Heidi Betts: Loves Me, Loves Me Knot

“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.”

“Awwww.” Ronnie put down her now-empty glass, wiped her hands on a paper napkin, and scooted a couple of inches closer to wrap an arm around Jenna’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, sweetie, you’ll find someone soon and probably end up with a dozen fat, happy babies toddling around at your feet. You’ll have so many kids, you’ll think you’re running an orphanage, and you may even attempt to adopt some of them out just to get a good night’s sleep.”

Where a moment ago she’d been feeling happy and festive, now a lead weight seemed to be pressing down on Jenna’s chest, causing her eyes to water.

“I don’t think so,” she admitted, sounding pathetically whiny even to her own ears. If she weren’t so emotionally miserable, she’d be tempted to smack herself upside her own head.

“I’ve tried,” she told her friends. “You know I have. I’ve gone out with so many different men these past six months, I’m starting to feel like my entire life is one of those pathetic speed-dating sessions.”

“And there was no one you’d consider seeing again?” Grace asked.

Jenna shrugged. “They were okay. A couple of them were cute, a couple of them were funny, but none of them…” She trailed off, not quite sure how to describe her almost total lack of interest in the male species of late.

“Flipped your switch? Rang your bell?” Ronnie suggested.

“Put the zip in your Miracle Whip?” Grace added with a teasing wink.

Jenna stuck her tongue out at her friend even as two small tears spilled past her lashes to run down her cheeks. “No, not even close. I think I’m turning into an old maid, drying up inside and losing interest in men altogether.”

“What about Gage?” Ronnie asked.

The mention of her ex-husband, so unexpected and out of the blue, caused her stomach to flip-flop and sent a wave of heat flooding through her entire system. A lump formed in her throat, keeping her from being able to respond… a reaction her friends noticed immediately.

Ronnie’s arm around her shoulders tightened and she pressed her brow to the side of Jenna’s head. “See, you’re not a dried-up old maid. You’re just still caught up in wanting Gage, and until you’re really and truly over him, no other guy is going to be able to get close to you.”

“Oh, God, I’m damaged goods!” Jenna wailed, drawing her knees up to her chest and burying her face against the material of her flowing, tie-dyed skirt.

“Honey,” Grace said flatly, shifting until she was closer, too, and they were all hip to hip, arms linked, “we’re all damaged. We all have baggage. Your problem is that instead of being packed up and tucked away in a closet somewhere, your issues are still fresh and raw and strewn all over the bed.”

Jenna lifted her head and Grace took a napkin from the coffee table to dab the tears from beneath her eyes. When she was finished, Jenna took the tissue from her and blew her nose.

“Now, I know I can be bossy and opinionated sometimes,” Grace said, “and if you want to ignore me entirely, you go right ahead. But I’m going to say something I’ve never said before. Something I’ve been thinking for a long time.”

The air hitched in Jenna’s lungs and she let it out on a sigh. “Do I want to hear this?” she asked softly.

“I don’t know if you want to, but I think you need to,” Grace said, her tone brooking no argument.

Reaching for the margarita pitcher, Ronnie refilled Jenna’s glass and handed it to her. “Here, have some more to drink and then let Grace have her say. It’ll be like tearing off a Band-Aid… it will only hurt for a second and then it will be over.”

Grace’s lips, still shaded with the long-lasting gloss they put on her at the television studio, twisted. “Gee, thanks.”

“Okay,” Jenna said, her voice only slightly watery, “lay it on me.”

“I don’t think you’re over Gage. I think you’re completely hung up on him being the father of your children, whether the two of you are married or not, and that no other man will ever even come close to filling your extensive mental list of criteria for a DNA donor.”

Jenna wished she could be angry with her friend’s brutal assessment, but the sad truth was that Grace was right. She’d never really wanted to divorce Gage in the first place, so how could she be expected to stop loving him, to just get over no longer having him in her life?

With a groan, she let her head fall back until the short strands of her dark hair dusted the seat of the sofa behind them.

“So what am I supposed to do?” she asked them. “Go through the rest of my life miserable and childless and alone all because my husband changed his mind about loving me and wanting to start a family with me?”

A beat passed while she waited for one or the other of her closest friends to come to her defense, reassure her, say something, anything to disparage her rat of an ex-husband.

Of course, he was only a rat when she was really mad at him and feeling particularly sorry for herself. Otherwise, she at least had the moral fortitude to admit that he was a decent guy.

Better than decent; he was one of the best. When they’d first been married, she’d thought he was Prince Charming, Sir Galahad, and Superman all rolled into one. It was only later, when he’d started to pull away from her, that she wondered if she’d ever really known him at all.

“Well,” Ronnie said, drawing out the word so that it took up about six syllables, “I guess that depends on what kind of woman you are.”

Jenna’s heart thumped painfully and her eyes went wide. “What’s that supposed to mean? Are you saying I’m less of a woman than either of you are? That I was a bad wife or I’d make a bad mother?”

She was shaking now, her tone edging toward hysteria, as every deep, dark, subconscious fear she’d ever had about the breakup of her marriage reared its ugly head.

“Of course not,” Ronnie replied calmly. She reached for the pitcher again and drained the last of the slushy mixture into their three glasses. “But you’ve been divorced for almost two years now, and I think it’s time to make some hard-and-fast decisions about your life. That, however, is a conversation better had with more colorful, girly, tequila-based liquids coursing through our veins. Come on, let’s go to the kitchen and whip up another pitcher of margaritas.”

“And then what?” Jenna wanted to know as the three of them pushed to their feet.

“And then,” Grace supplied, “we hatch a brilliant and daring plan for your future.”

Jenna didn’t know about “brilliant,” but the plan was definitely daring. So daring, she wasn’t sure she could go through with it.

Sitting around the island in the kitchen, they’d gone through two more large pitchers of margaritas. They’d opted for the lime and then watermelon, mixing in more and more tequila with each batch, while Grace and Ronnie grilled her like a salmon until she’d been forced to come to terms with exactly how she felt and what she wanted.