Loves Me, Loves Me Knot (3 page)

“How about you, Jenna?” Grace pressed. “Any ‘walked in on Mommy and Daddy doing it doggy-style’ issues that it took many years in therapy from which to recover?”

Jenna shook her head adamantly, grateful she’d survived her childhood blessedly unscathed, at least where parental nudity and bedroom habits were concerned. Then again, her parents hadn’t exactly been known for their overt sensuality or spontaneity.

She’d been an only child, and her parents had both been rather quiet and austere. Her father had been the
tie-and-pocket-protector type, more interested in his work at a local accounting firm than in his wife or daughter. And her mother had never worn a skirt that fell above the knee or a blouse that didn’t button all the way to her chin.

“Definitely not. As tightly wound as my folks were, it’s a wonder I even exist. I swear, I’m not sure Marvin and Bernadette Langan even took their clothes off to bathe, let alone actually had sexual intercourse.”

She pronounced the last “
sesh
ual intercourse” in a prim, near-British accent, nearly causing Grace and Ronnie to spit their Mexican fiesta halfway across the room.

“Maybe your dad accidentally rolled over on your mom on the way to the bathroom one night,” Grace offered, completely straight-faced.

“Or maybe you were an immaculate conception.” This from Ronnie.

Jenna bit extra hard into her cinnamon churro, savoring the crunchy sweetness before finally swallowing. “I wouldn’t be surprised. And if that’s the case, I sincerely hope it runs in the family, because divine intervention is about the only way I’m ever likely to get knocked up myself.”

“Awwww.” Ronnie put down her now-empty glass, wiped her hands on a paper napkin, and scooted a couple of inches closer to wrap an arm around Jenna’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, sweetie, you’ll find someone soon and probably end up with a dozen fat, happy babies toddling around at your feet. You’ll have so many kids, you’ll think you’re running an orphanage, and you may even attempt to adopt some of them out just to get a good night’s sleep.”

Where a moment ago she’d been feeling happy and festive, now a lead weight seemed to be pressing down on Jenna’s chest, causing her eyes to water.

“I don’t think so,” she admitted, sounding pathetically whiny even to her own ears. If she weren’t so emotionally miserable, she’d be tempted to smack herself upside her own head.

“I’ve tried,” she told her friends. “You know I have. I’ve gone out with so many different men these past six months, I’m starting to feel like my entire life is one of those pathetic speed-dating sessions.”

“And there was no one you’d consider seeing again?” Grace asked.

Jenna shrugged. “They were okay. A couple of them were cute, a couple of them were funny, but none of them . . .” She trailed off, not quite sure how to describe her almost total lack of interest in the male species of late.

“Flipped your switch? Rang your bell?” Ronnie suggested.

“Put the zip in your Miracle Whip?” Grace added with a teasing wink.

Jenna stuck her tongue out at her friend even as two small tears spilled past her lashes to run down her cheeks. “No, not even close. I think I’m turning into an old maid, drying up inside and losing interest in men altogether.”

“What about Gage?” Ronnie asked.

The mention of her ex-husband, so unexpected and out of the blue, caused her stomach to flip-flop and sent a wave of heat flooding through her entire system. A lump formed in her throat, keeping her from being able to respond . . . a reaction her friends noticed immediately.

Ronnie’s arm around her shoulders tightened and she pressed her brow to the side of Jenna’s head. “See, you’re not a dried-up old maid. You’re just still caught up in wanting Gage, and until you’re really and truly over him, no other guy is going to be able to get close to you.”

“Oh, God, I’m damaged goods!” Jenna wailed, drawing her knees up to her chest and burying her face against the material of her flowing, tie-dyed skirt.

“Honey,” Grace said flatly, shifting until she was closer, too, and they were all hip to hip, arms linked, “we’re all damaged. We all have baggage. Your problem is that instead of being packed up and tucked away in a closet somewhere, your issues are still fresh and raw and strewn all over the bed.”

Jenna lifted her head and Grace took a napkin from the coffee table to dab the tears from beneath her eyes. When she was finished, Jenna took the tissue from her and blew her nose.

“Now, I know I can be bossy and opinionated sometimes,” Grace said, “and if you want to ignore me entirely, you go right ahead. But I’m going to say something I’ve never said before. Something I’ve been thinking for a long time.”

The air hitched in Jenna’s lungs and she let it out on a sigh. “Do I want to hear this?” she asked softly.

“I don’t know if you want to, but I think you need to,” Grace said, her tone brooking no argument.

Reaching for the margarita pitcher, Ronnie refilled Jenna’s glass and handed it to her. “Here, have some more to drink and then let Grace have her say. It’ll be like tearing off a Band-Aid . . . it will only hurt for a second and then it will be over.”

Grace’s lips, still shaded with the long-lasting gloss they put on her at the television studio, twisted. “Gee, thanks.”

“Okay,” Jenna said, her voice only slightly watery, “lay it on me.”

“I don’t think you’re over Gage. I think you’re completely hung up on him being the father of your children, whether the two of you are married or not, and that no other man will ever even come close to filling your extensive mental list of criteria for a DNA donor.”

Jenna wished she could be angry with her friend’s brutal assessment, but the sad truth was that Grace was right. She’d never really wanted to divorce Gage in the first place, so how could she be expected to stop loving him, to just get over no longer having him in her life?

With a groan, she let her head fall back until the short strands of her dark hair dusted the seat of the sofa behind them.

“So what am I supposed to do?” she asked them. “Go through the rest of my life miserable and childless and alone all because my husband changed his mind about loving me and wanting to start a family with me?”

A beat passed while she waited for one or the other of her closest friends to come to her defense, reassure her, say something, anything to disparage her rat of an ex-husband.

Of course, he was only a rat when she was really mad at him and feeling particularly sorry for herself. Otherwise, she at least had the moral fortitude to admit that he was a decent guy.

Better than decent; he was one of the best. When they’d first been married, she’d thought he was Prince Charming, Sir Galahad, and Superman all rolled into one. It was only later, when he’d started to pull away from her, that she wondered if she’d ever really known him at all.

“Well,” Ronnie said, drawing out the word so that it took up about six syllables, “I guess that depends on what kind of woman you are.”

Jenna’s heart thumped painfully and her eyes went wide. “What’s that supposed to mean? Are you saying I’m less of a woman than either of you are? That I was a bad wife or I’d make a bad mother?”

She was shaking now, her tone edging toward hysteria, as every deep, dark, subconscious fear she’d ever had about the breakup of her marriage reared its ugly head.

“Of course not,” Ronnie replied calmly. She reached for the pitcher again and drained the last of the slushy mixture into their three glasses. “But you’ve been divorced for almost two years now, and I think it’s time to make some hard-and-fast decisions about your life. That, however, is a conversation better had with more colorful, girly, tequila-based liquids coursing through our veins. Come on, let’s go to the kitchen and whip up another pitcher of margaritas.”

“And then what?” Jenna wanted to know as the three of them pushed to their feet.

“And then,” Grace supplied, “we hatch a brilliant and daring plan for your future.”

Jenna didn’t know about “brilliant,” but the plan was definitely daring. So daring, she wasn’t sure she could go through with it.

Sitting around the island in the kitchen, they’d gone through two more large pitchers of margaritas. They’d opted for the lime and then watermelon, mixing in more and more tequila with each batch, while Grace and Ronnie grilled her like a salmon until she’d been forced to come to terms with exactly how she felt and what she wanted.

Did she want to be single or married?

Did she want to date a lot or just a little? Locally, or maybe online or through a service?

Did she really want a child, and if so, was she prepared to be a single mother?

Did she want to be impregnated by a living, breathing male, or would a test tube sort of deal do the trick?

And what she’d quickly realized—much to her somewhat nauseating chagrin—was that she didn’t want to be a serial dater. The only man she’d ever really been interested in, or could see herself being involved with in the very near future, was Gage. And if she couldn’t have him, then she’d rather be alone.

That particular revelation had come as something of a surprise, considering how hard she’d fought over the past year and a half to convince herself she was over Gage and fine being a happy and independent divorcée.

She really did want a baby, though. She always had. And though she was still young, she didn’t know how many truly good years—or farm-fresh eggs—she had left.

Having grown up as an only child in a household where there was very little demonstrative interaction and almost no laughter or merriment, Jenna had always wanted her own family to be a big, boisterous one.

She wanted a husband who loved her and loved their children, and a passel of kids running around, making the windows rattle and floors quake. She’d spent years dreaming of holding her own babies to her breast, watching them learn to crawl and then walk and talk, of getting them ready for school in the mornings . . .

And when she’d met Gage, he’d folded perfectly into those hopes and dreams. She’d been almost giddily eager to start making babies with him, and then to see those little replicas with his Hershey bar brown eyes and mops of black hair similar to both of their dark locks.

They would take walks in the park, swinging a toddler between them, or go on weekend excursions to the lake where they’d deal with inner tubes and water wings, sunscreen and sand castles. She could so clearly picture Gage tossing their son or daughter into the air and catching him or her—or maybe one of each—in his strong arms, eliciting squeals of childish glee.

The day he’d told her he didn’t want kids after all, and had no intention of getting her pregnant, had been the darkest day she could ever remember. Her whole world had come crashing down around her, sending her life and everything she thought she’d known spinning out of control.

Ronnie and Grace knew all that. They’d been the first people Jenna called after the fight to end all fights that had resulted in Gage’s life-altering pronouncement and her eventual petition for divorce. They’d come running immediately, then held her hand, patted
her back, let her sob on their shoulders for weeks on end, and alternately sympathized with her or railed at the duplicity of men in general and Gage in particular.

Which was why Grace’s announcement that she thought Jenna had been wallowing for the past year and a half had come as such a surprise. Jenna had tried to work up a good mad at her friend, but any sense of betrayal went down the drain when she realized Grace was right. She hadn’t been herself in months, and she darn well knew it.

But what had shocked her even more was what Ronnie and Grace thought she should do to get herself out of her recent funk.

Maybe it was the margaritas talking. Hell, there was a ninety-five percent chance it was the margaritas talking. But it was what she wanted, what she’d always wanted, and the idea of going through with it gave her a warm, fuzzy feeling deep in her belly that put the tequila-laced smoothies to shame.

So now the kitchen and living room—which twenty minutes ago had looked like a frat house on party night—were spotlessly clean. The dirty glasses, plates, silverware, and blender were all stuffed in the dishwasher. Leftover Mexican food had been boxed and put in the refrigerator. And any signs that Grace and Ronnie were in the house had been completely hidden or removed.

“Okay, I think we’re set.” Ronnie ran a rag over the island countertop one last time before tossing it in the sink. “Are you ready?”

A blip of panic sparked in Jenna’s chest, causing her
lungs to freeze and her heart to skip a beat. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Of course you can,” Grace said matter-of-factly. “We did the whole pros and cons list, you did your little self-examination psychoanalysis, and this is what you said you wanted. You said you were sure.”

“I am sure, I’m just . . . not sure.”

Grace rolled her eyes. “Stop worrying. Stop second-guessing yourself. This is going to work like a charm, and when it’s over, everyone will have exactly what they want.”

“Everybody but Gage, anyway,” Ronnie put in.

With a shoulder shrug, Grace said, “He should have thought of that before he lied to her and wasted three years of her life. Now it’s Jenna’s turn to call the shots and make the big decisions, and he’ll just have to deal with it.”

Grabbing the cordless phone from the wall, she passed it to Jenna. “You’ve got the story straight, right?”

Jenna nodded.

“Good. So dial.”

Taking a deep breath, Jenna focused her slightly blurry gaze on the key pad and very carefully punched in the series of numbers she had memorized, even though she shouldn’t have known them at all.

While she listened to the ring and waited for an answer, Grace pinched Ronnie’s elbow and lured her out of the kitchen and into the other room. At the muted giggle that followed, Jenna closed her eyes, covered her face with her hand, and seriously considered hanging up before the humiliation that was about to befall her kicked in and became absolute.

But then the ringing stopped and a deep male voice sounded in her ear, sending her stomach plummeting toward her toes and making Phase One of their plan complete.