Title: Fifth and Final
Rating: PG
Summary: Sandy was her fifth.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Notes: Thank you everyone who has ever reviewed and continues to review.
Okay, I'm just going to say it: I love Peter Gallagher! He was great in American Beauty, no? But playing Sandy Cohen had just made him even more delightful
in my book. And Kelly Rowan is Canadian! How awesome is that? Plenty awesome if you ask me. lol Sandy and Kirsten were so cute in "The Countdown."
God, I'm such a sucker! lol
This was going to be a sappy piece but ended up a bit dark in places. I don't know what this is, really. It's kind of scattered, but I thought it fit.
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Jimmy Cooper was her first, then came Alan Kirkland, Jerry Bower, and Nick Station. Four lovers paled in comparison to the rest of her college peers, but
Kirsten was picky and didn't buy into the whole notion that going away to school was a reason to become something she wasn't. And she wasn't easy. She
wasn't frigid, either, but growing up in Orange County she'd seen how much sex could screw things up. She and Jimmy had learned that the hard way.
She doesn't think about it. She doesn't want the reminder, the ache in her stomach every time she thought of the dead baby flushed away like waste. Was it a
boy or a girl? She still wondered to this day. It had been too early to tell. The pungent smell of death on her sheets and the ache in her heart remained for a
long time. They cried and screamed and blamed each other and she was glad when she went away and Jimmy found someone else.
Maybe if the baby had survived she would be different, her life, the one she treasures so deeply, would be different. No Sandy. No Seth. It was too painful to
think of. It was not the life she would have wanted. She might have become like Julie, grasping at straws to keep from drowning, relying on parties and
charity events to keep her afloat. No, no no.
Kirsten was happy to put their austere reality behind her, happy to move on. She was grateful to live in a van far away from Orange County and all the
hypocrisy. To be reckless and carefree and forget that she had millions waiting for her nestled in a trust fund in some over air-conditioned bank in Newport.
Sandy Cohen was her fifth lover and she knew he would be the last. Her father thought it was another way to rebel. Marrying the Jewish boy had really gotten
his goat, but it was the real thing even if nobody could understand it.
Sometimes, she could close her eyes and imagine his hands on her body and his gentle voice when he took her for the first time in his cramped studio
apartment on a tiny single bed. If she concentrated hard enough, she could hear the rattle of traffic from the open window, the clang of pots and pans from the
little boy named Jack next door, who wanted to be a drummer, through the thin walls, the buzz-hum-ping of the small bar fridge as it clicked on, the springs on
the mattress as they creaked under their weight. She could feel the hazy breeze over her skin and the smell of barbeque from the Mom and Pop restaurant down
the street, and taste of peppermint toothpaste and strawberry lip balm. It was the first time she understood love and that things didn't have to be perfect because
the most memorable things had nothing to do with perfection. The best things, the things she loved the most, were not perfect at all. Sandy taught her that.
Because Sandy made her laugh and it was a gift he gave their son. Their son. Flesh and bone and wit. Alive and healthy. Because he filled awkward moments and tense situations with humour and laughter and made her forget. Because now she had two sons and Sandy gave her that, too.
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end.