A/N: Thanks for all the reviews everyone! I'm glad you're enjoying this. For those of you who caught the little Joan/God reference: yup, that was what was going on there. Maybe someday I'll write a companion piece detailing Joan's role in all of this, but you can be sure she's going to be working her "magic" on our dynamic duo. Keep your eyes peeled. :-) I wanted to post this yesterday, but I had a hard time letting go of it. I want to keep a chapter ahead of myself, but the next chapter (the party!) is quite the beast to write. Blame it on Grace; she is totally not cooperating, taking the chapter places I didn't even plan on going. sigh What can you do, right? Anyway, so the end to this chapter has been rewritten two or three times. I'm posting it now to keep myself from changing it, and thus the subsequent chapter(s), again. If I get too fussy, as is my wont, this will never get done. Hope it works for y'all. If not, let me know! heh. ;-) Enjoy!
I gotta get
out on my own
I gotta get
up from this waiting at home
I gotta get out of this sunlight
It's melting
my bones
I gotta get
up from this slumber and get myself home
"Gracie?" Grace paused and bit her lip. "Grace, honey?"
With a sigh, Grace dumped some detergent in the dishwasher. "Just a sec, Dad."
Grace started up the appliance and wiped her hands on her pants. She walked into the living room to find her father searching for something.
"Have you seen my newspaper anywhere, Grace?" He started checking under the pillows on the couch. "I told you not to take it yet. I haven't finished reading it."
Grace watched him for a moment, then slowly walked over to her dad's recliner. Lifting up the afghan there, she held up the missing item.
The retired rabbi immediately stopped and chuckled. "Oh, what would I do without you?"
With a tight smile, she folded the blanket and placed it neatly on the chair. "So, Nancy is coming over tomorrow morning to clean. She said that last time she was here, you talked her ear off and she didn't get much done. Maybe you should make yourself scarce while she's working. Go out to breakfast or something."
"Fine, fine. Will you join me?" The hopeful smile on his face pulled at Grace's heart.
"Sorry, Dad, I have to head out to school for a few hours. I'm getting behind in my research."
"Ah, I see. Am I going to be able to say we have a doctor in the family any time soon?"
Grace snorted. "Yeah, at the rate I'm going I'll be defending my dissertation from a retirement home."
Rabbi Polanski's smile faded. He took a tentative step toward Grace, who took a step back.
"Dad," she warned, voice soft. He didn't move, but the look of pity and regret on his face was enough. Grace had to get out of there. "I made you a casserole for tomorrow. It's in the fridge. The directions to bake it are taped on top."
"Gracie…" He reached out into the void between them.
"And you have to remember to take your medication with each meal, okay? It's all set out for you." Grace edged toward the door.
Her father gave a resigned sigh. "You're too good to me, Grace. I can take care of myself, you know."
"Of course you can," Grace lied. "Well, I'm going to take off now. Have a good night, Dad. Call if you need anything."
"Drive safely, Grace." She let him walk over and kiss her on the cheek. Then, with a soft smile, she left.
She barely remembered the short drive to her apartment. On autopilot, she unlocked her door, tossed her keys and bag on the kitchen table, and shed her jacket and boots. The neon sign of the deli below cast a blue light through her windows, illuminating the small space. With a few steps, she traversed the kitchen, putting a kettle on to boil along the way. With a few more steps, she flopped onto her bed.
She hated her apartment. The building itself was old with crappy plumbing. She was on a first name basis with the exterminator. And the couple in the apartment next door was constantly fighting or fucking, all clearly heard through the paper thin walls.
But all that she could deal with. It was the lingering smell of meat and mildew that greeted her when she came home (no matter how much incense she burned) that made her skin crawl. It was why most nights she found it hard to sleep, tossing and turning until she just gave up and whittled away the darkness by grading brainless essays or writing lengthy rants on the state of society.
Bottom line, it wasn't a home. It was a situation. Like the rest of her life, she was merely just making do. She had put her academic and career ambitions on permanent hold to take care of her father. The rest of her life, too, seemed to stall out. The place she'd always planned on escaping, and had for a time, had sucked her back in. Arcadia was slowly bleeding the life out of her and sometimes she forgot to care.
Staring at the water stain on the ceiling, Grace let out a frustrated scream. It reverberated in the small space, rang pathetically in her ears. Closing her eyes, she took a few deep breaths and tried to calm down. Her mind drifted, reaching for a comforting thought. Funny how it always took her back to a certain time in her life:
A college radio station whined in the background. The room smelled kind of musty and a little like a chemistry lab, but mostly it smelled like him. His fingers were tracing patterns on her arms, spelling out chemical equations and atomic numbers. Their legs were tangled up as they lay together on his bed. Feeling utterly content, her eyes drifted closed.
"Grace," he whispered, "don't fall asleep on me here."
"Can't help it. I'm tired." She scooted closer to him, seeking his warmth. He brushed her hair from her face. Grace smiled.
He let her rest for a few minutes, stroking her face tenderly, easing her into sleep. But then his hands drifted a little lower. The neurons in her neck started firing like crazy; it was her most sensitive spot. His touch was light, taunting, and definitely woke her up. She played dead, though, wondering what he'd do next. She didn't have to wait long. His hand fell to her hip, moving her body even closer to his as his lips begun assaulting her neck.
"Luke," she gasped when he hit the right spot. Opening her eyes, she met his fiery gaze. So she wasn't exactly playing fair, either. She rarely used his given name so when she did it got him all riled up. And that was that; there would be no stopping him now. Someone should've warned her about sexually aggressive science geeks. Though, she supposed, she should've known it herself. The intense passion he had for physics could easily be focused onto other aspects of his life…like her.
She stilled his hand when he reached for her belt. "Dude, your parents!"
Luke pulled back a little, breathing hard. He got that little smirk on his face that always drove her crazy: it made her want to either roll her eyes or kiss him senseless. "Out of town, remember? They had to pick Joan and Adam up for Christmas break. They won't be back until morning."
Grace couldn't help the smile that broke out on her face. "And they left the teenage horndog off a leash?"
He shrugged. He was multitasking now: while his eyes held her attention, his fingers worked at their clothes. "Well, Kevin is supposed to stay over, but he has some big date with a girl he met at PT. In all likelihood, he won't be back until late. And regardless of that, he knows better than to come check on me."
"Dude, tell me you did not warn him I'd be over." She gave him the most menacing look she could manage in their current position.
"I don't have to warn him, Grace. Our parents are gone for the night and I have a girlfriend. Besides, he's a Girardi—"
"—and all Girardi men are dogs. Yeah, yeah." She leaned in to kiss him.
Dodging her, he laughed. "I wouldn't say that, Grace." Off her look, he picked up her right hand and placed a gentle kiss on her wrist, directly on the tattoo she had there. She grinned. "Girardi men do have the distinguished reputation of knowing how to treat their women—"
"Their women? You so did not just go there." The twinkle in his eyes told her he was just looking to get a rise out of her; political arguments and scientific babbling were their twisted form of flirting, after all. Instead of making a smart retort, his lips returned to her neck. The argument that had been poised at the tip of Grace's tongue was lost at the sensation. She snaked her hand under his shirt, pulling him closer still.
They lapsed into a silent conversation, then, words composed of heavy looks and gentle touches.
"Grace," he whispered his voice thick with emotion. She waited. The familiar butterflies were uncaged in her stomach. Then, with a soft kiss: "I love you."
She grinned in response, that cheek-splitting goofy smile that only he could elicit from her, and kissed him hard. "I love you too," she replied, still overcome whenever he said those words to her; even more overcome at how easily the tumbled from her lips in return. She truly meant them, too. Try and fight it as she often did, in moments like this when everything was quiet and they seemed to exist in their own little world, there was no denying it. With every look, every touch, she knew that she would do anything for him. It scared the shit out of her, but there it was. It was impossible to deny the way that Luke had made her reorder her world, label things she'd once had no vocabulary for. He changed her. For better or worse, however, it was yet to be determined.
She tried not to follow that line of thought as Luke pulled his shirt over his head. Tonight, it was just them and she would easily say that moments where there was nothing to come between her and Luke—no Joan or Adam, no family, none of those Big Issues hanging between them, and, best of all, no clothes— those moments were her favorite. So clearing her head of reason and giving herself over to feeling, she let go.
Grace drifted out of the past only to realize the kettle had been whistling for some time now. She swore loudly. One of her frisky neighbors banged on the wall and cursed right back at her. Biting her lip to keep from letting loose one of her trademark tirades at the peeling paint, she stomped over to the stove and moved the protesting item.
Cars honked on the street below. A siren wailed in crisis. Her neighbors erupted in argument. It only mirrored the internal chaos Grace was experiencing as she fixed herself a mug of tea. Her deviant thoughts kept pulling her back to that night so many years ago. Her body was equal in its betrayal; she could almost feel Luke's curious fingers mapping her skin. Stop! You're pathetic! Don't be that loser—that was high school, a silly teen infatuation, nothing to obsess over now!
Her mind continued to struggle—logic and reason versus emotion and nostalgia. Eventually the screamed insults of the couple next door drowned out her thoughts, leaving Grace to sip her tea in welcomed mental silence.
It was only later, as she was about to drift off to sleep, that she came to a realization. It popped in her head clear as day, undeniable. She was still hung up on Luke. You still love him.
It was a disturbing thought. It meant nine years wasted. Nine years of wondering why there hadn't been someone else, not realizing what was truly holding her back. She'd seen Luke once—once!—in that time. Clearly, it was way beyond the point of picking up the phone and apologizing. She knew he was at a different spot in his life now; she knew that four years ago. There would be no last minute reconciliation because time had been up years ago.
Grace rolled onto her back with a sigh. Well, at least now that I can acknowledge the truth, I can move on. Now that I know I am really and truly pathetic, all I can do is accept that, move on, and try to get past this. Remember, you don't need anyone. You, Grace Polk, only need yourself. No Attachments, remember? They only hold you back. Look at your life now. Suck it up and move forward. Be a brick wall. Grace Polk is an island on the verge of world conquest.
Satisfied with those thoughts and feeling somewhat empowered, Grace slipped out of consciousness. Her last thought being she was kind of looking forward to the Girardi Christmas party, if only to show her friends her new outlook on life.