The Redhead Revealed

Jack kissed me once more, told me he loved me, and was gone. He disappeared into a sea of people inside the terminal, hoodie up and shades on.

I was sad, but not as sad as I thought I’d be. I knew now we could get through just about anything, including the sort of terror I alone could produce. I knew now what it felt like to be without him, and that would never happen again.

As the cab headed back into the city, my phone blipped. I had a text.

Thanks for leaving me with a little schmaltz.

Jesus, George.

Chapter 18

After Jack left New York, our relationship changed—for the better. We were more open and honest with each other. I held back nothing. I told him my thoughts and fears, and bolstered by my admissions, he shared with me as well. We talked every night, long past my bedtime, and while I did not think it possible, we fell more in love.

He’d been all over the place and hardly in L.A. since he came to see me, and he was still busy with additional Time obligations. Box office sales from the first two weeks alone had ensured that the film was now a franchise, and the studio had already green-lighted the second installment. The script was being written, and they’d told him shooting could start as early as February. He’d also been in negotiations for several other studio films, all of which Holly was overseeing like a hawk. They were both exhausted, but very happy with the way his career was shaping up.

Over time, the fallout from the pictures of him with the blonde died down, and shockingly, there was no fallout from our elevator groping at the Four Seasons. Whether those ladies had just not gotten the money shot, or they decided out of the kindness of their quilted hearts to keep the pictures for their own private collections, they never made the papers. Or TMZ. Or Access Hollywood, or anywhere.

I stretched out leisurely in my seat, removed my ear buds, and put them back in my bag. It was December seventeenth, and I was almost home. It was time to return all belongings and make sure my tray table was in its upright and locked position. I looked out the window at the familiar landscape and thought about the last time I’d been on a plane bound for California. What a disaster.

I finished the last of the warm chocolate chip cookies so thoughtfully provided to first-class passengers and sipped the last of my complimentary wine. Why I always felt the need to indulge in free alcohol I’ll never know, but I was pleasantly sauced. And happy.

As I gazed out at the unmistakable terrain of California, the plane banked left, and I saw the ocean for the first time. I thought about the last month, and what had now led me back to L.A.

The show? Well, it went…well.

When the reviews came out, I was thrilled to see it had been well received. They thought I killed it too! We still didn’t know if the show would be picked up or not, but this was encouraging. For all three weeks, we sold out every night, and the show was begi

So when we got word that the show wouldn’t be picked up for a full production—at least not right away—we were all a little surprised. Although, as Michael explained patiently during a teary cast meeting, sometimes even the best shows never see the light of day outside a workshop. But it was a tough pill to swallow. We’d worked so hard, and I’d put everything I had—and some things I didn’t know I had—into making Mabel real.

Nevertheless, the cast bid each other tear-soaked goodbyes, and Michael and I parted ways in a much better place than when we’d parted years ago. He had another project lined up, and he was headed to Co

Which led me to here and now, back on a plane to L.A. I had some freelance writing projects I could pick back up, and Holly was already begi

Ah, well. Actually, part of me was quite pleased to be heading back to L.A. My New York adventure had been grand and exciting, but I missed my home, I missed my friends, and I missed my Brit. He’d soon be back in L.A. as well after another quick UK press tour for Time (evidently London missed their Brit too). I couldn’t wait to be alone with him, in my home, in our bed.

I knew it would be hard to find another role as perfect as Mabel had been, but I’d adapt. And although it was little scary not knowing what would happen next, after so many years of knowing exactly what the next day would bring, I kind of liked not knowing. Plus, since I’d killed it with Mabel, I felt pretty sure I could do just about anything.

The plane began its final descent, and as I yawned to keep my ears clear, I indulged in a little daydreaming about my George.

Since I’d opened the floodgates, we’d talked a lot over the past weeks about some of my, and therefore some of our, issues. I actually finally had the nerve to bring up having kids again on the phone late one night. Being the emotionally mature one, turns out he’d been waiting for me.

“I wondered how long it would take you to bring this up again, Crazy. Come on, out with it.” I could hear him gri

“Christ on a crutch, you know me well.” I laughed, feeling my face burn a little at the knowledge that he was always—and would apparently always be—one step ahead of me.

“I know you better than anybody, but I can’t read your mind,” he said. “So tell me what you’re thinking. What you’re really thinking, Grace.”

“Hmm, well, the thing is, it’s not that I suddenly want kids or anything—I’m still pretty convinced that I don’t…” I trailed off, trying to consolidate my own thoughts before throwing them out all over him.

“But,” he prompted.

“Don’t but me, mister. I guess I’ve just realized that while I’m still pretty sure I don’t want kids, my chances of having them are also getting considerably smaller.”

“Right, well, being forty-eight doesn’t help matters,” he said, the smile evident in his voice.

“No, forty-eight is rather old to begin a family. And it’s not that my clock is tick-tick-ticking, but when you realize the baby-making years are begi

I twisted down lower in the bed. He was in San Francisco doing press, and I was in New York, trying to seek comfort from a duvet as we talked about this very sensitive topic.

“Well, first, I’m flattered that you think you’d still have me ten years from now, so thanks for that.” He laughed, and I smiled underneath the covers.

“And sure, it’s possible that I might change my mind. Who knows? At my very young age, there could be a lot of things I’m undecided about. There’s one thing, though, that I am fairly certain about?”

“What’s that?”

“You. I’m fairly certain about my redhead.”

“Well, that’s good to know. I’m fairly certain about my Brit.”

We’d finally gotten to a place where we were totally honest with each other, even if we didn’t have all the answers. This is what I meant about falling more and more in love.

The plane touched the ground, and I felt my heart swell. Christmas in L.A. was unlike Christmas anywhere else, and I couldn’t wait.