“You already did that, sweetheart. That part was easy.” His eyes are fierce and wild. “The hard part is doing something you don’t want to do. If you don’t feel ready, if you’re scared, that’s when you know you’re doing it right.”
I cover my face against the tears, against showing Jared how much he’s getting to the heart of me. “I’m not doing this.”
“That your final answer? Fine.” I hear my front door open. “But Grace, let me tell you—and I know this from experience—living things change. They grow. And you’re the only one who’s going to decide if you’re going to stay dead to all of it, or take a risk and live.”
Chapter Nineteen
Aliza comes when I call. Of course she does.
She comes bearing pizza, wine, and two bowls of frozen yogurt from a self-serve place with all the foofy toppings.
And of course she doesn’t ask, even though she has every reason to. I answer my apartment door in yoga pants and a tattered, too-large law school shirt, my makeup scrubbed off after crying most of it away.
Aliza just hands over the fro-yo. Of course we eat that first. Of course.
“I think I need to hire you to be my lawyer,” I say once I’ve scraped every last bit of yogurt from the bottom of the cup.
She hands me a glass of wine. “You buying some investment property?”
“No, but I’d like a little attorney-client privilege, if you don’t mind.”
“Go get your dollar.”
I go to my purse and then hand over the bill. She makes a big show of kissing it and tucking it in her bra, then takes an enormous gulp of wine. “OK, privilege established. Tell me everything.”
And I spill. Through a whole bottle of wine and into the next, I tell her everything about Jared, possibly running on Senator Conover’s ticket, and all the changes Jared wants me to make.
“You left something out,” Aliza accuses.
“What?”
“The insanely hot sex? Because that man is mm-mm good. I can only imagine how his stubble would feel in a variety of locations.”
She waggles her eyebrows and I flush scarlet.
“I knew it! Why are you holding out on me?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Nuh-uh.” Aliza holds up her hand to ensure she has my complete attention. “There is nothing at all complicated about Grace Colton finally getting some. Your vagina has been on ice for a decade!”
I hang my head. “Not quite that long.”
“Grace, I know you. I know you. Seth was a good father, but you told me a long time ago that it wasn’t happening in the intimacy department.”
I take a long drink of wine, not denying it. We began a long, slow drift apart soon after Ethan’s birth. And after their death, I boxed up too much sadness about losing them to really put myself out there.
Not much. Not for long. Nothing more important than a few one- or two-night stands.
But Jared feels important. And that scares the hell out of me.
“I don’t know what to do with him,” I confess.
Aliza’s brows shoot up. “Honey, if we have to go back to sex ed to get your dirty mind working again the way it did in college, we’re going to need more wine.”
“Not that.” I shake my head with a smile as she tops up my glass. “I mean, I don’t know what to do with all the pieces of Jared. The pushy consultant, the demanding lover, the guy who freezes me out and won’t kiss me.”
“Won’t kiss you?”
I’ve finally said something that shocks her. “Not even once.”
“Huh. I’d say ‘fuck him’ but I gather you’re doing that pretty well already.”
“Not anymore.”
Aliza and I sip more wine in silence, and she’s got her “resting bitchface” on, a furrowed brow that shows she’s thinking. I hope it will kick me in the ass or get me over this weird inertia that’s settled on me.
“Grace, tell me one thing you really want.”
I open my mouth to reply, a dozen answers on my tongue. I want Ethan back. I want Jared. And I want this opportunity: this chance to vault to the next level in my political career.
Hell, it’s not just the next level. It’s a new universe.
“I want to be vice president.”
“Then go get it, girl. Give that everything you’ve got. Play nice with Jared and make the senator love you. Play hardball if they steer you off course. Focus on that one thing you want and do it harder and better than any of the boys.”
I blink. “I could fail, you know. I could be another punchline in history, like I-can-see-Russia-from-my-house Sarah Palin.”
Aliza waves her hand dismissively. “You know what they say? Well-behaved women rarely make history. You might end up being another Saturday Night Live skit, but at least you’ll have lived it.”