three celebratory romps in bed last night. He ran his warm palm from the curve of my shoulder down to the small of my back, over my behind, and along my leg, which was almost the length of his. “What do you say we hit the road, Q?” he asked. It was Saturday, and the two of us always loved an uncharted trip, whether we splurged on a four-star hotel or pitched a tent. Within an hour, we’d packed a bag and rented a car.
I can sniff out an antiques store miles away, but today, as Jake and I drove north on back roads, I barely took note of the dusty shops, the delicate church spires, or the farm stands selling the season’s first pumpkins. All I could think and chatter about was the apartment, which we’d bid on before we’d even ridden down the building’s elevator.
Jake had followed through on the plan we’d rehearsed, should he decide that he liked the co-op as well as I did. “We’ll bid five percent above asking price,” he told Horton as I felt liftoff in my heart, speaking these words with the same bravado that had convinced the silvery sages headinghis law firm to make Jacob Benjamin Blue a junior partner before he turned thirty-three.
If we canceled our trip to Costa Rica and liquidated 75 percent of our savings, we could manage the purchase. If we ever required a third bedroom, Horton was right, we could eke out a good-sized space from the enormous, sunny dining room. When I imagined Jake and me in what I was beginning to think of as our home, I saw us happy, with child or without. We were our own family.
By eleven we spotted an inn fronted by weeping willows. “What do you think?” I said, pointing to the vacancy sign. As we pulled into the cobblestone driveway, my cell phone rang. It was Horton, crowing. “Fran’s delighted with your bid and has submitted it to Dr. Walter’s legal guardian.” I felt a beat of pleasure. Mrs. Shelbourne was a woman I wanted to please, a woman who made me want to stand up straight. My hand shot up in a victory salute Jake returned as I said, “Excellent. Anything else we need to do now?”
“Not yet,” Horton answered. “I’ll keep you in the loop, but don’t expect to hear from me until Tuesday. Congratulations—you’re on your way to owning a very special piece of property. Now enjoy your weekend.”
That we intended to do. As soon as I pushed open the inn’s screen door, I liked the parlor, which hadn’t an inspirational plaque in sight. A pile of art books stood on a trestle table next to a bowl of plums. When I pressed the bell for service, a curly-haired man walked through a hallway wiping his hands on a snowy apron. “Welcome to the Black Cat,” he said, smiling. “May I help you folks?”
“I hope so,” Jake said. “Could you show us some rooms, please?”
“Certainly, but there are only two left.”
The first room had a pencil-post bed layered with what appeared to be a faded bridal trousseau, but from the window seat of the second choice I saw a stone patio with wicker chairs and broad white market umbrellas. The room was larger and lighter, with a bath whose centerpiece was a deep claw-foot tub that reminded me of my first apartment. Jake took my hand and squeezed twice, our standard signal of agreement, the one we’dused to indicate approval on the apartment. I squeezed back. “We’ll take it,” he said.
“I wish we were staying longer than one night,” I whispered as we walked downstairs.
“I don’t see why I can’t be late on Monday.” He raised his eyebrows in his most lascivious Groucho glare. “I’ll book it for Sunday, too.”
I couldn’t recall one occasion when Attorney Blue had taken a sick day, not even when he broke his femur on a ski slope. It was at moments like this when I truly believed that even if I never had a child, my life was nevertheless going to be much more than fine. Jake is everything I want in a husband, and while putting up with my quiet spells heads the list, the unquenchable attraction I
I can sniff out an antiques store miles away, but today, as Jake and I drove north on back roads, I barely took note of the dusty shops, the delicate church spires, or the farm stands selling the season’s first pumpkins. All I could think and chatter about was the apartment, which we’d bid on before we’d even ridden down the building’s elevator.
Jake had followed through on the plan we’d rehearsed, should he decide that he liked the co-op as well as I did. “We’ll bid five percent above asking price,” he told Horton as I felt liftoff in my heart, speaking these words with the same bravado that had convinced the silvery sages headinghis law firm to make Jacob Benjamin Blue a junior partner before he turned thirty-three.
If we canceled our trip to Costa Rica and liquidated 75 percent of our savings, we could manage the purchase. If we ever required a third bedroom, Horton was right, we could eke out a good-sized space from the enormous, sunny dining room. When I imagined Jake and me in what I was beginning to think of as our home, I saw us happy, with child or without. We were our own family.
By eleven we spotted an inn fronted by weeping willows. “What do you think?” I said, pointing to the vacancy sign. As we pulled into the cobblestone driveway, my cell phone rang. It was Horton, crowing. “Fran’s delighted with your bid and has submitted it to Dr. Walter’s legal guardian.” I felt a beat of pleasure. Mrs. Shelbourne was a woman I wanted to please, a woman who made me want to stand up straight. My hand shot up in a victory salute Jake returned as I said, “Excellent. Anything else we need to do now?”
“Not yet,” Horton answered. “I’ll keep you in the loop, but don’t expect to hear from me until Tuesday. Congratulations—you’re on your way to owning a very special piece of property. Now enjoy your weekend.”
That we intended to do. As soon as I pushed open the inn’s screen door, I liked the parlor, which hadn’t an inspirational plaque in sight. A pile of art books stood on a trestle table next to a bowl of plums. When I pressed the bell for service, a curly-haired man walked through a hallway wiping his hands on a snowy apron. “Welcome to the Black Cat,” he said, smiling. “May I help you folks?”
“I hope so,” Jake said. “Could you show us some rooms, please?”
“Certainly, but there are only two left.”
The first room had a pencil-post bed layered with what appeared to be a faded bridal trousseau, but from the window seat of the second choice I saw a stone patio with wicker chairs and broad white market umbrellas. The room was larger and lighter, with a bath whose centerpiece was a deep claw-foot tub that reminded me of my first apartment. Jake took my hand and squeezed twice, our standard signal of agreement, the one we’dused to indicate approval on the apartment. I squeezed back. “We’ll take it,” he said.
“I wish we were staying longer than one night,” I whispered as we walked downstairs.
“I don’t see why I can’t be late on Monday.” He raised his eyebrows in his most lascivious Groucho glare. “I’ll book it for Sunday, too.”
I couldn’t recall one occasion when Attorney Blue had taken a sick day, not even when he broke his femur on a ski slope. It was at moments like this when I truly believed that even if I never had a child, my life was nevertheless going to be much more than fine. Jake is everything I want in a husband, and while putting up with my quiet spells heads the list, the unquenchable attraction I
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