Loose Screws (34 page)

No profound words of wisdom are springing forth from my tongue. Hell, at the moment, I'd settle for banal. Instead, all I do is sit and sip my coffee, wondering at all this. Finally, Nick breaks the silence with, “I mean, maybe I'm jumping to conclusions myself, but I take it you didn't come all the way out here to tell me you and Munson were getting married, did you?”

I shake my head. “No. That's over for good.”

“What happened?”

He sounds genuinely concerned. Interested, even. But I wave my hand. “Long story. Which I'll be more than
happy to explain someday when I've got a little better perspective on it. Let's just say…I woke up.”

He lets out a relieved-sounding sigh, then says, “So…why
did
you come out here?”

“I'm not sure, actually.”

“Mmm.” He leans his head in the palm of his hand, studying me. “Just like you're not sure why you ran hell-for-leather when you thought I'd spent the night with someone else.”

I make a face. He reaches across the table, covers my hand with his great big one. It feels much better than “nice.”

“We'd be a total mess together, Ginger.”

“I know.”

“And we'd fight all the time.”

“I know.”

With his other hand, he lifts his cup to his lips. “And I'm gonna have this baby to take care of in a few months.”

“So am I, so I guess we're even on that score.”

He spews coffee all over the table.

“Oh, God, I'm sorry! My mother's pregnant! Not me.”

He grabs a napkin, wipes up his mess. “You sure?”

“That my mother's pregnant?”

“That you're not.”

“Positive on both counts. Well, negative on mine…oh, hell, you know what I mean.”

He seems to need a second or two to absorb this. “Jesus.”

“Oh, it gets better. Greg's brother is the father.”

At that, he lets out an enormous boom of laughter, loud enough to make heads turn. “No shit?”

“God's honest truth.”

Still chuckling, he says, “Your family has got a serious screw loose, Ginger.”

Then his face gets all serious. “This is really…complicated.”

All I do is lift one brow. He laughs. Looks sheepish. And so…solid and sure, I can barely swallow. “So,” he says, “you sayin' we should give this a try?”

I nod. After several seconds, he grins.

Then he stands, gathers the guest check, and holds out
his hand. Which, after maybe a nanosecond's hesitation, I accept.

“Where are we going?” I ask when we get out on the sidewalk.

He slips one arm around my waist. “It's about this frickin' chicken we have to take upstate?”

“Oh, yeah,” I say, and with that, my world makes more sense than it has in, well, forever.

The following May

I
think it's a riot that it's taken me this long to figure out that trying to make myself into who I thought I wanted to be, rather than accepting who I am, is a colossal waste of time. And if it hadn't been for that whacko succession of disasters/crises last summer, I'd probably still be clueless. Or worse, married to the Munsons.

Pardon me while I shudder.

Of course, if anything, things are whackier now than they ever were. I've got babies coming out of my ears, for one thing, what with Paula's twin boys and Shelby's new one, and of course my baby sister, who is so incredibly perfect and beautiful, Bride-of-Frankenstein hair and all. And then there's Nick's little girl, a bald, blue-eyed cutie who's got her daddy, who's taken an extended family leave to care for her, alternately stymied and totally wrapped around her little finger. I am totally besotted with all these tiny people, and for the moment, not quite so eager to have one of my own.

Not quite.

On the career/occupation front, I'm painting my heart out and loving it. Ted was crazy for the portrait I did of Alyssa, which in turn spawned more work. I'd never intended to go into portraiture, but that's what's happened, so I'm just going with the flow. Strangely enough, however, I'm still at Alsworth's, too. Apparently there are two “mes,” and one of them still wants to do interior design. So I'm one busy little bee.

Nonna moved out to Brooklyn to live with Sonya in October, only to call right before Christmas, begging to come back right before Christmas. Living with another “old bitty,” as she put it, drove her
pazzo.
So we're all still together, although we've hired one of Benita Ortiz's younger sisters to help with the housework and child care when both Nedra and I have to be away.

And in other news…Terrie finally broke it off with Davis, which wasn't exactly a surprise, but I was still bummed. I'm really sorry she didn't have the guts to give it a chance. But we all have to figure out these things on our own, and I still love her.

As for Bill Munson and my mother, well, Nedra's right. They'd never make it as a couple, even though he was present at Hillary's birth, and is crazy about his daughter. But you want to hear the kicker to all this? I don't know the whole story, since Bill seemed a little vague on the details himself, but apparently Phyllis Munson finally realized she was tired of sacrificing herself for her husband and his career, so she walked out. Bill says she says
I
inspired her. I'm still reeling from that one. And last I heard, Greg's apparently dating a local newscaster, a sweet blond thing with a finely honed killer instinct. So much for ethnic diversity. It will be interesting to see whether he actually does run for office.

But of course, what you really want to know is what happened between me and Nick, right? Well…consider it a work in progress. There's been no one else for either of us since last summer, and we call each other every day, and he and Nonna and Nedra all get on like gangbusters…but he's got his hands full with his new daughter, and I've got my hands full making up for lost time in the
Unearth the Real Ginger department. Gotta find my own soul first, then I'll worry about the soul mate.

Except, you know, it's like Nedra said: the right man can really help in that department. And Nick has certainly been more than ready and willing to give me a kick in the pants whenever I've been tempted to slip back into old, pointless habits. And then he just happened to mention the other day that the building next to his was on the market, and he was thinking of buying it, and that there was plenty of room for, well, everybody.

And then he did that grinning thing.

I've got to think about this. I mean, combine our families? Raise his daughter and my sister together?

Marry a cop? A
pushy
cop?

Live in
Brooklyn?

Criminy. I'd never be by myself again.

Which, come to think of it, doesn't sound like such a bad deal, huh?