Page 166 of Dom-Com
“Are you saying you haven’t given him a key yet?”
It is a valid question. I have, after all, given keys to Sam and to Hannah. Malika and Dorothy also both have keys, as do Lucas and Harlow.
“No. I draw the line at him walking in on us. I mean… ew. It was enough to have to see Ms. Barcom-Tancredi in her underwear.”
“Laura.”
“Whatever. You didn’t know her before.” I follow him into the enormous dual-head rain shower that literally doesn’t even seem like it should be in a home. It’s like a spa in here. Or a hotel orsomething. He turns on the water, and I just stand here, and the sprays do pretty much the rest. Including the one at waist level that the man utilizes for wicked, wicked things. “This is like a car wash for humans.”
“Don’t complain.” He soaps up his hand and laughs. “You do know that I’m the one who washes you in here, right?”
“You mean it’s not a built-in robot?”
“Nope. Just your man.”
I sigh. My man. Oh my god. He really is my man. Which is wild. And beautiful. And…
“What? What is it? Are you crying?”
“Just hormonal. You know how it is.” And I always miss Mom in the fall.
“I do, sweetheart. I do.” He wraps his arms around me and pulls my back tight against his front. “I love you,” he whispers into my ear, “but I can hear your dad talking down there. And I swear if he walks into this bathroom right now, there will be words.”
“Didn’t you just suggest I give him a key?”
“Suggest it? No.” He’s grinning. “This is how rumors start.”
“You said I should give him a key.”
“I said I thought you already had.”
“Oh. Hm. Well, I won’t.”
“Thank god.”
“Crap. Is that him on the steps? I’m going!”
I race to get dressed and swipe on mascara before heading downstairs to find literally a dozen people here. And four animals.
“Hey, hon!” Dorothy calls from the living room, where she’s pouring champagne into the glasses I set out earlier. “I let your dad in.”
My dad and Laura are in the kitchen, covering the counter with pies. “I brought the bananas!” Dad yells.
Otty and Hannah and the kids swarm in. Sam is here, and also Harlow with her Frenchie, Augustus, who, along with Malika and Dorothy’s dog, McGruntcakes, are a perfect buffer between Hannah’s kids and the cats.
The only ones missing today are Lucas, and Rachel, who sold the home she had with Dane and took off to Europe, funded in part by her mother, who was more than happy to see her sow her wild oats. Go on and get some European action, girl. After being married to that creep, I’d say the woman deserves a break.
Grant’s mother, who came to visit us for a week last summer, decided to stay in Florida. I honestly think it’s best for everyone. We are a lot, and she’s clearly had her fill. She likes a quiet home. Without animals. Preferably without mess.
Oh, and we don’t talk about Schaffer at all anymore. But I’ll leave that story for another day. Also, we do not discuss kink with my dad here. I mean, he possibly knows, given the club and all, but… I’d rather the two never shall mix.
What we do talk about is work and theater and how Grant spends every weekend building things for our house. First, there were the ceiling-high library bookshelves, complete with ladder, that I’d fallen in love with. He then refinished a stunning apothecary cabinet for my itty-bitty book-nook supplies. Now he’s putting a mini screen porch on my workshop, which I told him was overkill. What can I do, though? The man lives to make me happy. We talk about our animals and the kids’ teeth, and how great Dad sang “Mr. Cellophane” in the recent production ofChicago. Otty has given up music and started working in this really fancy French place over in Charlottesville, and… yeah, I think Devil Cat’s expecting kittens.
“You were both amazing,” I tell Laura every time I see her. Because it’s true.Chicagowas really good.
And though she’s not my mom—and she’ll never replace her, either here or onstage or in my heart or anywhere else—she makes my father happy.
The way Grant makes me happy.
In a home way. In a real way. In the way that good couples don’t complete each other but lift each other up.
What we have gives me hope.
So when I look around and see Otty yawn and check her phone for the millionth time, and Sam, separate from what’s actually happening in the room, surreptitiously grimacing at the kids, and Hannah sitting in the corner, downing her third glass and looking as strained and exhausted as I’ve ever seen her, I have hope.
Maybe they’ll find love too.
I know they will. Seriously. The world had better provide. I refuse to take no for an answer.
