“Understood,” Meg said backing away. “I’ll be right back.”
On the return from her second trip up to the bar, Meg slowed her pace as she walked along, trying not to spill the two dark draft beers she’d picked up for herself and Tracy. Across the short distance, she could see Tracy was leaning back on her elbows while Betsy rested her head on Tracy’s stomach. They were talking and smiling at each other while Tracy played with Betsy’s hair. Meg came to an almost complete stop, wanting to give them just a few more minutes of privacy, when the voice in her ear took her completely off guard.
“They’re adorable together, those two.”
Meg turned immediately. “Hey, Reina.”
“Hi.” Reina smiled wide.
Meg tried to greet her with a hug but with two full beers, it wasn’t happening. She aborted her lame attempt, cocked her head to the side, and offered up one of the drinks instead. “Buy you a drink?” she added playfully, handing the plastic cup over.
“I don’t want to steal your friend’s beer.”
“Please, she’s got her hands full, anyway.” Meg nodded in Tracy’s direction with her chin. “I’m sure she won’t even miss it.” Meg gave her full attention to Reina. “How have you been?”
“Good, thanks,” Reina said taking a sip of the beer, using her thumb and middle finger to wipe the foam from the corners of her mouth.
“Did you just get here?”
Reina nodded. “Yeah, Rose and Teddy are over there.” She gestured to the side. “I saw you up at the bar”—she looked down seeming shy all of a sudden—“and I wanted to say hi.”
“I’m glad,” Meg responded.
Reina licked her lips. “Hey, Meg, about your barbecue a few weeks back—”
Meg held up one hand stopping her completely. “No worries. You owe me no explanations. It’s cool.”
Reina spoke again. “I do, though—”
“Reina, it’s fine. I get it. Seriously. We’re good,” Meg rushed out, trying to spare Reina an awkward explanation.
Reina raised her perfectly arched eyebrows. “Meg, stop being a weirdo. I just wanted to tell you—I wanted to come. I really did. But after the softball game my mom called. She’s out in Queens. That’s where I live.” She was rambling a little and she sounded nervous. “See, I was supposed to stay at Teddy’s that night, but my mom asked if I would come home.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s a long story. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you I didn’t mean to blow you off.” She took a long sip of her drink.
Meg smiled and gestured toward the blanket optimistically. “Feel like hanging with me and the lovebirds?” She lifted her shoulders and added, “Betsy’s ex’s band is on next. Supposedly they’re pretty good.”
“Yeah, I do.” Reina looked into her half-empty cup. “I owe someone a beer first. Walk with me to the bar?”
“You bet.”
As they reached the outdoor bar, Reina turned to Meg. “What is this we’re drinking, by the way?” She looked at her cup for effect. “It’s actually really good.”
Meg smiled. “It’s a new IPA from Flagship Brewery, Staten Island’s own local craft beer,” she said with a proud smile.
“Staten Island has its own beer?”
“Sure does.”
“Interesting,” Reina said, as the bartender hooked them up with a refill each and a fresh cup for Tracy.
Double fisting, Meg downed the final sip before tossing her old cup in the trash. She decided to go for it. “See that, Staten Island has something you might be interested in after all.”
Reina looked right at Meg and tipped her head to the side. “I could have told you that two years ago.”
*
Sharing the blanket on the expansive lawn, Meg and Reina sat close to one another and talked easily. Meg was really having a good time with Betsy and Tracy, who were as cute as ever, and Reina fit seamlessly into the mix. Suddenly, it seemed she and Reina had an endless supply of things to talk about, and as the afternoon wore on Meg almost couldn’t believe she had so often insisted they didn’t have any click. She caught Tracy’s eye more than once, and the look on her friend’s face clearly showed she was thinking the same thing.
But that was just it—Meg still wasn’t entirely sure what was going on. Was this wishful thinking or was she reading the signs correctly? An hour passed, and then another. Meg and Reina weren’t really flirting, but there was definitely a new energy between them. They were chatting nonstop and, yep, there it was again—Reina touching her knee to emphasize a point as she spoke. So weird, the way life worked sometimes. Nearly two years since their initial introduction and she and Reina were finally connecting. Go figure.
It was getting dark and Meg had a good buzz going, giving her the courage to test her theory. She brushed her hand along Reina’s lower back, leaning in close to her ear. “Do you want another drink?” she whispered.
“Yeah,” Reina breathed out, turning to face Meg as she answered. Their faces were close and the exchange intense as their eyes locked. But Meg’s phone vibrated in her back pocket, breaking the moment. Annoyed, she looked down, reached for it, and read the text quickly.
“Holy shit.”
“What’s the matter?” Reina asked, placing her hand on Meg’s forearm lightly as Meg reread the text message.
“My sister.” She shook her head. “My sister’s going to the hospital.”
“What?” Reina was obviously surprised.
“No, it’s okay. I mean it’s not really okay. But it’s okay.” She stopped herself, took a breath and explained. “She’s pregnant. But she’s not due for another few weeks. Shit, my parents aren’t even in from Florida yet,” she said, thinking out loud. “I have to go there.”
Both Tracy and Betsy were listening and Betsy spoke up. “Meg, I’ll take you. Find out which hospital.” It made sense since she was the only completely sober one.
Tracy looked at them. “I’ll take a ride too. Moral support and all.” She looked between Reina and Meg. “Reina, if you want to tag along—”
Betsy cut her off. “Hold that thought,” she said, checking a message of her own. “Meg, is your sister’s doctor Tara Liardi?”
Meg looked at her blankly. “I have no idea.”
Betsy’s mouth turned up in a funny grin as she began to gather up her stuff. “Ten to one, Liardi’s your sister’s doctor, and odds are I’ll be delivering Shannon’s baby tonight.” She gave Tracy a quick kiss. “I’ll call you in a little bit.” Pulling Meg by the elbow, she instructed, “Come on, Meg. Let’s move.”
*
Almost an hour after they’d left, Tracy received word from Betsy that her assumption had been correct. The doctor she was covering for was Meg’s sister’s OB, and Shannon would definitely be giving birth sometime tonight. Betsy informed Tracy she didn’t expect to make it back to the music festival at all but would meet her at Meg’s when everything was over. Tracy was mildly dismayed, but she was enjoying herself at the festival surrounded by good music and great friends.
The sun had finally set and the crowd was abuzz with wild rumors of a secret headliner not listed on the bill. Tracy laughed a little at her own friends getting in on the guessing as she went to the bar for another drink, which was exactly where she was when the mystery artist began.
All of the lights went black, silencing the crowd as a few bars of acoustic piano pinged out through the darkness. A few short seconds later a single beam of light fell on the stage highlighting the piano player—a petite brunette in jeans and a white tank top—humming the song’s melody before her sultry voice started the soft lyrics. It was a performance so quiet and understated it absolutely commanded attention, even though the majority of the crowd couldn’t quite place the song. Not Tracy, though. She knew it from the very first chord. She swallowed hard and listened, unable to block out the emotions that accompanied the memory of Jezebel playing this version of this song for her nearly two years ago, right before she told Tracy she loved her, before she promis
ed to find a way to make it work.
In a moment the audience would recognize that the beautiful ballad they were unconsciously swaying to was actually Jezebel Stone’s number one dance remix “Dreamcatcher,” which had ruled the airwaves for over a year, and that the unassuming person onstage was the musician herself, minus her signature affected look and showstopping theatrics. Almost at the exact time she’d thought it, Jezebel reached the chorus and a few savvy listeners were quick to clap and whistle as they caught on, quickly bringing the others around them up to speed. Hitting the final note, Jezebel Stone stood up from the piano and walked to the center-stage microphone as the lights came up on the full band behind her. “Hello, ladies!” she called out with a smile. The crowd went crazy.
Tracy stood alone at the bar where she had been for the entire song—her song—where she had listened as Jezebel sang it for her, to her. It was an unbelievably intimate gesture, shared among hundreds of women. Stunned into immobility, Tracy remained there for a very long time as Jezebel moved into the next song and the next. She hated that her heart dropped every time Jezebel’s smooth voice hit a high note while she crooned out a remarkably personalized set list of Tracy’s favorites. She could hardly tear herself away, almost spellbound as she watched Jezebel work the crowd. Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. She forced herself to leave but made it only as far as the adjacent softball field where she sat on the aluminum bleachers looking up at the stars, listening to her ex-girlfriend’s gorgeous voice as throngs of women screamed her name.
*
Tracy waited a full twenty-five minutes after the second encore before she found her way to Jezebel’s trailer. The head of the security team, a burly guy aptly named Butch, must have remembered her because he waved her through without any questions.
Tracy knocked lightly on the door but her hand was already turning the lever as Jezebel said, “Come in.”
She was sitting in front of a makeshift vanity removing some makeup or possibly applying it, Tracy wasn’t really sure. There was a radio on low in the background and Tracy instinctively looked around the trailer.
“It’s okay. We’re alone,” Jezebel said, answering Tracy’s unspoken question. She stood up and Tracy noticed she was still wearing the same faded blue jeans but had changed her tank to a smaller strappy black one. She padded over and wrapped an arm around Tracy’s neck, reaching up to kiss her on the cheek. “You look good, Tracy.”
Tracy hugged her before pulling back and assessing her completely. “So do you, Jez.” Jezebel was sporting her true hair color, dirty blond, no extensions, no outlandish highlights. Her makeup was light; Tracy could even see the freckles on her nose. She looked pure and beautiful and innocent. Tracy smiled a little, holding Jezebel at arm’s length. “You know, you look like Judy Rockwell,” Tracy teased, referring to Jezebel by her real name.
“Stop it.” Jezebel swatted Tracy’s biceps playfully. “I hate when you call me that,” she said, flirting with her eyes. She took a step back. “Come in, please.” She dropped her gaze. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show.”
Tracy leaned back against the wall. “I figured if you’re willing to come here and play what is for you a ridiculously small venue, just for me, the least I could do is come by and say hello.”
“I am a huge supporter of the gay community, you know that.”
Tracy nodded at Jezebel’s stock answer and withheld the comment she wanted to make in response to her ex’s standard and ridiculous response. There was no opportunity to say anything anyway before Jezebel spoke again. “You’re not wrong, though, I did come here for you.” She looked Tracy in the eye and read her reaction. “I guess you could call it my last-ditch effort,” she added with a hopeful smile.
Tracy tried for light, but her voice came out more serious than she expected. “I’m not going to lie. If anything would have gotten me, that rendition of ‘Dreamcatcher’ you opened with was probably it.” She looked down at the floor. “I never did understand why you chose to drown out such a beautiful song in all that bass.”
Jezebel waited until Tracy met her eyes again. “Do you remember the night I played it for you just like that?”
“Of course I do.” Tracy held her gaze, acknowledging the memory of a night they had felt so completely connected to one another, a perfect night in a time defined by highs and lows, a night, long in the past now, when she had honestly believed they would end up together.
“Just me, you, and the piano,” Jezebel said. She waited a beat. “And the bed,” she added with an unbelievably needy look in her hazel eyes.
Tracy pulled herself back into the present. “That’s not real life, though.” She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “Jez, the kind of relationship we had, it doesn’t work. Not for me, anyway. What you want would never be enough for me.”
Jezebel’s eyes shot up at her. “But this is?” She looked through Tracy, her eyes boring into her. “Living in Podunk Staten Island? Playing housewife to some doctor? Come on, Trace, I know you better than that.” Her tone was completely condescending and a little agitated as she continued, “I heard you even turned down a job at ESPN—”
“I know you don’t get it. I’m not surprised,” Tracy said in response. “This is what you do in a relationship, Jez. You make sacrifices.” Her tone matched Jezebel’s. “I don’t really expect you to understand that.”
“You don’t sacrifice who you are.”
“This, from someone who’s never given up anything—”
“You think I haven’t made sacrifices? Are you serious?”
“Jezebel, you fucking cheated on me. So you’ll forgive me if your numerous sacrifices don’t just rush right into my head.”
“Jesus, Trace.” Jezebel let out a long sigh, taking a minute to collect herself. “I said I was sorry a hundred times in messages you never even bothered to acknowledge. I told you how I felt. I sent you flowers. I wrote you goddamn love songs. I don’t know what more I could have done.”
Tracy leaned her head back on the thin trailer wall. “I don’t know why we’re even bothering to talk about this. You’re a married woman now,” Tracy said with a bitter smirk.
“And you think I don’t understand sacrifice.” Jezebel shook her head slowly and looked right at Tracy, her eyes brimming with tears. “I did that for you. For us.”
When Tracy’s expression revealed both shock and confusion at such a strange statement, Jezebel continued, “I did that so we could be together. You think I wanted to marry Jasper Lloyd? Please.” She wiped at her eyes. “He gives me plausible deniability. Gets the press off my back a little. Being married to him gives me the freedom to be with who I really want.” She waited for Tracy to meet her eyes. “Which is still you.”
Even after she took a second to evaluate the statement, it still didn’t make sense to Tracy. “You realize how ridiculous that is, right?” It had come out sharper than she wanted it to, and Tracy instantly regretted her tone because it was obvious Jezebel was being sincere. However warped her decision to get married had been, in this moment Tracy was sure at least part of the choice had involved her. She looked over at Jezebel sitting on the chair in front of the vanity with her head in her hands. She looked small and sad and vulnerable, and Tracy’s heart broke for her a little, not because she was in love with her anymore, but because she knew Jezebel’s own inhibitions would forever keep her from experiencing anything even remotely similar to what she had with Betsy. Tracy was softer when she spoke again. “Look, Jez, I came here to make peace with you.”
Jezebel nodded but didn’t meet her eyes.
“Can’t we just call a truce?”
“Sure, Trace.” Jezebel tilted her head back and dabbed at the edges of her eyes with a fingertip.
“I should go.” Tracy took the one step to the door and turned around. “Take care of yourself, Jez.”
“Tracy.” Jezebel said her name as she got up from her seat and crossed the small space between them
. She placed her arms around Tracy’s neck and hugged her tightly. Tracy squeezed her back and felt all the emotions expressed between them in the last few minutes and the last few years boil down to this one final embrace.
Tracy left the trailer without looking back, and while she was sentimental, she wasn’t sad. She strode through the festival area, making her way past the lingering crowd still finishing their drinks, and found the path that led to Meg’s house, where she knew the love of her life was waiting for her.
Chapter Twenty-eight
“Packing up?” Meg strolled into Tracy’s room and flopped on the bed, watching Tracy load her suitcase.
“I am,” Tracy responded with a smile.
As Meg looked around, it occurred to her it had been ages since she’d been in this room. She smiled, realizing what she already knew. This was no longer the guest room—it belonged to Tracy now, and there were signs of her everywhere. Golf clubs in the corner, a poster she’d bought at the Museum of Modern Art framed and hung on the far wall, a picture with her dad in California and one with her mom and sister taken more recently fixed into the corners of the mirror. Directly between those two shots, a five-by-seven of her and Betsy, taken this winter not long after they’d finally gotten together, was propped up in the center of the dresser.
“When are you leaving?” Meg asked.
“Tomorrow morning. Probably around ten or so, I would guess.”
“And you’re staying until when?”
“A week. We come back next Wednesday.”
“Awesome.” Meg watched Tracy stack her T-shirts perfectly. “I can’t believe Betsy is taking a whole week off from work. She never does that. Good for you guys,” she added with a nod. “Anything special planned?”
“Not really. Just the wedding on Saturday.” Tracy stood up and walked around the bed to a basket of clean laundry, picking it up and placing it next to Meg as she combed through it. “Other than that, just hanging out. Going to the beach. Out to dinner. Stuff like that.”
Serious Potential Page 27
