by Tina Reber
Everyone stood up to applaud—everyone. Famous directors, famous celebrities, famous musicians—the entire audience rose to applaud for him.
Ryan looked like he’d been punched in the gut. He leaned over and kissed me. I couldn’t stop smiling; I was giggling with excitement. He kissed me again, rubbing his hand over my stomach before heading toward the steps to the stage. Tears of happiness slipped from the corner of my eyes.
You could see in his priceless expression that he was shocked to have won. I hoped this overwhelming moment wouldn’t render him speechless. He was visibly shaken; at least, visibly to me. His mouth hung open in disbelief and his hand nervously rubbed his forehead as he climbed the steps.
I stood and clapped for him, enduring each painful contraction bravely as my body readied itself to give birth to our child.
I watched in awe as five of the most iconic actors of our time each shook Ryan’s hand and gave him congratulatory pats and hugs. His heroes, his mentors, the men he had admired and respected and strived to be like all welcomed him into their ranks.
Ryan stood at the podium with his beautiful gold statue clutched in his hands, still completely blown away that his dream had come true. He had finally achieved his greatest desire. His career as an artist had reached its highest peak.
“Thank you,” Ryan said repeatedly into the microphone. His eyes were locked on mine.
Everyone sat down in anticipation of his acceptance speech.
He had been dragging his feet about preparing until finally last night I made him write down what he would say if this moment were his.
“Thank you,” he said again. “I am so very humbled to be standing here in front of you all.” He scratched his forehead. He was so nervous.
Breathe, honey, just breathe.
“I didn’t think this goal would ever be obtainable, until someone convinced me otherwise and told me that dreams do come true if you point yourself in their direction.” He winked at me.
“That person is my lovely wife, Taryn, to whom I owe everything for this moment. She said two years ago that this script was Oscar-worthy and I’m so glad I listened to her.” He breathed out and chuckled nervously, shaking his award as proof.
I blew him a kiss from my hand and rubbed my stomach, pushing a tiny foot back down. Our child was anxious to have his birthday.
He reached for the little piece of paper that he had tucked away in the inside breast pocket of his jacket. Written on it were the names of people he wanted to thank. I was glad he wore the silver tie and white shirt with his black tuxedo. He looked absolutely dashing.
Another powerful contraction hit. I grasped the armrest of my seat and locked my arms to help me ride out the pain. This one was difficult to smile through.
He looked out over the crowd. “I promise to make this quick as my wife just informed me several minutes ago that she’s been in labor for the last five hours, and I really don’t want her to give birth to our first child down there in the front row.”
The audience clapped and laughed.
He continued to fumble with the paper, nervously trying to unfold it. “Tell him to hang on, honey, I’ll be done in a minute.”
The audience laughed again.
He scratched his eyebrow. “I just let it slip,” he muttered, mostly to himself, but everyone heard him.
He shrugged, looking back at the five men still standing on the stage with him.
“Oh well, now the tabloids don’t have to speculate any longer and the paparazzi can stop asking. It’s a boy!” He looked out at the audience and grinned proudly.
The audience roared and applauded.
“I don’t know which moment of my evening tonight will be bigger, receiving this award or the arrival of my son, but I am grateful that they are happening on the same day so I can truly say that today is the best day of my life.” He took in a few quick breaths, trying to calm himself down.
“I’d like to thank my mom and dad, who are also here somewhere. Dad, yell so I know where you are.”
I heard his father yell “here” from somewhere in the back right corner of the grand theater and couldn’t help but smile.
Ryan continued his acceptance speech, thanking the amazing director, the crew, his co-stars, and expressing gratitude for being recognized among the other four nominees.
I was relieved when he finished, and I smiled when several of the superstars who flanked him patted him on the shoulders as he made his way to the side of the stage.
“Mrs. Christensen, are you in need of an ambulance?” a female stagehand asked, helping me as I tried to stand up.
“No,” I breathed in between contractions. “Just my husband, his parents, and our limo.”
Four hours later, on March 9, at 11:40 P.M., Mitchell Ryan Christensen made his debut. Seven pounds, ten ounces; twenty inches long—a perfect miniature version of his father, blue eyes and everything.
“Oh it’s good to be home,” Ryan sighed when we walked through the front doors of our six-thousand-square-foot, completely pretentious log home. Our five-day-old son was bundled up in his cozy blue fleece outfit with little puppy dog appliqués on the toes. He was strapped securely in his car seat carrier and slept the whole way from the airport to his home.
I immediately started unbuckling him so I could hold him again.
“Call the crew, let ’em know we’re back. I’m sure Pete and Tammy will rush right over to see him,” he chuckled, dragging our suitcases into the entryway.
“I will in a bit. After we get settled.”
Ryan took his Oscar out of the felt pouch that it was wrapped in. “I’m going to put this in the office.”
“No!” I quickly yelled. “Put it on the fireplace mantel where we can appreciate it.”
He smirked.
“No one ever goes in your office, honey. Put it up here.” I moved a few of our wedding pictures, making a place for his statue.
I sat down on the couch with the baby, showing him the picture of all of us on our wedding day.
I smiled at the big grin Pete wore on his face when the picture was taken. The trip was a second honeymoon for Pete and Tammy, and sometime during that week, Tammy got pregnant. Their daughter, Madison, was six months old now.
We all joked that maybe our son and their daughter might get together one day. You never know which way the wind is going to blow. Anything is possible.
I had spent all that time worrying about what I would do with my life, only to have it all work out on its own. Wife, mother, partner, lover . . . it was all very fulfilling.
Ryan joined me and the baby in the sunroom that overlooked the lake. He propped his feet up on the coffee table and tossed the box he had in his hands onto the floor.
“Let me hold him now,” Ryan whispered, slipping his hands around our tiny baby boy. “Come here, little guy. Come to Daddy,” he crooned.
Seeing my husband so in love with his son filled me completely.
“What’s in the box?” I asked, watching the sun set over the tops of the evergreens.
Ryan chuckled. “Scripts. More scripts.”
“Well, you know, honey, you only have one Oscar. If you had two, we’d have matching bookends.”
He grinned at me. “Nah, I already have one. Maybe you should work for the second one?”
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t think so. Besides, I’m not an actress.”
“But you could be, if you try. After all, you’re the one who keeps saying that anything is possible if you point yourself in the right direction.”
So he’d been paying attention.
I slid my leg down the table and kicked him in the foot.
Bonus Chapter
While I was developing the story line for Love Unrehearsed, I had the following passage in the beginning as the original dream sequence. I chose to cut it because I didn’t want to give too much away up front. I wanted Taryn’s adoption to be a surprise.
While developing Taryn’s character, I wondered what Taryn’s last
memory of Joey might be that caused her to have those recurring nightmares of the “boy with the black hair” and what caused the division on her mother’s side of the family.
I have fond memories of being my father’s “beer fetcher” while he and the other men in the family played horseshoes, so this scene partially comes from my childhood. We went to the same place to have a family picnic every year and the gray cinder-block garage on the property always seemed to be a few degrees cooler than the blistering heat outside.
The little blond-haired girl sneaking ice cubes with a Barbie in one hand? That was me.
Enjoy.
Grandfather’s Fishing Shack
July 4, 1986
“Whoa! Careful there, sweetheart!”
Daddy’s big hands latched tightly under my arms and he spun me up into his arms. The big metal U
that Uncle Al threw tumbled right past Daddy’s foot and fell softly like a whisper in the grass.
“Taryn, you know better. I don’t want you to get hit with one of those horseshoes. It will hurt.” His bottom lip stuck out like a big fat worm. It looked funny. I wanted to grab it and squeeze it.
I sat perched in my daddy’s arms and watched Uncle Al make funny faces as he swung his arm, aiming for the rusty spike sticking straight up from the ground. The clanging noise was kind of frightening. I imagined that the horses that wore those big shoes had to be enormous. Like elephants. Or even bigger.
Like houses. I wished I could ride one.
“Your cheeks are red, Daddy.”
He placed a few kisses on my face. “So are yours, peanut. Mommy has to put more lotion on you.
Who do you have here? Who’s this bum?”
I waved my dolly’s arm to say “Hi.” “This is Ken. He’s my boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend, huh?” He raised his brow, giving me that one-eye look. “What happened to his pants?”
I pointed over to my tiny splash pool, where they were floating. Barbie was still in the water.
“Do I need to have a talk with him about showing his heinie in public?”
I giggled. “Can you take me in the big water now?”
“That’s two points for us,” Dad said proudly, shifting me on his hip to retrieve one of the metal U’s.
I patted his cheek. “Daddy?”
He smiled his toothy grin at me and I knew I had him. “In a minute, sweetheart. Daddy and Uncle Al need to mop up Uncle Andy and Bean Man over there first. You don’t go anywhere near that lake without Mommy or Daddy. Understand? You stay here where I can see you.”
I watched Uncle Al drink from the brown glass bottle, tilting it far into the sky to get every last drop.
“Hey, Taryn?” Uncle Al called. “Would you do me a big, big favor? Would you throw this away in the garbage and get me and your, um, daddy new bottles from the garage? You can be our special helper.”
Happiness swirled inside me as I ran. I wanted to be the best special helper in the world.
It was cooler in the big gray garage than out in the hot sun. I dug my hands into the chilly coldness of the little squares of ice in the bucket, sneaking one into my mouth like Daddy does. It made my teeth hurt but it felt wonderful on my tongue. They were like special, secret candies that turned into water. And I had a whole pile of them to enjoy.
“Hey! What are you doing in there?”
The voice shook me hard and I immediately dropped the ice cube. I had been caught. I almost wanted to cry.
Joey. I recognized him right away, although he still frightened me when he yelled. His hair was the same color as my bedroom at night and it covered his eyes, but his teeth were really white. I wondered if he knew the monsters that lived under my bed.
“You are way too young to drink, young lady,” he said sternly. Joey walked a little funny. Like one leg didn’t work right. He took the brown bottle out of my hand and put it back in the ice. I wanted to ask him if his mommy painted his fingernails black like that. I thought boys didn’t wear nail polish.
Crouching down in front of me, he pinched the wet strand of hair that hung over my eye and placed it behind my ear.
“You are so beautiful.” He sighed. His eyes crinkled with happiness. “Just like your mommy.” I beamed proudly. My mommy was beautiful.
“And look. You’re already losing some teeth. How old are you now?”
I held out my hand and spread my fingers proudly, remembering to tuck in my thumb.
Joey sat down on the floor and crossed his legs. “Wow. Four. You are getting so big and so smart. God, I wish your mommy was here to see you. She’d be so happy. You have her hair and looks, you know.”
I felt my eyes scrunch. My mommy’s hair was brown, like the crayon I used to color dirt and trees. Not sunny buttercup yellow like mine.
He leaned in closer. “Can you keep a secret? Just between us?”
Maybe Special Secret Helpers had secrets, too.
“You and I have the same-color eyes. See?” Joey’s eyes were deep blue, like the color of the sky outside behind the puffy cotton clouds.
He looked sad, which made me sad. “I wish you had a chance to see your mommy again. But unfortunately, you can’t.”
I didn’t like that. I wanted to run to her now. “Why not?”
“Because,” he exhaled, rough and hard, “your real mommy lives in heaven with the angels.”
Now I really wanted to cry. And get mad. “No she doesn’t. My mommy is over there.”
Joey was looking right in my eyes. “Listen to me. Your mommy’s name is . . . was . . . Kelcie. And she loved you very much. But . . .”
I wondered which cloud in the sky was heaven.
“Damn, I wish I had more time. I wish . . . I don’t know when I’ll get to see you again,” Joey said softly.
“Why?”
“Do you know what the army is?”
I nodded and scratched my nose. “Are they going to paint you green?” Green might be better for him than black. It’s the color of grass.
Joey smiled and laughed. “No. But I’ll have to wear special clothes and all of this will be cut off.” He ran his hand through his dark hair. “Maybe you could write to me while I’m gone and draw me pretty pictures. Would you do that?”
I wished I had paper right now. He reminded me of a zebra. I could go get a crayon from my bag of toys if I ran fast enough.
“Taryn, sweetheart. Look at me. Remember, this is our secret. You can’t tell anyone. Promise.
Promise.”
I nodded. He took both of my hands in his.
“God, I’ve made so many mista—” He sniffed a few times. “But I’m going to fix it.” He nodded. “I want to be better for you.” He looked me right in the eyes. “No matter what anyone ever tells you, no matter what you hear, know that I love you. I have always loved you. Remember. Da— Joey loves you.
You’ll always be my little girl.”
A tear fell down his cheek. And then another. I wrapped my arms around his neck because big hugs always make the tears stop.
“My baby girl. I love you, so much.”
“I love you, too,” I whispered.
“Always keep your head up and be proud. Don’t let anyone walk all over you. Ever. Be strong. Listen in school. And . . .”
Joey dropped his arms the second my daddy came into the garage.
“What? What’s going on in here?”
Daddy sounded grumpy and he didn’t look happy with Joey. I tugged on his shorts. “Daddy? Can you take me to see Kelcie?”
He looked down at me. “What?”
I really wanted another ice cube and to go bye-bye in the car with the cold air blasting in my face.
Maybe there’s a big swimming pool in the clouds. “Kelcie. In heaven. Can you take me?”
Daddy grabbed Joey by the shirt. “What did you say to her? Tell me right now!”
Joey yelped and tried to push my daddy. They danced into the big silver ladder that was on the wall and it scared me when it crashed down t
o the floor. Daddy hit Joey in the face and his white teeth turned red.
Daddy grunted. “You stupid, irresponsible moron. You’re nothing but a piece-of-shit, good-for-nothing punk.”
So many people came running and everyone started yelling. Mommy grabbed Daddy’s arm and pulled.
“Dan! Let him go!”
I covered my ears because it hurt. I wished Ken was with me.
We both needed someone to play with.
Acknowledgments
I’d like to thank the following people who’ve helped me turn this dream into a reality, listened to my lunacy, and guided me with a gentle hand:
First and foremost, a huge thank-you to my husband, Cory, and son, Ryan, for giving me the time, space, and freedom to drift off into imaginary worlds every day. You’ve allowed me to realize that dreams really do come true if you point yourself in their direction. Having the complete support of your family makes all the difference in the world.
This novel would not be what it is without the tireless help from my dear friend, Janeia Hill. She read, critiqued, listened to me cry, told me not to give up a thousand times, brainstormed, tweaked, kicked me in the butt, made long-distance calls, and gave her time and support generously. Thank you for holding my hand during this amazing journey.
To my best friend for the last twenty-five years, Marie S. You mean the world to me.
To my gals in the FP: Your friendships are invaluable and mean the world to me. Thank you for your support, your wisdom, and your unwavering love and acceptance. I am truly blessed to have each of you in my life. I cannot imagine having a better crew to make history with.
To all of my Facebook and Twitter friends—you make every day special.
To my ninja editor, Amy Tannenbaum, thank you for believing in me. You had me at “hungrily devoured,” but then again, I think you know that.
A huge thank-you to the wonderful people at Atria Books. Judith Curr, you are an awesome woman and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for giving me a chance. And to your tireless team: Chris Lloreda, Kimberly Goldstein, Samantha Cohen, Alysha Bullock, Dana Sloan, Jeanne Lee, Paul Olsewski, Ariele Fredman, LeeAnna Woodcock, Julia Scribner—thank you for making this novel all it can be.
A special thank you to my dynamo agent, Jane Dystel, and her equally fabulous cohort, Miriam Goderich, at Dystel and Goderich Literary Management. Thank you for giving me a shot and taking me under your beautiful wings.
