She also happened to be engaged to another national celebrity, Zachary “Hot Legs” Hoolihan, star goalie of the Cleveland Rockets hockey team. The two made a sickeningly attractive couple-the Ken and Barbie of the media world.
If Jenna didn’t love them both so much, she’d have been thoroughly green with envy. Especially considering how short and plain and boring she was in comparison.
A humble grade-school teacher, Jenna had short black hair, plain features, and was lucky to reach most people’s armpits unless she decided to suffer the pains of four-inch heels, which she did only on extremely rare occasions.
Ronnie was just as beautiful as Grace, but in a more down-to-earth, approachable manner, Jenna thought. Equally tall and shapely, Ronnie’s hair was a gorgeous chestnut brown that reached halfway down her back. She wrote a weekly column for the Cleveland Sentinel, and until recently had been caught up in a down-and-dirty, anything-you-can-do-I-can-do-better competition with Dylan Stone, her arch-nemesis at a rival paper.
Antagonism had quickly turned to passion, however, and the two were now cheerfully involved, living together and maybe, possibly, perhaps one day willing to take the next step toward a ring- and vow-related commitment.
Considering Jenna’s own failed marriage and current romantic dry spell, it wasn’t always easy to see her two best friends happily involved. She’d wallowed in her own misery long enough, however-and boy, had she ever. So now whenever compare-and-despair depression threatened to swamp her, she tried to remind her-self of how very much she cared about Grace and Ronnie, and that someday she, too, might find someone and fall in love again.
Hey, it could happen.
“I’ll take care of the food,” Grace offered, loading up a tray with mass quantities of Mexican take-out that she pulled from multiple bags and containers.
“Ronnie,” she continued, “you take the radio into the living room and find somewhere to plug it in. We must have music to make Mexican Night fantastico.”
Ronnie bustled around, unplugging the radio and hoisting it off the counter.
“Jenna, don’t just stand there,” Grace, ever the take-charge kind of gal, ordered, shaking a lock of hair away from her face. “Grab some glasses and start pouring. I’ve been waiting all week to get plastered.”
With a chuckle, Jenna grabbed three jelly jars-the only drinking glasses her eccentric aunt had to offer-from a nearby cupboard. Carrying them in one hand and the pitcher of thick margaritas in the other, she headed for the living room.
“See you in there,” she threw over her shoulder, knowing Grace wouldn’t be far behind.
Moments later, all three women were sitting cross-legged on the floor behind the low coffee table, backs resting against Charlotte ’s faded red old-fashioned brocade settee. Jenna poured them each a healthy dose of the thick, frothy, pale peach concoction while Ronnie and Grace took turns loading up plates with a little bit of everything their favorite Mexican restaurant had to offer.
As was typical of their Girls’ Nights, they’d gone overboard with both the food and the drinks. There were cheese quesadillas, chicken enchiladas, beef and bean burritos, crispy fish taquitos, side orders of rice and beans, and for dessert, mini churros. The very thought of those sweet cinnamon snacks waiting at the end of the meal made Jenna’s mouth water.
“So how are you doing out here all on your own?” Ronnie asked after they’d each taken several bites and downed half of their slushy drinks.
Jenna swallowed before answering. “Fine. Caring for the alpacas means no sleeping in, but I’m used to being up early for school. And it’s quiet with no one else around, but I’m used to that, too.” She took a sip of her margarita. “Thanks for coming all the way out here, by the way. I could have just as easily driven back into town.”
Grace flicked a taquito-filled hand. “Don’t be silly. It’s nice to meet somewhere new for a change, and I have to admit it’s kind of fun to be here without Charlotte around.”
Ronnie’s face blanched as she choked on a mouthful of Mexican rice.
“Oh, I didn’t mean it that way,” Grace quickly corrected herself with a small eye roll. “I just meant that it feels sort of… wicked, like when I was a kid and my parents would leave me home alone. I’d poke around for secret hidey-holes, hoping to find hidden birthday and Christmas presents.”
“And did you?” Jenna wanted to know.
“Sometimes. But I sort of lost interest after I snooped one time too many and ended up discovering their sex drawer.” She shuddered with revulsion, sending Jenna and Ronnie into peals of laughter.
“Oh, my God,” Ronnie gasped, “what did you find?”
Grace shook her head as though it were too horrific a memory to put into words, but then said, “Some magazines and… toys.”
“Eeew!” The three of them cringed and shuddered, simultaneously doing their best to shake off the mental image.
“I didn’t fully understand what everything was at the time, but I sort of knew instinctively that I shouldn’t be seeing them. It was traumatizing, believe me, especially later when I did start to figure out what they were for. There are some things a child just should not know about her parents, no matter how old she gets.”
“Did they ever find out?” Jenna asked.
“God, no!” Grace’s normally unflappable demeanor slipped, showing a flush of color on her cheeks. “Can you imagine? I’d have had to shoot myself or move to Siberia or something out of sheer embarrassment.”
“Well, you’re not the only one trying to block out childhood trauma,” Ronnie said, pulling a slice of quesadilla apart to eat section by section. “I once walked in on my father just after he’d stepped out of the shower and was still naked. I don’t think we looked each other in the eye again for about six years.”
They all howled again, continuing to eat and imbibe great gulps of mango margarita.
“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 “seshual 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.”