Thanks to everyone for all the great feedback! I'm glad you're enjoying it. Hope this next part doesn't disappoint. I have one more chapter in the can and am coming along on a few more. Hopefully I'll be able to keep the updates coming. This should be 15 parts total, if my outline is to be believed. Also, MAJOR THANKS to VanillaBean for correcting my HUGE mistake of making Luke's eyes brown instead of blue. Silly me. I couldn't remember, so I was looking at screen caps. Maybe it's the lighting on the show or else the fact I couldn't find a cap of Luke sans glasses—I just went with brown. Then, once I was corrected, I checked out a gallery of MW pics and lo and behold—glorious blue! What was I thinking? I stand corrected. If anyone else catches any glaring errors like that, please point them out. I will go back and edit the first chapter to correct that mistake ASAP. Thanks again for reading and enjoy!!
All these
wasted dreams
Waiting for
the sun to open up my heart to anyone
Bring me
some rain
Because I'm
dying and I can't get this damn thing closed again
(Children in
Bloom)
She was late, of course.
Grace sighed and sunk further into the worn armchair. The constant noise in the coffee shop was giving her a headache. Glancing down at her watch again, she decided that if Joan wasn't there in ten minutes, she was bailing. She had better things to do than to wait around, letting her clothes soak up the pungent odor of stale coffee that would linger indefinitely. Or at least until she got around to the laundry, which would definitely be later rather than sooner.
"C'mon, Girardi," she whispered, her boots tapping the tile impatiently.
As if summoned, the door to the shop flung open, sending a burst of cold air into the room. A rather bloated woman followed, struggling with a load of packages. Grace rolled her eyes and got up to help.
"Dude, did you buy out the entire city or what?" Grace relieved Joan of most of her bags, leading her toward the armchairs she'd staked out.
"Oh, shut it." Joan waddled behind her, hand planted firmly on back. "At least I patronized local business instead of oh, what do you call it, feeding the gaping maw of the corporate commercial beast?" She paused to get some air. "Oh! Look! You got the good chairs!" With some effort, Joan sank her pregnant body into the velour cushions.
Grace took her seat again, trying to arrange Joan's purchases so they didn't take up the entire floor space around them. That done, she took a moment to take stock of her friend.
Joan was in the last few weeks of her pregnancy and it showed. Her stomach was ready to blow. Still, Grace had to admit, she looked good despite the threat of impending explosion. The extra flush in her cheeks and warmth in her smile personified the old "glowing pregnant woman" cliché. It was clear Joan was meant for the undertaking; her happiness at her current state was undeniable. A fleeting image of her own body in the same condition passed through Grace's mind. She snarled. Yeah, right. I can't even keep a houseplant alive.
Joan groaned. "Don't make me move for the next hour. My ankles weigh like forty pounds. Each!"
Joan had always had a knack for the bitch-and-moan hormonal routine.
Grace eyed the line at the counter and decided now was their best opportunity. Not about to make Joan move again, she kindly offered to place an order for her. Clearly a mistake.
"Ooh, hot chocolate sounds divine right now. But only if they have real whipped cream and maybe with a hint of mint—no, wait, cinnamon. Get it with skim milk, please, and have them make it extra hot. And, ooh, one of those white chocolate brownie thingies. Or, wait, maybe an oatmeal cookie. Yes, that sounds perfect."
Grace waved off Joan's attempt to scrounge for her wallet in her mess of bags. The quicker she got their order, the less chance for Joan to change her mind.
A few minutes later, Joan was moaning and sighing over her beverage. Grace just rolled her eyes and sipped at her steaming Americano. She idly wondered exactly how much of her meager income was spent at this café over the years. Much more than she had to spare, that was for sure.
"So, Grace, I was thinking…"
"Oh, this cannot be good," she muttered. Joan shot her a look.
"…my parent's are having their annual Christmas—holiday—party thing."
"Absolutely not."
Joan resorted to the whining-puppy-dog eyes approach. "But, Grace! Please! I know you don't have a good excuse this year—"
"Dude, Chanukah is not an excuse!"
"Well, whatever. It's already over so now you have to come. My parents really want you there. I want you there."
Grace avoided her friend's eyes, instead picking at her sweater. "Joan, your parents don't want me there."
Joan heaved a large sigh. "Of course they do, Grace. They know you're important to Adam and me. They've known you forever. And if you're even worried about the whole you-once-dated-my-brother thing—well, that was so ten years ago."
"Nine years ago." Grace for some reason fixated on that hole in her argument.
Joan shot her a weird look. "Whatever." She paused, munching thoughtfully on her cookie. Grace tensed up, knowing Joan was on the verge of doing something to piss her off. Over the years, she'd developed a sense about these things. "You know, Grace, I can't remember the last time you dated."
Grace sighed. Here we go. "Yeah, me either." She started to shred a napkin. Joan made a disapproving noise, studying Grace carefully. Grace wavered under the scrutiny, eventually caving: "Girardi, would you lay off it? This is the last thing I want to talk about right now."
Joan waved off her comment. "It's Rove now, Grace. And, anyway, you never want to talk about it. So I'm forcing the issue." At that, Joan turned slightly and mumbled something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like "happy now?"
Passing it off as Joan's eternal quirkiness, Grace instead retorted, "I will not be forced!"
"Yeah, yeah, I know." Joan sighed and sipped her drink. She tapped her lip thoughtfully. "So, let me think…there was that fling or whatever with Charlie the protester—"
"Social activist. And that was more of… an extended one night stand."
"Ookay." Joan polished off the rest of her cookie. "So Charlie and, oh, Duncan that musician dude—"
Grace made a face at the memories of that tumultuous albeit short-lived romance. "Yeah, let's not talk about that one."
"Unchallenged." Joan nodded. "Okay, so not counting all the failed blind dates and the other indiscretions I'm sure you've never told me about—" Joan gave her a pointed look at that one. "That leaves us with the last serious relationship you've had and that would be….oh, eeew…Luke."
Grace had the decency to look ashamed, but quickly masked that with a withering gaze. "Your point, Girardi?"
Something seemed to click for Joan. "Oh, please tell me you're not still hung up on Luke?"
"God, no!" Grace exclaimed, regretting not walking out of the coffee shop the minute her love life took the spotlight. "That would be ridiculous."
"Yeah," Joan nodded, studying her carefully. Grace hated that she could see the wheels turning in Joan's brain. "That would be pretty absurd."
Grace made a noise in her throat and chugged some of her rapidly cooling coffee. Anything to avoid Joan's questioning glance. Though Joan had changed little over the years, she did seem to now possess this uncanny ability to break-through her normal haze of ditziness and self-involvement with incredible moments of insight. As she grew older, she really did seem to grow wiser and that really pissed Grace off sometimes. Because now when Joan decided to meddle, she was actually pretty effective at it. She only hoped Joan wouldn't bother with this lost cause.
Luckily, Joan seemed content to leave the topic. "So, you'll be at the party, right? Because otherwise you will leave poor vulnerable, pregnant me to fend off random relatives and my parents' friends all alone."
"Your wonderful husband will protect you, I'm sure."
"Please, Adam turns all weird around my family. You know that." Joan crinkled up her nose. "He actually enjoys these kinds of things."
Grace shook her head. And once again, Clueless Joan!
"Girardi, would you let it go? I'd rather go shampoo my hair or something. Besides, I need to get 10 more pages of my dissertation to ol' Cougie by Sunday or it's my ass."
"Not working, Grace. You don't have to teach any classes this week; you have plenty of free time." Joan paused. Here comes the kicker. "Besides, not that you care, but Luke probably won't even be there. He cannot bear to remove himself from his precious lab until security kicks him out on Christmas Eve or something."
Grace fumed silently for a moment. It's either give in now or endure relentless nagging until I succumb to the torture. Might as well make this quick and painless. "Fine, Girardi. But the second some creepy old man tries to hit on me, I'm out."
Joan squealed and started to make a verbal list of all the characters she was sure to encounter at the party. Grace just slumped in her chair, wondering for the millionth time why she continued to put herself in these situations.