The Redhead Revealed (Redhead #2)(47)
Author: Alice Clayton

Flashes of The Wizard of Oz kept coming to me, and I thought of Dorothy, who had to go all the way to Oz and back before she realized she had everything she truly wanted right in her own backyard.

I came upon a family walking together. The man held a baby, and the woman pushed the stroller. A little girl in pigtails walked in front of them. I smiled and stopped to stretch a little. I watched them as I stretched, and as I watched, I waited.

I waited to feel something. I waited for something to happen. I waited for something to strike me over the head, like a giant gong or a sign that said:

THAT’S IT, GRACE.

THAT’S WHAT YOU WANT.

THAT’S A FAMILY. GO GET ONE.

As I waited for the gong, as I waited to try and feel something, a small, quiet voice spoke up.

What are you waiting for?

Shh! I’m waiting for a sign.

What do you think I am?

You’re not a sign. You’re the idiot who got me in trouble in the first place. You’re the one that convinced me to break up with Jack.

No, love, you did that on your own.

Then what the hell are you saying? What the hell kind of sign are you?

You want a family? Who defines what a family is?

An image appeared: Holly and Nick parading into my bedroom, laughing and carrying on. Another image: Holly and me sitting on my back patio, cocktails in hand, laughing until we cried. Holly and me sitting on the floor in front of her fridge, passing the Easy Cheese. Michael and me arguing politics while others rolled their eyes. Michael and me sharing a bagel, a schmear, and The New York Times. Nick driving me home from the airport.

Jack.

Jack shirtless and shoeless, playing guitar for me while I made our bed. Jack holding my boobies while I washed his hair. Jack lying next to me in bed, Chex Mix bag between us. Jack driving to Santa Barbara with his hand on my knee. Jack asleep in my lap as I played with his hair and scratched his scalp. Jack in my home, in our bed, naked, watching Golden Girls.

There’s your family.

Who says you can’t have kids someday, with Jack? People change their minds. You have time. And can you imagine two funnier parents on the face of this earth? Or no kids, and the two of you spend your lives together. Not a bad way to sail off into the sunset, eh?

One more image came to me: Jack listening to me sing to him at open mic night.

What was the song you sang?

“Strong Enough.” But it was never a question of whether he was strong enough.

No, but are you strong enough to be his girl?

I thought so.

Why do you doubt yourself? Who cares what the press calls you?

I do.

Get the f**k over it. That boy—that man—loves you. He needs you. You walked away just when he needed you to be strong enough.

Sweet Nuts. Johnny Bite Down. George.

I inhaled so deeply I almost choked.

Stop being afraid.

Don’t worry so much about what you think you should have. Take care of what you do have. Or did have.

Oh no, what have I done?

Nothing that can’t be fixed.

I’d been afraid so long, I almost didn’t recognize it as fear. But it was, and it was ugly. I’d carried fear with me my entire life. Fear was what made me leave L.A. the first time. Fear was what made me give up the dreams I’d had for a lifetime—only now I’d found a way to get what I wanted. Why was I still letting fear come between me and Jack?

If I could create the perfect man for me, he would bear a striking resemblance to my George. And he was right: I did push happiness away. I used errant thoughts and passing fancies to distract me from what was real, what was true. Why the hell did I care that he was twenty-four? Maybe he was supposed to be twenty-four.

Fear. It was a fickle bitch. It was time to let it go.

One last image, unbidden, flashed to my mind: Me, at my heaviest, drowning in sadness.

No more.

No more.

I want him back.

Well, now, hold on a second there, sassafras. Who says he wants you back?

That stopped me cold. Would he want me back?

Last time I checked, you left his ass on his big night—walked away from him at his premiere. Embarrassed him in front of his family, then broke his heart. Who says he’ll take you back?

Jesus, what a f**king mess. I was such an ass**le. Everything had been about me lately—What did I want? What was best for me?—I never stopped to think how hard all this was on Jack. I took my love from him when he needed it most. I was a weakling, totally wrapped up in my own head, when all he wanted was my heart. And all he needed was my support.

Call him. Call him now.

Right, right! Of course! Call him—where the hell is my phone?

I frantically felt myself up, trying to find my phone. Dammit, I’d left it at home. Probably sitting next to my iPod.

Well then run your ass home, woman!

I smiled at the family I’d been watching. They must have wondered about the strange lady in the park having an argument with herself. But hell, it was New York.

I ran like my ass was on fire. I ran out of the park and across town, my heart pounding in my ears. I must have looked like a lunatic. I was crying and smiling at the same time. The image of Harry running to find Sally on New Year’s Eve flashed through my head. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her, and he didn’t want to wait another second. I could relate.

I wanted my Jack. I wanted my family. I wanted my home. I just had to think of the right things to say to convince him I would never, ever, ever walk away from him again.

I made it to my building, yelled a quick hi to Lou as I sprinted past, and hit the elevator. It took what felt like ten hours, during which I tried to compose what I’d say when I called him. I also spent most of the time bent over at the waist, trying to catch my breath after running so fast and furiously.

When the door finally pinged open, I fell out into the hallway. Sweaty yet exhilarated, I picked myself off the floor and raced toward my door, anxious to get to my phone. I barreled through the door and ran through the apartment, frantically searching for my phone. I finally found it where I had left it, on the stack of mail in the kitchen. As I grabbed the phone, I slowed myself down just enough to take a breath and think again about what I was going to say. I couldn’t just blurt it out over the phone, could I?

As I composed myself, I flipped idly through the mail, which included quite a stack of gossip magazines. They remained my guilty pleasure.

OK, you’ve breathed enough. Now get him on the phone and do whatever you need to do.

Yeah.

Gripping my phone for courage, I began to dial when my gaze fell on the magazine on top, which featured a familiar face. It was Jack, falling out of a cab with a blonde draped on his arm. He was clearly drunk, and she was clearly victorious in the way she held on to him. He seemed to be turning his face from the camera, while she posed triumphantly. The caption?