Remember When 3: The Finale Part 5

Back in 2000, I'd called that agent who left me a message the day I was fired from Now! Magazine. Diana Cavanaugh and I just clicked from the get go, and I spent the entirety of that following year writing my first book. It wasn't quite the factual expose she'd originally been campaigning for, but it was a good story and managed to find an audience. For my second novel, I actually received an advance, so I took my sweet old time getting that baby out. There were a couple novellas and a few short stories sprinkled in there, but I was currently dabbling with some ideas for my third full-length book.

Lisa was on her third baby, too.

She gave a rub to her lower back, and I could see her baby b.u.mp straining against her DKNY sweats.h.i.+rt. "Ow. Four months in and this one's already killing me."

"Don't complain to me, sister. You're the psycho that decided to have another kid after a set of twins."

She ignored my jab and got down to bra.s.s tacks. "So, you know what I came here to hear. Tell me about Trip! This is really happening, huh?"

We were both smiling like a couple of loons. "Yeah. Finally."

An unspoken understanding pa.s.sed between us at the situation. Lisa knew better than anyone what a long road it had been. She was there from the first minute and had been there for every moment since. She was the one who helped me survive in those first weeks after Trip announced his engagement. She was the one who helped me stay sane. She was the one who got me through that very long winter, kept me focused on the many good things I had to look forward to, didn't allow me to sink into the crazed depression my mind was begging for.

That's the thing about Lisa. She's always up for some good times, but she doesn't run away during the bad ones.

A huge, contented sigh came from my best friend. "I'd love to give you a big lecture here. I should probably feel compelled to warn you about everything that could go wrong again." She looked up at me, and she actually had tears in her smiling eyes. "But I just can't. Seeing you two together... It's like... like it's..." she trailed off, a dreamy expression on her dazed face.

"I know. And it is."

"'Bout time."

"Tell me about it."

She shook her head, laughing. "A freaking movie star. Leave it to you."

I had a flash of that freaking movie star's beautiful body poised above me, reducing me to a heaving pile of useless flesh the night before, and a delightful s.h.i.+ver made its way down my spine. I tried to contain my smile. I really did. But Lisa saw my battle and her eyes went wide. "You already had s.e.x with him!"

I let my smile turn into a huge grin. "I did."

"You s.l.u.t!"

"Shh! Your kids are in the next room!"

"Well, I think it's best that they know something like this now. Hey kids! Your aunt is a tramp!"

I leapt onto the couch and stifled her stupid, loud mouth with my hand. She was trying to squirm out of my grasp, but I held firm until she pinched my arm. "Ow!" I yelped as we both cracked up.

She was just looking at me, shaking her head. "This is like, so weird."

I rubbed my forearm and answered, "I know. But Lis... I can't even tell you. Trip and me... we're like, even better than we ever were. It's as if every stupid thing we've ever done to each other was worth it just to get us here, you know?"

"There were a lot of stupid things."

"I'm quite aware of that, thank you."

"So, this is it, then. You guys are really doing it this time."

"Holy s.h.i.+t. Yeah, I guess we are."

Lis smiled, and I was just getting ready to spill all the sordid details when Caleb came tearing into the room. "Mommy? When will Daddy be home?"

She shook her head and directed her commentary to me. "Every flipping day with this question," she lamented before answering Caleb, "No game tonight. Daddy will be home at the regular time, baby."

"Will he do fwips wif me?"

Pickford was an insanely amazing father. He doted on those kids every minute he got. His coaching job wiped him out every day, yet he still found the energy to roughhouse with the twins when he got home at night. I can't tell you the number of times he'd start a sentence with, "You can't believe what those two did the other day," before regaling me with prideful stories about the latest adorableness to ooze from his precious children.

"Yes, baby, he'll do flips with you. Hey. Auntie Layla has to get back to work. Why don't you find your sister and we'll walk down to Gramma and Pop Pop's. Then we can hit Chuck E. Cheese."

"I don't wanna hit Chuckie. I wike him."

We cracked up at that as Lisa explained what she really meant.

"Oh. Okay! Wet's go now! JOO-YA!" he shouted at the top of his lungs.

I laughed. "Don't yell, monkey! Go in the other room and get her, you wacko."

He skipped out of the room as I whispered to Lisa, "Oh my G.o.d. Please reconsider your decision to send that kid for speech. I freaking love hearing him talk."

"Yeah. I'm sure it'll be real cute when he's president or something." She rolled her eyes, admitting that she agreed with me, however, as Caleb stuck his head back around the door.

"Mommy?"

"Yes, baby?"

"What's a twamp?"

Chapter 9.

THE TALENT GIVEN US.

A couple days later, I was back at my desk, attempting-again-to get some actual writing done. My head was still spinning from the sudden reemergence of Trip in my life, and we'd spent practically every minute together since then. I needed a day just to concentrate on my pre-Trip persona. At least for a few hours.

I wasn't on any sort of imposed deadline for the next book, but I normally liked to set some timeline goals for myself just the same. The problem was that I hadn't really nailed down exactly what I'd be writing about yet. I had pages of outlined ideas, just waiting for one of them to spark, catch fire, and suck me into its world.

My mind was wandering, and I found myself pulling out an old file, some of the research I'd done while writing my first book. Originally, Beachlight Publis.h.i.+ng had used Diana as their middle man, asking if she'd sign me as her client. They were expecting her to convince me to submit a memoir about my high school days with Trip and actually thought it would have more teeth if I used real names. They soon found out that there was no way I'd ever agree to write such a thing. Instead, I'd offered up a fictional retelling of my life. They didn't go for it.

Thankfully, however, Diana did. She put out her feelers to a few different publis.h.i.+ng houses, and eventually, it managed to find a home.

Nevertheless, I still had tons of leftover notes from that time; random sc.r.a.ps of paper or envelopes or napkins, thoughts jotted down on whatever writing surfaces were at hand whenever a memory struck. Most of the compilation read more like diary entries as opposed to an outline for a book. Once I sat down to actually write, however, I hardly had any need to consult my factual notes while getting lost in the fabricated story.

But that day, I dug it all back out and revisited it. I suddenly had the inexplicable urge to tell Trip's and my story in all its many details, get it all down on paper. Not to publish, of course, but I was thinking that it would be a special gift for him. I wasn't much of a sc.r.a.pbooker, but I could doc.u.ment our life with words. It's not like I didn't have the time.

I got pretty lucky when that first book took off as well as it did. Because of that, Diana was pretty understanding about letting me work at my own pace. I'd made a few friends in the book world, and from the sound of it, some other literary agents weren't quite so lax. It helped that Diana was not only a pit bull, but on my side. She was a champion for all the "artists" under her tutelage and didn't take kindly to being told how to manage her talent.

So, it was pretty phenomenal that I was afforded a fairly long leash in regards to my career. Essentially, I was self-employed, a circ.u.mstance I'd never had during my working life and one in which I found an unexpected discipline.

Not so disciplined that I couldn't take some time to swim through some writer's block every now and again, however.

I had a members.h.i.+p at a nearby full-service gym just so I could use their indoor pool. I knew it would be a great way to keep fit over the winter, but I hadn't been there more than a few times. Now that Trip and his marble-carved muscles were back in the picture, I figured it was high time I got myself back into shape. Over the seventy-two hours he'd been back in my life, I made it a point to hit the pool every day since the wake. I could already feel my body coming back to me, which was a good thing, because I refused to let my boyfriend be prettier than me.

Who am I kidding? Even if I were in top form, he'd still be prettier than me, dammit.

So, there I was, back in my office after my morning swim, a big, fat, personal folder screaming for attention, an entire as-yet-to-be-determined novel waiting to be written... and what was I doing?

Organizing my desk drawer.

Granted, with my obsessive tendencies, such a task was a weekly undertaking, but with two huge projects hanging over my head, it wasn't the most pressing matter at the moment.

The one thing that stole the highest priority in my mind finally took precedence as I allowed myself to dial the phone.

Trip's mom answered.

"Hi, Mrs. Wilmington. It's Layla. May I speak to Trip please?"

Oh my G.o.d. I'm seventeen.

"Sure, honey. Hey, I'm sorry we didn't get much chance to talk the other day."

The woman was a bit preoccupied dealing with the death of her husband of almost forty years. It's not like I blamed her for not taking time away from that to catch up on our gossip. "Umm. You were a little busy."

"It was still good to see you. I'd like to catch up."

It was a sweet thing to say. She and I had always gotten along pretty well back in the day, and I guess I didn't realize how much I'd been missing her until she said that. "Well, don't worry. I'll be around from now on."

I could hear her smile on the other end of the phone. "Well, I'm glad to hear that. Hang on, I'll get him. Terrence!"

There was a fumbling on the other line, then I heard Trip's voice. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Hi!"

"Hi there."

"What's up?"

"Hang on." He held the phone away from his mouth and yelled, "Ma! I got it! Hang up!"

Click!

"I can't believe I just had to say that."

I laughed. "Well, if you'd just join the rest of us in this millennium, you'd get yourself a cell phone."

"Never."

"What's the matter? Big strong guy like you afraid of a little brain cancer?"

"No. Big strong guy like me is afraid of an even bigger and stronger Big Brother."

"You can't be serious."

"As a brain tumor."

I rolled my eyes at that one. "So... Guess what?"

"What?"

I wrapped the cord around my finger and sing-songed, "My father's going out tonight... I have the house to myself..." I was only half-kidding. It was getting ridiculous with the both of us living at our parents' houses. We came this close to s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g in his truck in my driveway the other day. But then my father started flicking the porch lights to bust our chops and we just died laughing. Kinda broke the mood.

He chuckled at my invitation. "Should I bring the keg? Call the football team?"

With that, I had a quick flashback of that beautiful man as the beautiful teenager he once was. Jeez. We really did do a lot of partying back in the day. "No keg. Just bring that sweet little a.s.s of yours over here. I wanna squeeze it while we make out on the couch."

There was a distinct pause before he breathed out, "Christ, that was hot."

I laughed. "See you later."

I was really looking forward to my "date" with Trip. It was going to be weirdly awesome to have him sitting on my family room couch again, watching a movie just like we used to do as teenagers. I very carefully chose a few DVDs for our viewing selection and figured I'd give Trip the ultimate vote on what we watched. After dismissing nearly my entire collection, I was confident that I'd come up with a handful of films that would meet with his approval, ensuring that I wouldn't have to listen to his tireless critique all night.

When I heard the doorbell ring, my heart actually leapt into my throat. I was almost as nervous as the first time he'd ever come over.

Get it together, Warren!

Dad had answered the door, and as I came up the stairs, I saw the two of them reuniting. Trip turned and smiled as I shyly said h.e.l.lo. I didn't know what my deal was. I went into the kitchen to grab him a soda as Dad invited him into the living room to meet Sylvia.

It was surreal, having him there in the house once again, chatting it up with my father as if fifteen years hadn't pa.s.sed since their last conversation. I braced my hands on the counter and tried to steady my breathing. I didn't know why I was feeling so freaked out about everything. Maybe just having him there in my house again brought up all the old insecurities. I mean, the first time he'd ever come over, we were just a couple of stupid kids. Just two friends who didn't know how to change that status. Now... Well, now we were "adults." Having him there suddenly seemed like a much bigger deal.

Trip, Dad and Sylvia were in the living room chatting when I came in to join them. Neither of the men acknowledged my presence, but I saw Dad smirk before he asked, "So, Trip. Just exactly what are your intentions toward my daughter?"

"Oh my G.o.d! Dad!"

That had him laughing and made Sylvia almost spit out her club soda.

"Would you rather I lecture him about being responsible?" He turned toward Trip again and said, "I hope you plan on using protection, son."

I almost leapt across the living room and strangled him.

Trip took the digs with the humor they were intended, but answered just the same. "Sir, I learned years ago that there's no protecting me from that." He pointed in my direction and all eyes turned toward me as he added, "Believe me. Lord knows I've tried."

I pursed my lips together, trying to contain my smile. Was he not just the cutest thing? I handed him his drink and sat down next to him on the couch. He didn't take his smiling eyes off me the entire time. Oh, G.o.d. We were turning into two big sappy idiots all over again.