Chapter 16 #2
“Oh my god,” she said, turning as we walked. “Look at this. So good for entertaining. Mine is like this.” She held her hands out in front of her not even a foot apart from one another. “I had friends over for my birthday once, I’m not joking, Sasha somehow ended up stepping on the cake.”
I sighed. “That honestly sounds great. This space was such a huge reason why I wanted this house, but I just don’t really end up entertaining very often.”
“You should have the Hometown team over,” she said. “If you wanted to. I bet I could get someone to step on a cake for you.”
“Maybe,” I said. “I just want them to see me like one of them. The house kind of blows it up a bit.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, grinning. “So does the car, but I hear you keep vrooming into the parking garage every morning anyway.”
“I don’t vroom,” I said, checking the pot on the stovetop to see if the mussels had opened yet. “Would you like wine?”
“Yes, and let me make myself useful while you’re handling everything else,” she said.
“Sure,” I said, pointing to the fridge and the location of wineglasses in my cabinets. “Do you miss New York?”
“Honestly, I’ve traveled so much, I try not to dwell on it.
The goal’s that eventually I can be more selective, book more local work.
But I’m surprised how much I like it here.
Between that and how much I’m working, it’s almost hard to find time to miss New York too much.
Just my bed, which I prefer falling into over Carmen’s futon. ”
“Futons are terrible,” I said. “When Andy and I first got here, we bought this pair of futons off of Craigslist for this one-bedroom we shared in NoHo—he took the living room and gave me the bedroom—and I’m pretty sure neither of us got a normal night of sleep until I booked All Green Lights and moved out and treated us both to real beds. ”
I immediately wished I hadn’t brought anything up concerning that time in my life, but Rebecca set a glass of Chablis next to me and smiled.
“I wish Parker and I were as close as you and your brother. Is he still out here?”
I nodded. “He started that landscape business like he said he would. If it was bright out I’d show you the backyard, all his work. Also he’s an incredible uncle to Rosie.”
Rosie barked as if to agree, and Rebecca squealed in delight. I got to work setting the table, and she fell into place next to me, helping bring everything over from the stovetop and counter.
“You’re my guest,” I told her, though it felt more comfortable and familiar than it had any right to.
“Yeah, yeah,” she said with a grin. “Is that everything?”
“Sit,” I told her. “I just have to get the bread from the oven.”
“There’s bread in the oven?” she asked.
“Don’t sound so excited,” I warned, pulling it out with a potholder. “I just wrapped a loaf of bread in foil and threw it in. I didn’t have time to make bread today.”
“Gardner, who the fuck has the time to make bread?”
I carefully wrapped it in a tea towel and placed it into a basket before carrying it over. “I think that’s everything.”
“It looks incredible,” Rebecca said, glancing around the table. “I had no idea you could cook like this.”
“My mom taught me.” I leaned forward to serve the salad.
“This is her dressing recipe, actually. She took so much care in everything she made for us, I always wanted to be the same way. I mean, I know she thought this was so I could make dinner for my husband, but I still like keeping up her traditions.”
“How are your parents?” she asked.
“Dead,” I said, and her face fell. “No, it’s OK. It’s been a while. Mom got sick a couple years after I moved to LA—lymphoma—and Dad kind of faded once she was gone. It was his heart. You know. Literally and figuratively.”
“Tess,” she said, and we both seemed a little stunned at her use of my first name. “I’m so sorry.”
“I always felt kind of prepared,” I said.
“Since my older brothers were so much older than Andy and me. When you grow up with older parents, you can do the math. And we weren’t close, I guess, not really.
That thing you said the other night, that no one paid attention to me and Andy—I guess that was true.
It’s all sad, I know, but I’m OK. Maybe if I didn’t have Andy so close it would be different, but I do.
And my older brothers and Andy and I Zoom like once a month—my idea—so even when I’m on location and it’s been too long since I’ve been home to visit, we’re all still in touch, which is really important to me.
I never wanted moving away to mean I didn’t have a family. ”
Rebecca pushed her empty salad plate away and tore off a piece of bread to dip into her bowl, sopping up the broth. “Do you want a family? Someday?”
“I think I have the one I’m getting,” I said. “Dog and dog uncle, you know? What about you?”
“Sure, someday,” she said. “If I could work a little less, find someone who’s more tethered down so we could make it work in one place. The logistics with someone with a schedule like mine would be impossible. Gardner, seriously, this is the best thing I’ve eaten in forever.”
“Thanks,” I said, imagining the tethered woman who’d land Rebecca, have her babies or vice versa. “Do you cook?”
“I make the best grilled cheese you’ve ever had,” she said. “Are you impressed?”
“Very. What’s your secret?”
“As if I would tell you the secret to the best grilled cheese in the world!”
“I’ll sign an NDA,” I said, and she cracked up. It was deeply annoying how sexy it was to make someone laugh, even someone who was dreaming of their future tethered wife (probably) as we spoke.
After we finished off the pot of mussels and most of the bread, I offered to give her a tour of the rest of the place before dessert.
Rebecca exclaimed over just about everything—which, coming from someone with her taste, meant the world to me—and I even let her into my office, where I barely worked, but it felt like the least tacky place to keep my small collection of awards.
“Wait, what is this one?” Rebecca asked, picking up my People’s Choice Award, a tall slim golden cylinder. “Will you judge me if I say it looks like a sex toy? Sorry, also, should I have not picked it up?”
“It’s fine,” I said. “It’s a People’s Choice Award, but you’re not wrong.”
“Aw, you’re the people’s choice,” she said as I led her out of the office and back down the hallway. “Does that feel … even comprehensible? I still can hardly handle the relatively small number of theatre people and lesbians who know who I am.”
“No, it’s too much to handle if I really dwell on it,” I said. “But also I’m used to it? Sorry, that’s not a great answer. Are you ready for dessert?”
“Maybe,” she said. “What did you make?”
I hadn’t thought this part through, hadn’t thought about saying it aloud, hadn’t even thought about why I’d done it until this moment, standing in front of her.
“Why are you making that face?” she asked, as a look of realization washed over her. “Did you make butterscotch pudding?”
I nodded. “With homemade whipped cream.”
“Fuck,” she said, staring at me, her brown eyes wide behind her glasses.
My body took over, because I absolutely didn’t think about it.
I had no idea I was going to do it. I barely understood that I wanted to do it, other than the background hum of desire that had become white noise the past weeks.
I clasped Rebecca’s waist with my hands, soft cashmere and the heat of her body, and rose up on my toes to find her lips with mine.
She leaned down immediately, her hair brushing my cheeks, her lips warm and eager.
I hummed with impatience, felt twenty-two again, but held back, kissed her gently as her fingertips grazed my face and she held me in her hands as we kissed again.
Rebecca took a step away, almost backing into the wall, and a panic seized me that it was all we’d get this time, two practically chaste kisses in my hallway while my dog snored nearby. Still, wasn’t that more than I deserved?
Suddenly, though, I didn’t care about what I deserved.
I couldn’t care past this moment. I grabbed Rebecca’s hand and pulled her to the living room, steered her to the sofa, where I sat at her side practically facing her.
A smirk danced at the edges of her mouth, but before she could say a word I pulled off her glasses and covered her lips with mine again.
This time she opened up to me, and I tried not to show her how eager I was to slip my tongue between her lips, taste every part of her starting here.
Her breath was hard and fast when I pulled back from her, and I stopped worrying about hiding my eagerness.
I licked down the smooth column of her neck, and scraped my teeth at its base, which elicited a little yelp from Rebecca.
“What are we, fifteen?” she asked, smacking me lightly on the arm. “There are about seven shirts I can’t wear if you give me a hickey.”
“What about here?” I tugged down the collar, though immediately felt guilty because it was such luxe cashmere. “Sorry, I think the only solution is you’ll have to take off your sweater.”
“I worried that might be true,” she said in a serious tone, before laughing as she tugged the sweater off over her head.
It happened so quickly that I wasn’t prepared, not for the minimal black bra, barely anything more than two black silk triangles, and what felt like a mile of creamy skin.
Back at Applewoods, Rebecca Frisch had not worn sexy underwear, not that I hadn’t found her sensible cotton items mind-blowingly hot nonetheless.
I pulled one thin strap aside, kissed her shoulder, licked the hollow below, sucked hard until she let out a tiny whine.
“Come back up here.” This time it was her tongue pressing into me, though I pressed back, made it a rougher push-and-pull between us. I couldn’t believe this was happening, like I’d willed it into existence.
Rebecca grabbed my shoulders and shoved me back as she climbed onto my lap, her thighs snug around my hips.
I arched my back so we fit together more tightly, and our hips sought out each other’s as we kissed, working out a sloppy, needy rhythm.
I undid Rebecca’s bra and cupped her breasts in my hands, her nipples as hard as mine were, tight under my T-shirt and bra still.
There was a fever dream quality to it, I knew, because it had been so long but also it had been like this so many times. We knew exactly how to do this together.
Rebecca slipped off my T-shirt and unfastened my bra with one hand before leaning back in to kiss me.
A moan pulled from the back of my throat at the sensation of her breasts brushing against mine, and I grabbed at her ass to pull her closer still.
My whole body throbbed for her. We were both still in jeans but I couldn’t count the number of times we’d gotten off together exactly like this, denim and friction and a singular focus of pleasure.
There was no way to track where I ended and she began; we were one pulsing rhythm desperately seeking out the more of release.
Rosie darted into the room, toenails clicking on the hardwood floor, goblin sounds in full effect, barking as if one of us was about to be murdered.
“Sorry,” I said, slipping out from under Rebecca and pulling on my T-shirt. “Let me make sure everything’s OK and then I can get her settled in another room.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Rebecca pulled on her bra and tugged on her sweater, all-business. “I should probably go.”
“No, stay, everything’s fine, she’s just not used to—”
“I think it’s a good idea if I head out before either of us do something we regret.” She slid on her glasses and headed toward the door. “Can I let myself outside the same way I came in?”
I stared at her, wondering if she was right. I hadn’t spent over a decade ignoring who I was to undo the whole thing in a sloppy hookup on my sofa. But also Rebecca was no sloppy hookup and it felt like she’d wanted it as much as I had. What was I doing? What was she doing?
Rebecca was still walking toward the door, so I still had time.
I could figure out what was happening between us.
I could keep her here. I could fix this.
There were probably a million things I could say but I couldn’t figure out how to put any of what I was feeling into words.
What even was I feeling? Besides Don’t leave, Rebecca.
“Don’t you want any butterscotch pudding?” I asked.
Rebecca held up her hand in a wave before walking out the door.
Which meant that unfortunately even after I took Rosie into the backyard and cleaned up the kitchen and took out my contacts and got into bed that the last thing rattling around in my head was still Don’t you want any butterscotch pudding?