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“I think I’d like to chug an entire bottle of tequila before I start coming up with names for all the cats I don’t have yet!” I announce a little too quickly and cheerfully, still shaking out my right hand for some stupid reason.
Probably because my entire family and this whole party is celebrating around me, and I feel like I’m about to completely fall apart. With no one to catch me, or tell me it’s going to be okay, or that fifty-four is not old—even if you are a Lala of three—because it’s the new forties, goddammit!
“Turtleneck sweatshirts, and grandma gardens, and white hair! We’re having so much fun, and I’m so happy I could scream!” I ramble, my voice getting louder and more panicky with every word I say, feeling like I might actually start screaming any second now.
My skin is still hot and sweaty and feels too tight for my body. I can’t seem to take in a deep breath of air no matter how hard I try. Tears start prickling the backs of my eyes, and I’m so tired of keeping this smile plastered on my face that I want to flip a table. I’m all over the place with emotions right now, and I don’t know what to do. This is a doubly happy occasion for both of my daughters, and I just want to be anywhere but on this deck. Just for a few minutes, so I can breathe and get my emotions under control, then come back and join this happy celebration for real.
All of a sudden, Dean is turning away from me and walking a few steps back to the bar. I smile and wave distractedly at some people who congratulate grandma and pat me on the back. My eyes frantically search the deck for the closest set of stairs, until Dean is right back in front of me a minute later, with two full shot glasses in his hands.
I don’t even hesitate, grabbing them both from him and shooting them back quickly, one right after another.
“One of those was actually for…. Never mind.” Dean chuckles softly.
I shiver while the tequila makes its way through me, not entirely sure if it’s from the alcohol or the sound of this man’s laugh. Which just makes me feel even crazier. Dean takes the empty shot glasses out of my hands, setting them on a vacated table next to us before studying me again.
“Better?” he asks.
The concerned look in his eyes and the way he won’t take them off me, even when someone bumps into him from behind, makes everything inside me tingle and every thought in my head come pouring out.
“Oh, sure. I’m great! Maybe I’ll fall asleep at the table; maybe I won’t. I’ll definitely need a bigger closet for my turtleneck sweatshirts. Get off my lawn! Did I do that right? I should probably learn how to crochet and start collecting trinkets. I definitely need a bowl of hard candy stuck together on my coffee table that no one ever eats, and several used tissues shoved down the sleeve of my cardigan that I can offer to strangers when they sniffle,” I ramble with a hysterical giggle as I smile and wave at Palmer’s agent when he walks by.
Something that sounds like a growl comes out of Dean, but I’m too busy turning and quickly making a beeline for the stairs that lead out onto the beach to worry about it.
“Ahhh, shit” is what I think I hear Dean mutter from behind me, followed by the sound of his motorcycle boots thumping against the wood floor as he jogs to catch up with me.
I weave in and out of tables, tripping over chairs as I go, not even paying attention, just wanting to get the hell off this deck so I can lose my shit in peace, rambling nonsense over my shoulder as I go.
“You don’t have to follow me. I’m fine. Perfectly fine! Nothing a good scream and maybe a lobotomy can’t handle. Have you ever had a heart attack before? I’m sorry; that was rude. I didn’t mean it in a rude way, but I’m guessing you might have a couple of years on me and maybe know what it feels like. But now that I say it out loud, it really is rude, and I….” My rambling pauses for a few seconds when I feel Dean’s hand press against my lower back as we walk.
The smell of his soapy, manly skin engulfs me again, along with the heat from his body as he keeps his hand at my back. His chest brushes against my arm every time he leans around me as we walk, yanking chairs out of my way to help me get to my destination without hurting myself.
The thoughtful gesture makes my heart clench right in the middle of my midlife-crisis panic attack. Ignoring it, since I can only deal with one problem at a time, I walk faster and say more stupid things, because that always works out well for me.
“Anyway, I don’t really like naps, but I guess this is who I am now. I should probably start going to bingo on Sunday afternoons in the elementary school gym, maybe get some orthopedic shoes, and I definitely need one of those chains to attach to my reading glasses so I don’t lose them. Do you think it’s too late to cover my furniture in plastic? I should invest in more lace doilies.”
When we’ve made it down the stairs, into the sand, and a few yards away from the hotel, with me talking nonsense the whole way, Dean’s hand on my lower back curls into a fist, tugging on the material of my dress to get me to stop walking and turn to look at him. I don’t even realize I’m panting and having a hard time getting air into my lungs until he finally speaks.
“Breathe, sugar,” he orders. “Nice and slow, and tell me what you need.”
What I need is to move away from this man who makes me forget about all my problems just by staring into my eyes and looking at me like he really wants to fix everything. But do I move away? Of course not. It suddenly feels like I’m standing in the sand with cement shoes on my feet, and I wouldn’t be able to move them if I tried. So, I do exactly what he orders. I breathe nice and slow, watching Dean’s chest moving up and down slowly right along with mine to keep me on pace. We stand toe-to-toe on the beach under the stars, with the faint sounds of music and people laughing at the dinner party floating out here and mixing with the waves crashing to the shore. My eyes trail up his chest and land on his lips, watching them part along with mine to slowly let out the air we seem to be breathing together.
“Tell me what you need,” Dean says again after a few minutes of quiet, slow breathing.
Right when I’ve gotten my heartrate under control and I don’t feel like I’m going to pass out or go completely insane, I notice the heavy weight of his hands on my hips that he placed there in the last few minutes. I start feeling lightheaded again as I tip my face back more to look the rest of the way up at him.
“I need to get my shit together and go back to the party. I’m fine. I just…. I’m fine,” I reassure him with a weak smile, my heart starting to beat wildly in my chest again when his eyes remain locked on mine, and his hands grip my hips tighter.
“Nope. Try again,” Dean says with a shake of his head. “What do you need?”
I don’t think anyone has ever asked me that before, and now this man who barely knows me has asked it three times. And hell, I don’t really know him either aside from the handful of stories I’ve heard, all of them mentioning how ornery and crabby he is. But I somehow just know he would do whatever it takes to make sure I got whatever I need in this moment. All my annoyance with him disappears in the blink of an eye, which immediately causes more word vomit.
“I hate this. I hate everything about this feeling, when I should be nothing but overjoyed with happiness. My baby is having another baby, and this time, it’s with an amazing, wonderful man. You’re right. It’s good news. It’s the best news. But I feel like I’m losing control of my life, and it’s all just passed right by me in the blink of an eye, when just yesterday I was holding a tiny baby Wren in my arms, and now she’s making me a grandmother again!” I say in one breath. “I don’t understand how I’m old enough for this to happen, when I feel like I haven’t even lived, yet here we are.”
The ocean breeze picks up, fluttering my hair into my face, and Dean removes one of his hands from my hip to quickly bring it up between us. The tips of his fingers brush against my forehead as he pushes the hair out of my eyes and tucks it behind my ear, making my body involuntarily shiver. He stares into my eyes now that they’re hair-free, one of his brows quirking up, silently ordering me to finally answer his question and tell him what I need.
“I just want to feel alive,” I suddenly whisper, wishing I could take the words back as soon as they’re out of my mouth. My breath starts coming out of me so fast I feel like I might actually pass out for real this time, while tears cloud my vision so much I can barely see.
“We could always make out. If you get too handsy, don’t worry; I’ll let you know if it makes me uncomfortable.”
