JENNIE
The free time continued into Sunday; I desperately needed a day off. I could have been at the Claremont. I should be approving curtains and rod placement; I should be eyeballing the marble tiles in the bathrooms and whether they should be hung vertically for a touch of whimsy; I should be approving a slab of reclaimed wood for an entryway table that was being custom designed; I should be . . . I should be . . . I should be playing hooky. So I did.
I slept in, I ate eggs sitting down instead of toast on the way out the door, and I was presently on an afternoon stroll with Lisa, with absolutely no direction and nowhere to be. Hooky. Doing it.
We'd started off walking down the main drag, stopped to get coffee, and then turned down a hidden pathway through an old garden gate back up into the hills. We chatted as we walked, our hands linked. She was telling me about a call she'd had with Trevor from back east. They'd kept in touch after the reunion, and his wife had indeed sent me an autographed cookbook that had been signed by none other than Ina Garten herself.
She'd touched it. Touched the book that now lived on my nightstand. I wonder if her husband, Jeffrey, had touched it. Perhaps the day she'd been signing countless cookbooks, he'd stopped by her office. Maybe as they'd chatted about rosemary bushes and lobster rolls (as you do), he'd patted her hand, weary from signing her own name. Maybe her hand (and now Jeffrey's) was resting on the cookbook that became my cookbook! It could have happened.
We stopped at a corner, not quite sure where we were. I could see peekaboo Pacific here and there, but not enough to orient myself.
"Where's the house?" I asked, looking back up to the hillside. No landmarks I recognized.
"We're a few blocks away. I think I zigged when I should have zagged. No problem, it shouldn't be too far," she said, looking left, then right, then left again. "I think it's this way," she said. As we walked, my phone rang. I reached into my pocket and turned it off.
"I don't think I've seen you do that in weeks," she remarked, and I smiled ruefully.
"I'll feel guilty Monday, but today I can't think about anything work related. My head will literally burst."
She nodded, squeezing my hand as we walked. "Let's talk about what we should make for dinner tonight—I feel like cooking. How about we stop at that farmers' market you're so in love with and see if we can find something fun—"
Still continuing to walk, I didn't realize she had stopped dead in her tracks. I pulled on her arm. "Hey. Come on, pokey. Hey, Lisa." I snapped my fingers to get her attention. She was staring at a house at the end of the street, partially hidden by trees and a jungle of weeds.
"Babe, look at that."
"Look at what—that shack? Yeah, it looks pretty abandoned. Let's head back. Farmers' market? Dinner?" I answered, pulling on her hand again. she stood fast, peering through the debris.
"No, look at that house. Isn't it interesting?"
"Interesting isn't the word I would use—" But she pulled me toward the house. Which had a For Sale sign in the yard.
Uh . . . what?
"You're kidding, right?" I asked, dragging my feet as she led me up the walk. As we got closer, I saw that it was probably once a very nice house. Victorian, but not froufrou. Peeling paint gave it a melancholy look, but it had clean lines and looked to be decent sized. I glanced around at the other houses on the street; rows of beautifully maintained homes. How had this house deteriorated so?
"It's pretty, isn't it?" a voice called, and we turned to see an older woman peering over her newspaper from her front porch.
"Um, well," I hedged, smiling at her.
"Well, it used to be pretty. Want to see the inside?" she asked.
"Oh no, we couldn't—" I started, only to be interrupted by Lisa. "Yes, we'd love to."
"Babe, what are you doing?" I whispered through my teeth as the woman produced a set of keys from her pocket and threw them over to us. Lisa caught them in midair, saying, "Thanks."
"No trouble at all. The Realtor has only shown it a few times, but I still have a set of keys. Mrs. Shrewsbury—she's the old owner—went to live with her daughter in Sacramento. She let the house get the best of her the last few years, but it's got good bones," she said, going back to her paper.
Good bones. I mentally snorted. Someone's been watching HGTV . . .
"Have you lost your mind?" I asked quietly as we made our way up the walk. Dodging clumps of grass and twigs, we headed up onto the porch.
"I don't know. I just want to see the inside; don't you?" she asked, and her eyes lit up with something I couldn't pinpoint.
"Sure?" As she fiddled with the lock I glanced around, noting the orange trees, the honeysuckle vines, the shrub roses. This Mrs. Shrewsbury was definitely a gardener. Looking past the debris, I could see the white clapboard, the faded shutters flanking an enormous picture window. A traditional two-story home, its porch curved away from the street and wrapped around toward the back.
"There we go," Lisa announced, the door swinging inward. We walked in, the afternoon light showing us an outdated interior. I gazed at the mauve wallpaper with a calico cat border. But as we moved farther into the house, the entire back wall opened up into a view of the bay.
"Oh," I gasped, seeing the little lights of Sausalito just beginning to twinkle down below, and farther out, San Francisco. The porch wrapped all the way around the back, with two comfortable-looking lounge chairs positioned to take in the view. The grass needed mowing, the weeds needed weeding, but it was a killer porch.
I turned back toward Lisa, who was leaning against the mantel of a stone fireplace flanked by bookshelves with leaded-glass doors. They were covered in shelf paper, but the craftsmanship was unmistakable.
Thumping my feet along the pink wall-to-wall carpeting, I made a guess. "There's hardwood under this Pepto rug, I bet you anything," I said, my heart racing a little.
Whoa, slow down Heart. What the hell were we even doing in here?
I passed Lisa on the way toward the kitchen, finding avocado green appliances but ample space. My mind began to work. Not you too, Brain—settle down!
"Interesting?" she asked, reaching out her hand to me.
"Interesting," I allowed, letting her pull me toward the stairs. On the way we passed a formal dining room, complete with bay windows facing the . . . bay. The carpet on the stairs continued the pink, but was only a runner, exposing the hardwood underneath. As we made our way upstairs, golden sunlight broke through the stillness, another huge window hiding under an eave but making for great light. I held my breath as we reached the second floor, peeking inside rooms and counting one, two, three bedrooms, a hallway bath with subway tile, original probably, and heading into what was the . . . master bedroom.
High in the trees, overlooking the porch and the undeniable view, it was a large room with windows on two sides. The hardwood floor was stained a honey that could easily be lifted or darkened. My mind began to whirl, placing a highboy dresser on one wall, a desk in the nook in the corner. Would the bed be four poster or sleigh . . . Oh no, I was staging the room.
Lisa came out of the bathroom with a smirk. "Holy shit, you are going to lose your mind when you see what's in here."
I pushed past her.
Claw.
Foot.
Tub.
"Sweet merciful God," I managed, leaning against the wall as she chuckled.
She caught me up in a close hug, leaning her forehead onto mine.
"Nightie Girl, we should totally buy this fucking house," she said, laughing when I shrieked.
My legs literally turned to jelly. Everything south of my navel liquefied, and if it were not for the core strength I possessed from hours spent in the yoga studio, I would have melted into the hardwood floor and dripped down onto the Pepto carpet below.
"Lisa," I started, an eyebrow moving north.
"Jennie," she came right back, her eyebrow mocking mine.
"Lisa," I repeated. "Slow down. And when did you start smoking the marijuana?"
She laughed again, then disappeared into one of the closets. I followed her, tamping down the hysteria that threatened inside.
"Listen to me. Seriously, are you high? You must be, because otherwise— Holy shit." I stopped, my voice echoing. It echoed, you see, because the closet was as big as our entire block. I immediately envisioned miles and miles of custom cabinets: drawers, open shelving, shoe racks. I let out a whimper.
Lisa stood in front of the window (the closet had a window. I can't even.) and gestured at the view. "I wonder if my closet has a window too."
I gulped. "There's another closet?" I spun back into the bedroom. Yep, there it was. Two closets. I more than whimpered this time. I looked at Lisa, who was leaving my closet (the closet) and coming toward me. I backed into the wall as each step came closer.
"No. No, Lisa."
"We could totally do this."
"We could totally not do this! Not kidding."
"This house is incredible."
"This house is a money pit. Haven't you ever seen that movie?"
"Have you ever seen a view like the one from that porch?" she asked, placing her hands on either side of the wall, caging me in. "Quit trying to talk yourself out of this," she said with the tiniest bit of . . . annoyance?
"You haven't even seen the basement," I said.
"So we'll go to the basement."
"I'm scared of basements, Lisa."
"Everyone's scared of basements, Jennie."
"You too? One time when I was a kid, I—"
But I couldn't finish my story about the time I gave myself a black eye racing up the basement steps with every Barbie I owned because of the werewolf that was chasing me, because I suddenly had a very insistent and very skilled tongue working past my lips and into my mouth.
I had barely caught my breath before the assault on my senses began again. Her hands pressed into the small of my back, pulling me into her. Her kiss ended, and she now rested her forehead against my own. There was want and need in her eyes, but in a different way than normal. I brought my hand up to her face and traced a path down her jaw.
"I'm not totally saying no," I whispered, and sudden joy broke across her face. I pushed her off me and looked again at the bedroom. She snuck her hands around my waist, which I allowed. Frankly, I needed the anchor. This was crazy.
"Since when did you want to live in Sausalito?"
"It's grown on me. Besides, they're turning our building into condos—we'd have to move sooner or later."
"That's a rumor."
"That's a fact. The lady in 2A told me."
"The lady in 2A just wants to get in your pants. Are we actually talking about this? And can we afford this?"
"I can, and you can help out. I know you're already thinking about all the things you want to change."
"We'd start with the carpet; that would come up immediately," I answered promptly, then slapped a hand over my mouth.
"I knew it." She laughed, and tugged me over to the window seat. For Christ's sake, a window seat. I never stood a chance. When she pulled me onto her lap, I let her.
"Okay, look," I said. "Let's just talk about this for a minute. A year ago, you had just left behind your harem. Now you want to move out to the suburbs with me?"
"I would hardly call this the suburbs."
"You know what I mean. This is just . . . Look, you have to admit that things have been different since . . ." I trailed off.
"Since?" she prodded.
"This just isn't what I was expecting. You're asking me to— Wait. What are you asking me?" I asked suddenly, my entire body going on point.
"I'm asking if you want to live together, silly girl. To buy this totally impractical, beautiful house that's way too big for two people, and live in it with me. Together."
And I'd thought we were just going out for a stroll today.
I looked around the bedroom, looked out the window at the killer view. I looked at her, looked her right in the eye, and tried to uncover what she was thinking. "You sure you want all this?" I asked, not just talking about the house.
"Hell, yes. I love you; that's not going to change. I want this, I want you, and I think . . . Oh hell, here comes the Dawson's Creek." She grimaced and I chuckled in spite of the moment.
Her gaze grew wistful, and she looked so young. "I don't want to put things off, even though we haven't been together a really long time. I don't want to wait—you never know what can . . . Look. I adore you, and I want a home. Again. With you."
That did it. Cue the waterworks.
"You're killing me, Lisa." I sniffled, tears and nose beginning to run.
"I know. I'm very cute when I'm vulnerable," she said, making me snort in a very unladylike way.
"So without knowing how much this house costs, without knowing anything about buying a house in Sausalito, without an inspection or a real estate agent and knowing there's a shit ton of work to be done, you want this? All of it—you really want this?"
She nodded, looking determined but a little afraid of my answer.
I got off her lap and walked around the bedroom once more. There were at least a hundred reasons why this was maybe not the best idea. I peered out the big window once more, looking down onto the old rosebushes in the brush. I bet this was beautiful in the spring.
I leaned on the windowsill, seeing the last of the afternoon sun leave the city across the bay. The windowsills were deep, exactly the right size for a very particular cat to doze in. I turned to Lisa, now standing in the doorway with the most hopeful look ever.
Did I want this?
Is this what it was like, being grown up? Making big decisions, and then moving into a new phase of your life? Wasn't this too fast, too impulsive, too . . .
I did want this. And I wanted it with Lisa. I nodded yes, and she grinned, laughed, then kissed me stupid.
Three hours later, she'd made an offer. It was accepted.
Grown-ups, right?
• • •
"Are we rushing into this?"
"No, we've been at this quite a while. It's called foreplay, Jennie," Lisa murmured, south of my navel.
"I'm familiar with the concept," I replied, tightening my legs around her midsection and lifting up onto my elbows to peer down at her. "Not talking about the foreplay, although it's good."
"Good? Just good?" she crawled up my body, kissing it all the while. I shivered. "I was giving you some of my best stuff down there."
"Did I say good? I meant fantastic. Phenomenal." I kissed her square on the lips. "Out of this world."
"That's better. Now, what's this about rushing things?" she used my left breast as a pillow as her fingertips traced lightly over the right.
"With the house. Are we rushing into this?" I asked, running my hands through her hair and making it stand straight up. I twisted it this way and that, making Mohawks and no hawks, bowl cuts and bangs. I worried her hair around every finger, feeling the silky strands as she kissed my cleavage.
"You're still thinking about this?" she asked, sighing. "If I thought it was too soon, I wouldn't have made an offer." The barest hint of tongue now wet the tip of my breast. "If I thought it was too soon, I wouldn't have told the Realtor that I wanted that house no matter what was wrong with it."
Her hips bumped mine, slipping between my legs, which automatically cradled her. I could feel her, hard and wanting and insistent. "If I thought it was too soon, I wouldn't be giving you an obscene design budget to turn that house into our home," she whispered, her voice husky and thick. And speaking of thick . . .
She nudged inside, just barely. "Heated floors, Jennie." My back arched. "Marble countertops." My legs fell open wide.
"Carrara?"
"I don't know what that means, babe," she said, panting, now hovering over my body. She rested her full weight on one hand, letting the other dip down below to begin drawing those perfect circles, exactly where she knew would send me flying.
"It's a kind of marble that—mmm. . . ." I moaned, my head falling back onto the pillow as she slid inside me entirely.
"Anything. You can have anything you want. Don't you know that?" she groaned, scooping under my back and pulling me closer into her, tilting my hips so that each thrust hit me right smack dab on the Carrara. "I just need you." Her eyes burned into mine, stormy and full of want. "You—I need you," she repeated, thrusting deeply, stringing me out right on the edge.
It was those eyes that pushed me over that edge. And when she followed, it was epic. We lay together, tangled and out of breath. Holding her closely, I whispered in her ear how much I loved her, and how great this house, this home, would be.
I only hoped I could make it what she needed.