothless smiles had melted his heart.

"Tony?" Angela asked, her voice as soft as her gaze had been just seconds before. "Do you remember when we watched those Super 8 films together, and we talked about kids?"

"Of course."

She exhaled. "It's been on my mind. I would like to have another baby sooner or later, if possible. You said that you wouldn't want to miss that chance. Do you still feel that way?"

Angela looked at him with big, hopeful eyes. He also noticed a spark of uncertainty there. She was afraid that he would say no. Of course he wanted to have a child with her. But in the spirit of full honesty, he had to give her a more complicated answer than a simple 'yes'.

"I do." He tried to do his best to project sincerity. "Just- I feel like we need to take this one step at a time. You know?"

Angela nodded. "I know. I'm not saying this would have to happen right away. Not at all. And it probably wouldn't, anyway. I'll be 39 next year. Things might take a while. Or maybe it wouldn't even …" She halted, and a lopsided smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "I just thought of it when you mentioned Samantha as a baby."

Tony put down his knife and fork and reached for her hand across the table. "I meant what I said back then. I love you. I want this with you. Everything. And I realize that we can't wait forever. Especially with this. But – wouldn't you want to get married first?" He surprised himself with this sudden talk of marriage.

Angela blinked. "Married?"

"Yeah, you know? Da-da-da-da," he sing-songed helplessly, doing a rather poor imitation of 'Here Comes the Bride'. Sweat prickled at the back of his neck.

"I suppose we should, huh?" she said, twirling her fork in her free hand. Had she really not thought about this before?

"Yeah," Tony said, a little stunned himself. This wasn't the direction he had expected their dinner conversation to take, much less how he wanted to propose to her.

And anyway: Here he was, not even ready to tell their kids and Mona – not to mention the rest of the world – that they were dating. What business did he have suggesting they get married? Once again, his heart was screaming yes, and his head was getting in the way. He could easily see himself asking Angela to become his wife. But asking his boss?

Her brow crinkled. She seemed to sense that this was becoming too much for him.

"What are we talking about here?" she said with quick shake of her head. "We agreed before that we would take this slow, and that's exactly what we should be doing."

Angela withdrew her hand and reached for her champagne glass. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves and just enjoy this, okay? You've truly outdone yourself, Tony." She moved the glass in a generous circle, encompassing them and the table. "We have a whole long weekend ahead of us. And come January, you're going to talk to your counselor at Ridgemont."

Tony sighed. "I'm sorry, Angela."

"You've got absolutely nothing to be sorry for. I started it with this talk about babies. I'm sorry for going overboard. We both know what we want, and we'll get there. Look at how far we've come since I threw out those bottlecaps."

Angela was right, Tony assured himself. They were making steady progress, and he had no reason to assume that his stupid head wouldn't eventually catch up with his heart, not to mention other parts of his anatomy.

He drank what was left in his champagne glass, chased it down with water, and soon enough he could feel his equilibrium beginning to reinstate itself.

ooooooooo

Angela looked at him over the rim of her coffee cup. "Do you remember the first time we had dinner together? Alone, I mean?"

Tony licked his teaspoon and placed it on the saucer. Of course.

The night Tanya in Brooklyn lost out against Angela in Fairfield. He had stayed behind out of a sense of obligation at first, but over dinner, and a little game of basketball later that night, he got his first true glimpse of who Angela was as a person. As a woman. Her sparkly red dress with the open back had stuck in his mind for months afterwards, as had her infectious laugh when she was trying to outwit him under the basketball hoop.

"Are you kidding? I gotta tell you, I was a little disappointed when that fog in Boston cleared." He looked up and caught her eye.

"Me too. We had so much fun that night, didn't we? Until I ruined it by-" she interrupted herself here, probably having realized what she would have to say next.

Angela didn't need to spell it out for Tony to remember his humiliation when her date had showed up and she asked him to serve them dinner. He shifted his gaze to give her some space. All of that was behind them, of course. Still, the memory stung.

"Anyway, Mitchell was nice enough, but I had the best time with you," Angela said. "In fact, I always did. I always do."

"Oh, yeah?" When he heard himself say the words, they sounded more cocky than he had intended.

"Yeah," she said and playfully threatened him with her napkin. "That weekend we both went to the Fairfield Inn – me with Geoffrey and you with- what was her name?"

"Tanya," Tony said sheepishly. Another Tanya. It was a popular name.

"The whole time we were there, part of me wished I could be with you instead. Not that I would ever have said anything. Because we always agreed that we were friends, first and foremost. But I remember thinking about it."

Thinking about Angela thinking about him while sleeping with Geoffrey was a heady thought, alright.

"I didn't have such a great night myself," he admitted. "I tried to forget about you and him. But, uh, let's just say, I wasn't a hundred percent successful."

As he had explained to Angela on another occasion: He never had any problems … performing. But if he had ever gotten close to maybe having a slight issue of that nature, then it would have been that night at the Fairfield Inn. Having sex with Tanya while Angela was next door with Geoffrey had required considerable mental gymnastics.

"This has been quite the ride, hasn't it?" Angela said warmly, locking eyes with him. "I'm so glad we're here now. Giving this a chance. Giving us a chance."

He nodded, then gathered his courage to ask her something that he had found himself wondering about these past few weeks.

"Hey, Angela? Do you think we wasted too much time?"

"What do you mean?"

Tony clicked his tongue. "I mean – do you remember when you cooked us dinner for our second anniversary? Beef Wellington with polyester blend?"

Angela snorted softly. "Yes. And I remember you saying you liked it."

"I did, I did. But sometimes I think of all the missed opportunities. Maybe we could have gotten to this place sooner. Take that night – if my appendix hadn't acted up, we would've gone over to the fireplace and talked, and who knows what could have happened. I know what I told you that night in the hospital. But I was too scared to say it again when I was awake."

"Tony," she said, clasping her hands on the table in front of her, "you weren't the only one who was scared. I heard you, and I could have told you that I felt the same way. But I didn't because I couldn't admit it to myself yet. I was so afraid of losing what we have. This beautiful friendship. This family. And I've been there to tell you first, and … choking."

"When?"

"When I played hooky after Frankie proposed to you?"

"You mean, you came home because you wanted to tell me-"

"That I love you."

"And you didn't say anything …"

She shrugged. "I chickened out. You weren't going to marry Frankie, and suddenly it felt safer to let things stay the way they were. Instead of starting something that we maybe couldn't handle."

Tony shuffled his feet below the table. That was exactly it: What if this was more than they – than he! – could handle? His heart began to beat faster.

"So, what's different now, Angela? I mean, whatever was holding me back then is still there. I'm your housekeeper. I'm three-and-a-half years away from graduation. At least. And even then, I probably won't find a great job straight away. We still have to be careful because of the kids."

Angela shifted in her seat. "I know. I just feel that it's time. We're at the end of the road here, as far as we can go as friends. I don't want to wake up two years from now and still wonder. Or look back even later and realize that we waited too long."

Tony swallowed. "I guess it's a good thing we found those old movies in the attic when we did, huh?"

He thought back to seeing her on the beach, pregnant and radiant. Giving little kisses to baby Jonathan. Wearing a party hat for his first birthday celebration.

"Yes. And you know what? The past four years with you, they've been the happiest of my life. We didn't waste any time. Everything that happened got us here. Everything we said or didn't say. You're not in the same place you were in when we first met. And neither am I. It's like you said, you're in college now. So what if it takes a couple more years until you graduate. You and I know where we're headed, and we can make changes along the way. You don't have to keep working for me, there can be other arrangements. Anything we want."

"Other … arrangements?" he asked.

"Sure. We could do the math and come up with a different solution."

Tony didn't quite know what she was getting at. Did she want him to become a house husband?

"Angela, I-"

"We don't have to do it now," she interrupted him gently. "What I want to say is simply this: I'm confident that we'll find a way. Whatever happens. We have before. Remember when I lost my job? You helped me see all of my options. It's only because of you that I'm no longer part of the rat race at Wallace & McQuade, that I have my own business, that I'm free. And you've taught me that there is more to life than just work. Now I want us to forget about our working relationship, so we can have a life."

"Sounds good to me," he said thickly, momentarily at a loss for words. Angela had said it perfectly. He only hoped that he would be able to live up to her expectations.

"Now or never, huh?"

"Now or never," she repeated. "But let's put all of this away first."

ooooooooo

Angela helped him carry everything back into the kitchen.

"This was the most delicious Thanksgiving dinner I've ever had," she said as they were covering plates with saran wrap and spooning food into bowls and containers. "We didn't even make a dent, though. You'll have to freeze half of this food."

"We'll see," he said. "Maybe we'll get hungry again later."

Angela gave him an amused smile. "Maybe."

"What? You like to have a midnight snack."

"Uh-huh."

When everything was either cooling off on the countertops or stored away in the fridge, they stood facing each other under the bright kitchen lights.

"Thanks for helping me clean up," he said, not very smoothly, suddenly on the brink of a new case of nerves.

"Of course. You know I enjoy working in the kitchen with you."

One of Angela's hands flew up into her hair and she adjusted an invisible strand. She was so darn cute that it almost hurt him to look at her.

"Me too. But you know what I enjoy even more?" Feeling his mojo return to him just in time, Tony walked towards Angela and put his hand on the small of her back. Then he guided her in the direction of the kitchen door.

"Do you want me to guess?"

They entered the living room, where the lights were low and one of his dad's old records was still playing.

"Do you have to?" Tony reached for her right hand and slid his right into place between her shoulder blades.

They did a practiced twirl, and Angela laughed. "No."

The song was slow, and they quickly fell into a matching rhythm. As usual, it amazed him how naturally it all came to them. The sway of their hips in tandem, the way they could dance comfortably cheek to cheek.

"Do you know what this reminds me of?" Angela whispered into his neck after a while.

"What?"

"This summer, when you gave me a second prom. That was the most romantic thing anybody ever did for me."

Tiny fireworks went off inside his chest as he remembered the surprised expression on her face, the stars in her eyes as they danced until the early morning hours. "I could tell that you liked it."

"I loved it." She snuggled in closer, and he tightened his hold on her.

"Even better. I wanted you to." And how many other things he had wanted that night.

"Tony?"

"Hm?"

Angela didn't say another word but lifted her head from his shoulder. He mirrored her movements, and their mouths found each other in a searing kiss.

There was nothing gentle about it this time, nothing probing or tentative. There was only certainty. And need. Naked, unapologetic need. They gave up the pretense of dancing soon after and stood in the middle of the room, bodies still moving together, albeit to a different rhythm that was entirely their own.

Within minutes, Tony was at the mercy of some kind of primal chemical reaction that gave him the impression that his brain would explode out of his skull any second now. Maybe that was exactly what he wanted to happen. He was tired of thinking, all he wanted was to feel.

But he would let Angela take the lead on this one. She had to have noticed what he had done in her bedroom. The tacit confirmation of his intentions that he had tried to telegraph via his choice of bedsheets. This could be the night if she wanted it to be. If not, she could always pretend she didn't notice.

"Tony," Angela said again the next time they came up for air, breathing heavily, foreheads pressed against each other. "Let's go upstairs."

His hands came to rest on her hips. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," she breathed.

"Oh God, good."

One more open-mouthed kiss with their hips rocking against each other in a preview of what they had just agreed would happen between them tonight. Then, somehow, they made it up the stairs.

ooooooooo

A/N: Sorry to interrupt the festivities at this crucial junction, but I need to explain. I wrote two versions of the next chapter: a T-rated one that I will post as part of this story, and an M-rated one that I will post as a separate "chapter", using the usual story format. It's called "Giving Thanks", and you can find it by going to my profile page and selecting it from the list of stories, or by filtering for M-rated stories on the WTB? archive page. I hope this isn't too confusing. I wanted to keep the T rating for this story, but also try my hand at something a little more explicit.

However you decide to proceed, do so with caution and at your own risk. ;)