Read Online Second Best Fantasy by Angela Kelly - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Angela Kelly
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all. She looked just like any other girlfriend, waiting for me to get home.
“How’s work?” she called out to me, smiling. “Anything interesting happen this week?”
I dropped everything I was carrying onto the steps and 47
kissed her. “I missed you,” I whispered into her hair. “How long are you here?”
“We can talk about all that later. I want to take you out to dinner.”
I assumed that meant not long. I was going to have to get used to this, I supposed. But it sure did feel good for her to hook her fingers through my belt loop and pull me toward her for another kiss.
“ Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world… ” I started to joke.
“Oh, come on, you wouldn’t really have wanted me to walk into anyone else’s, would you?” She was right. But I couldn’t shake the feeling our relationship was going to look a lot more like Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? than Casablanca.
“ Let me cook for you instead?”
“What’s on the menu?”
“Linguine. Clam sauce.”
“Red or white?”
“White, why?”
“Do you have a nice bottle of Friuli Sauvignon? Never mind. Of course you do. And if you don’t, I’m sure you’ve got something just as nice stashed away.”
As we climbed the stairs, I wondered how much she knew about wine. Was it as much as she seemed to know about everything else? Her capacity for knowledge amazed me; hell, everything about her amazed me. But the greatest miracle was that she was here, standing smack in the middle of my life. In that moment, holding the door for her, I was suddenly struck with the feeling that it didn’t matter to me who she was, how famous she was, how often she was away, who else she slept with, or anything else she did. I was making a conscious decision to love, for it is only when love is a choice that it even has a chance.
Those addictive emotions of fascination, falling head over heels, even obsession, would always give way when the people in the relationship acted as their adult selves. I wanted something much more real than that. I decided right then and there that when the going got rough, as surely it would, for the first time in 48
my life I wouldn’t run. I wouldn’t abandon her or my heart’s desire, which had in an instant become one and the same.
* * * *
While I prepared dinner, she told me all about her LA trip, working at the Wolf Creek studios out there, how it was different from New York. With each little success, there were people higher up in the industry to meet and to appease.
“It’s frustrating, you know? Me and the guys, we just want to make music. While we’re doing that, there’s some guy in a suit telling you the song needs to have another chorus, or the bridge is too long, or something needs to be six bars and not eight, and so on.”
I couldn’t imagine anyone putting any kind of restraint on what she did, but I supposed if you wanted to be successful you had to follow some rules.
We sat down together and ate mostly in silence. I kept admiring her in the flicker of candlelight. She asked me if I had to work tomorrow and I said yes. “Can I see you again after work?”
I chuckled. Seriously? “That depends. Will you make dinner tomorrow?”
“Can we make homemade pizza together? My brothers and I did that when we were little with our parents. I miss it, and haven’t done it in a long time. I would like to do something nostalgic with you.”
I knew she meant because I had done something nostalgic with her, by taking her to Keyport.
“Do you see your family? Are they local?” I cleaned up, put leftovers away, and did the dishes. I could get used to her being in my home all the time.
“One brother lives in San Francisco now, so I try and see him when I’m out west. My other brother lives in Denver. My parents are still here, upstate in a beautiful house in the mountains, close to the Pennsylvania border. I am the only one that insisted on staying in the city. I talk with
“How’s work?” she called out to me, smiling. “Anything interesting happen this week?”
I dropped everything I was carrying onto the steps and 47
kissed her. “I missed you,” I whispered into her hair. “How long are you here?”
“We can talk about all that later. I want to take you out to dinner.”
I assumed that meant not long. I was going to have to get used to this, I supposed. But it sure did feel good for her to hook her fingers through my belt loop and pull me toward her for another kiss.
“ Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world… ” I started to joke.
“Oh, come on, you wouldn’t really have wanted me to walk into anyone else’s, would you?” She was right. But I couldn’t shake the feeling our relationship was going to look a lot more like Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? than Casablanca.
“ Let me cook for you instead?”
“What’s on the menu?”
“Linguine. Clam sauce.”
“Red or white?”
“White, why?”
“Do you have a nice bottle of Friuli Sauvignon? Never mind. Of course you do. And if you don’t, I’m sure you’ve got something just as nice stashed away.”
As we climbed the stairs, I wondered how much she knew about wine. Was it as much as she seemed to know about everything else? Her capacity for knowledge amazed me; hell, everything about her amazed me. But the greatest miracle was that she was here, standing smack in the middle of my life. In that moment, holding the door for her, I was suddenly struck with the feeling that it didn’t matter to me who she was, how famous she was, how often she was away, who else she slept with, or anything else she did. I was making a conscious decision to love, for it is only when love is a choice that it even has a chance.
Those addictive emotions of fascination, falling head over heels, even obsession, would always give way when the people in the relationship acted as their adult selves. I wanted something much more real than that. I decided right then and there that when the going got rough, as surely it would, for the first time in 48
my life I wouldn’t run. I wouldn’t abandon her or my heart’s desire, which had in an instant become one and the same.
* * * *
While I prepared dinner, she told me all about her LA trip, working at the Wolf Creek studios out there, how it was different from New York. With each little success, there were people higher up in the industry to meet and to appease.
“It’s frustrating, you know? Me and the guys, we just want to make music. While we’re doing that, there’s some guy in a suit telling you the song needs to have another chorus, or the bridge is too long, or something needs to be six bars and not eight, and so on.”
I couldn’t imagine anyone putting any kind of restraint on what she did, but I supposed if you wanted to be successful you had to follow some rules.
We sat down together and ate mostly in silence. I kept admiring her in the flicker of candlelight. She asked me if I had to work tomorrow and I said yes. “Can I see you again after work?”
I chuckled. Seriously? “That depends. Will you make dinner tomorrow?”
“Can we make homemade pizza together? My brothers and I did that when we were little with our parents. I miss it, and haven’t done it in a long time. I would like to do something nostalgic with you.”
I knew she meant because I had done something nostalgic with her, by taking her to Keyport.
“Do you see your family? Are they local?” I cleaned up, put leftovers away, and did the dishes. I could get used to her being in my home all the time.
“One brother lives in San Francisco now, so I try and see him when I’m out west. My other brother lives in Denver. My parents are still here, upstate in a beautiful house in the mountains, close to the Pennsylvania border. I am the only one that insisted on staying in the city. I talk with
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