“Then what will I wear all the time?” he asks.
He’s a good sport.
“I think it’s time I just get you a real wubbie, and you admit that you never wanted to give up your fuzzy teddy bear from when you were two.”
“You know me too well.” He nips my earlobe and dips his head to nibble on my shoulder.
“How’s the back?” I worry about him. What we just did, that could pull something.
“Fine. Thanks for asking, now that you’ve already had your way with me. When we were busy, you didn’t seem too worried about my state of health.” He kisses me on the cheek.
“A woman has needs. Then she can feign concern for your well-being.”
He tickles me in the armpit. “Cold. That’s cold.”
I wriggle away from him. “Ooh!” I sit up.
“What?”
“That was a good swift kick from Hiccup. He’s not keen on our shenanigans, apparently.”
“A kicker? I’ll call the private soccer coach when we get to LA. Probably a waiting list, like the preschools.”
I roll my eyes. “This will not be an LA kid. No showbiz brat. There’s a reason we live in Idaho.”
“I know.” He sits up and picks up my hand, kisses each fingertip.
I can see that this comment hurts him a bit. This stay in LA, he’s taking it personally.
“Now come get dressed,” he says after a moment. “I want to check out the rest of the house. We didn’t even go out on the deck.”
I grin. This is my house. My house with this amazing man, who right now is slipping his old jeans over his amazing body. This feels good, relaxed. All the worries are set aside for now.
I slip on my clothes and skip the shoes. He walks me around the other bedrooms, helps me back down to the main level, and then strolls to the deck door. “Let’s check the view out, shall we?”
I follow him out. It’s breathtaking. Andrew turns the fireplace on, and it warms the deck outside as well as in. I stare at the beach below. The black, forbidding rock spreads out from underneath the house, its fingers reaching down to the water’s edge before it dives under the surf, only to rise above seventy-five feet out to sea, a huge dark monolith.
“Silver Point. It’s gorgeous.”
Andrew comes up behind me. “You like it?”
“Of course. You saw me drooling over it in June. You’re sneaky.”
“I pay attention. I want to know the things I can do to make you happy, you know.” He turns me around and kisses me.
“You make me happy. Just you is good.”
“Oh, then I can give the house back. Good.”
“Now let’s not be hasty. The house makes me happy too. We can keep it.”
“Oh, all right. I want to talk to you about something real for a minute.” He shifts on his feet a little. His hands go into his front pockets, and his shoulders shrug up.
“What?” I know this look. It’s his uncomfortable, nervous stance.
“I’m not sure how to do this.”
“Do what?”
He takes me by both hands. “Come stand right here.”
I do as he says.
He comes up behind me. “Close your eyes.”
“Okay.”
I feel him wrap his arms around me. “Open them.”
I open my eyes. He holds a ring box in front of me. “Here.”
He lets me go, comes to stand in front of me. “Marry me.”
“What? Is this the real one?” I open the box. It’s an old, emerald-cut diamond, set in a delicate band.
“Tucker and Jeremy helped me pick it out, believe it or not. It’s antique.”
“It’s gorgeous. I love it.”
“Is that a yes?”
“What?”
“Are you saying you’ll marry me?”
“You’re already calling me your fiancée. You’ve proposed ninety million times.”
“So, is that a yes?”
“Yes. Andrew Pettigrew, I want to marry you. Thanks for officially asking me.” I kiss him. He holds me tightly, kisses me playfully on the jaw.
“I really wanted to do another super proposal, but doctors Rudy and Joe both advised against skydiving this far into a pregnancy. And the elephant got a cold.”
“I consider this to be a very elaborate, extravagant, and perfect proposal. I love it.”
“Good. Maybe when we renew our vows somewhere down the line, the elephant can get involved.”
“Sounds fair.”
“Are you hungry? I want to eat, devour you a little more, and sleep. And then possibly repeat.”
“All of the above. I’m hungry for all of that. You heal my heart, Andrew. Thanks for sweeping me away. I needed it so desperately.”
“My pleasure, Mrs. Almost-Pettigrew.” He kisses me one last time and slips inside.
I follow eagerly. I have an almost-husband to attack.
28: I Never Promised You a Rose Garden
AFTER THE BLISSFUL TIME IN OREGON, I fly alone to Boise to meet the boys for a few days, then it’s on to California to catch up with Andrew for the rest of fall semester. When we land in LA, Tucker picks us up at the airport. No fanfare at LAX today, since it’s just me, Hunter, and Beau. Tucker is always on guard here, though.
“They tail you to your house. Then they park someone at the gate twenty-four-seven, lie in wait. They’re complete predators.”
Beau chimes in. “I’d say more like vultures. They circle and keep their distance, then swoop in when you’re vulnerable.”
Tucker smiles. “Beau, you’re absolutely right. Creepy birds with red heads, that’s them. Definitely.” He pulls the SUV away from the curb.
“So, are you going to spill the big news or what?” Hunter has turned a Beats headphone around so he can converse. I guess it’s nice, the large cups over his ears, because, boy, when he turns one around, it means we better take notice: he’s actually entering the land of the conversant. I don’t say much about it because I very clearly remember wearing out my Walkman when I was his age. There’s a way to play a tape so much you can hear the other side of tape when playing it.
“Who’s going to spill what big news?” Beau looks around at everyone.
Tucker shakes his head. “How do you know anything, Hunter?”
“I just texted Andrew that we’re here, and he asked how far into the drive we were. Then I asked him why, and he said ‘you’ll see.’ I figured something was up.”
“You text Andrew all the time, do you?” I know he does. I think it’s cute.
“Mom, get over it. What’s the surprise, Tucker?”
“No, no, I’m not caving. You just sit tight, mister. All will soon be revealed.” Tucker takes a turn north on the 405 and just smiles, quite Cheshire cat-like.
The boys needle him relentlessly for who knows how many more miles. I’m about to my breaking point when we cruise right past the turn-off for the 10.
“Where are we headed? That was our turn. I thought we were going home.” Beau practically hops up and down in the backseat.
“I have been sworn to secrecy.” Tucker grins. He clearly loves being a part of this. It makes me happy.
When we turn north on Santa Monica Boulevard, I am truly stumped. “Tucker, I do need to let you know that the baby sits squarely on my bladder, so if this is an unscheduled sightseeing trip, I’m going to need to take a pit stop.” I’m only partially kidding. One of the joys of pregnancy: the constant bathroom breaks.
“Kelly, dear, you’re as bad as the boys. We’re almost there.”
We roll through Beverly Hills. As we pass Rodeo Drive, I’m truly confused. This isn’t our part of town. Sure, Andrew has to come here all the time, to meet with producers. But I take comfort in the fact, daily, that he breaks out in as much of a rash as I do when it comes to this excessive display of wealth. One, I don’t have that kind of wealth to display (Andrew does, but still), and two, if I did, I’d like to think I would put it to better use than buying rid
iculous things. Andrew has kept his charitable business very quiet, and I like that very much. He does what he does to help people, not to schedule a photo op through Sandy.
I fidget. Tucker takes us farther north, and the car climbs out of LA and into the dry hills. This is a pricy neighborhood, and the lawns and shrubs and mailboxes all are perfectly tended and perfectly expensive.
The boys point at one house after another, wowed by the displays of wealth. They’re kids, and they still get impressed by the showy side of LA. Money doesn’t start to stink until you see what it does to people over time. It’s the houseguest who has outstayed his welcome, but the boys are still too young to bear witness to that.
“Tucker, seriously, I need to stop soon. And traffic is slow. Is there a point to all this?”
He turns right as I say this. “You’ll see soon enough.”
He pulls to a stop at a guard house. A guy with dark, thick eyebrows and sideburns steps out. Tucker lowers the window and flashes a pass. The guard nods and steps back in, and the gate ahead of us swings wide.
“Tucker—”
My phone rings. I answer, “Andrew, what’s up?”
“Look to your right.” He sounds like a little kid.
I look right, and Tucker slows the car, pulling into a short driveway. “What is this?”
It’s a house. A big house. A different house than the one Andrew’s rented the whole time I’ve known him, the one we’ve all come to know as our place when we’re in LA.
This is no rambling 1920s Spanish-style home. This is a mansion; there’s no other word for it.
The door is a huge arch detailed with ornate, curving wrought iron. The face of the house is large white stone, with just the right amount of ivy curling up the sides to meet the balconies above—two on each side of the arched front door.
Beau jumps from the car and runs to the porch, where Andrew waits. “Dude, what the what?”
Andrew hugs him. “New digs for the Pettigrew-Reynolds clan.” He looks to me. I make sure my face is neutral, putting my tongue to the roof of my mouth.
We step into the front hallway, and I catch myself before I say a word.
A marble stairway curves to the second story, and a sparkling crystal and brass chandelier dangles above our heads. The floor is diamonds of white and black marble.
It’s ridiculous. I wait for Scarlett O’Hara to sweep down the stairs, calling for Rhett.
“Whoa, this is a rich person’s house!” Beau races Hunter up the stairs.
“What is this?” I look at Andrew.
“How about, ‘Hi, darling, dashing father of my child, how I’ve missed you’?” He comes to my side and kisses me on the lips, wraps his arms around me for a moment.
“Andrew, really. What is this?” I feel my bottom lip quiver a bit.
“If you say that one more time, I may have to assume you’ve had a stroke. Um, I wanted to surprise you. It’s the new house. Our lease was up, and I wanted a place with beefier security. You know, like how we talked about after all the stuff in New York.”
“Please tell me you didn’t buy this.” My voice sounds wavery.
“No, of course not. The only house we own is in Boise. That’s our home. Well, now at Silver Point as well. This is a place we stay when we need to be here in LA. When I’m working.” He exhales loudly, looks like he’s losing his patience.
I take a huge breath in, trying to maintain calm. Tucker looks at me and makes a beeline for the front door, closing it behind him as he goes outside.
“You’re not going to cry, are you? Why in the world are you upset?” Andrew rubs a hand across his forehead.
“This house, Andrew. This isn’t me at all. I thought it wasn’t us. But you chose it. You did. How could you think it was actually right for us?”
“You know what? I’m going out back. I will chalk this up to a hormonal moment, and then you can come on out, and I will explain why I did something as dastardly as pick a house that is safer by a mile than our old one here in LA, and one with a pool so you can rehab your knee. How I thought you’d get a kick out of the handprints in the cement by the pool out back, the ones with Ingrid Bergman’s signature. But right now I’m going to give the baby mama a moment, because I don’t feel so gracious.”
He disappears down the hall. I sink down on the first step of the ridiculous stairway, feeling two inches tall, and try not to dissolve into tears.
I suck, as usual.
I shake myself out of it. I need to fix this before it gets out of hand.
I head toward the back of the house, looking for Andrew. The other rooms are ostentatious, to be sure (there are two dishwashers, two ovens, two prep sinks, and a Subzero fridge the size of a minivan in the kitchen), but nothing as outlandish as the Gone With the Wind staircase foyer. Maybe it’s not so bad.
I come out of the house to the pool area. It really is lovely. There are old, painted-white wrought-iron fences, detailed and intricate, like a balcony from the French Quarter. There’s a beautiful view of the city. The shrubs are large, old-growth holly bushes. In the center is a kidney-shaped pool, not gigantic, with a diving board on one side. It’s perfect for the boys. All of this is much more modest than the entryway.
Andrew sits on the pool deck, khakis rolled up, feet dangling in the pool. He looks out at the view, the city stretched out below. “This would be a perfect time for a smoke.” He looks up at me.
I rub my tummy. “No, it wouldn’t.” I come to him, kick off my shoes, sit, and ease my feet into the water. “It’s cold.”
“It’s in the shade most of the morning. And I haven’t figured out how to turn on the heater yet.”
“Doesn’t it come with a pool boy?”
“No. I don’t want anyone to get any ideas about the lady of the house, my mamacita.” He elbows me a little.
I put an arm around him. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too. I know it’s a little much. I should’ve asked you first.”
“The proposal, the Oregon house, I loved it. But this decision just caught me off balance. You know, I can’t run, I’m losing my mind a little bit with the panic attack and all, and we aren’t in Boise…”
“And?”
“Well, what makes me who I am?”
“I don’t know. What do you mean?”
“I feel rudderless. I’m a runner. Now I’m not. I live in Boise. Except right now, I don’t. I’m the person who everyone else relies on, except now, since I’m falling apart all over the place. I don’t even have a job.”
“You’re about to have a baby. You don’t need a job. You’ll be plenty busy.”
“I know. I’m about to be mom of a newborn baby for the first time in years. I think, Andrew, that what I know about me right now is not very much.”
“I think I see where you’re headed. What’ll help?”
“Maybe I need a project. I’m smart. I like to use my brain. Or help. Help someone.”
Andrew takes my hand, rubs his thumb across my palm. “I can go get some of those big Post-it charts. We could make lists. You like lists.”
“I just need to think about it.”
“And breathe. You still have me. You still have the boys. You have Tessa and Joe and your mom and dad. And Tucker loves you unnaturally, if you ask me. Maybe you’re defined by the people you love. The people you take care of.” He splashes me a little. “You don’t need it all figured out this minute. Give it some time to gel.”
I look in his eyes. “What about you? Are you okay? Are we okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m working hard and looking forward to meeting this little one. I like my projects, and I know this amazing girl, and this amazing family. They seem to like me. I, as they say, am sitting pretty.”
He leans over and kisses me.
I smile. “I really want to do this one thing right now, though.”
“What?” He looks straight into my eyes, ever the good listener.
I push him in the pool.
> He splashes up to the edge, a surprised smile on his face.
“You did not just do that.” He takes me under the arms and pulls me in along with him.
“That is so, so, so cold!” I shiver.
He goes under, comes up in front of me, and shakes his head like a dog, whipping his hair out of his eyes, smiling with a wide white grin. “Go cry to the pool boy about it.”
29: Come As You Are
I LIKE ROUTINE. I like that we have a routine. And I can’t tell Kelly this, but I like our little family life in LA.
Almost three months of peace. I was crazy busy on Mr. Oscar Bait movie, Out of Range, but how often do I get to play a mobster in hiding on a huge film? And then drive home to the missus every night. Shooting in LA has a lot of advantages. We spent Christmas with Kelly’s folks, we hired a tutor for the boys, we found an almost normal (I didn’t say normal, I said almost) rhythm, and I watched Kelly settle into the pregnancy.
But that movie’s wrapped now. Jeremy took me at my word, in my moment of weakness, and booked me straight through, so now I’m prepping for the next movie. And prep for my next movie right now means working out. Running.
I have to run. Kelly loves to run. I don’t. But Christmas with Kelly’s folks, I ate anything that was put in front of me and anything else that didn’t move. I loved it. But now I’m on to my next project, Leave No Trace, and I’m not ready for any comparisons to Brando or Elvis or anyone else who ate fried sammiches and porked out.
The script for Leave No Trace packs in the action and the mystery. A man and his girlfriend go camping, and the girl goes missing in the middle of the night. As the hero, I’m expected to run around and look fit while finding her and saving the day. And it’s too indie a movie to do any digital touch-ups of me shirtless, so here I am, getting ready to run.
Hunter will run with me, though. That makes it worth it.
I stand in the kitchen, drinking the disgusting green shake thing that Tucker talked me and Hunter into adding to our diets. It’s not even a green color. It looks like green-gray baby puke. I choke it down.
“That face is priceless.” Kelly walks in. “I wish I had my phone. That’s a moment right there.” She comes over and waits for me to be done.
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