Until There Was You(107)

“Still not feeling sorry for you, Gret. Your parents loved you, and come on. They died when you were seventeen. You could’ve become a mortician and they wouldn’t have known.”

“The thing is, Posey, I had a role in the family. You and Henry…you could be whatever you wanted. The truth is, I’ve been jealous of you my whole life. You had freedom, you have a brother and you’ve always known exactly who you are.”

Posey’s head jerked back in surprise, but Gretchen kept talking.

“Me…I’ve been programmed since birth to be the Barefoot Fraulein, and that all came down in flames.” Gretchen’s face scrunched. “And your parents didn’t die! I don’t have anyone.”

“My parents love you like a daughter, Gretchen.”

Gretchen snorted. “No, they don’t, Posey. You’re their little girl. I’m just the niece.”

“Are you serious? They’re so proud of you.”

Gretchen wiped her eyes and gave Posey a pitying look. “Right. Only because they have no idea what’s happened to me. I have a gambling problem. My career’s dead, no network would touch me with a ten-foot pole, Guten Tag is the best I can do. My parents would be so ashamed.” She began sobbing in earnest, covering her hands with her face.

“Oh, Gret.” Posey went over and, after only a nanosecond of hesitation, hugged her. “I don’t think they’d be ashamed, not at all. You made some mistakes, that’s all.”

“I had to live with my cousin,” Gretchen continued, and Posey rolled her eyes and released her.

“I didn’t realize I was quite so repulsive, Gret,” she said. “So sorry you had to suffer.”

Gretchen sighed and wiped her eyes with her fingers. Then she opened the fridge—ever entitled—and took out a bottle of wine and poured herself a glass. “Want one?” she asked.

“Sure,” Posey answered, sitting at the table. Shilo flopped at her feet with a groan and offered his belly, which she rubbed with her foot.

“So, here’s the thing,” Gretchen said quietly, handing Posey a glass of wine. “When I finally found something that was good and exciting and fresh… I mean, I can’t tell you how it felt, the first time Dante kissed me, Posey. Like the whole world was new. You have no idea.”

“Oh, I do.” At Gretchen’s dark look, she added, “Not with Dante, though. I never— We never had a real connection.”

“When I found out you were with him first, Posey, I just…lost it. I just felt like… I don’t know. The runner-up. Again.” She paused. “I’m sorry I outed you to Max and Stacia.”

“On my birthday,” Posey added.

Gret sighed. “Yeah. Bad timing.” She took another sip of wine. “It’s just been hard,” Gretchen whispered, tears falling once more. “My life came crashing down around me, and coming back here, seeing you so…adored, your parents, the boys, that chubby kid—”

“Brianna.”

“Whatever. You’re lucky, Posey. You love your job, everyone likes you, and you have that god in your bed at night.” She blew her nose.

“Actually, we broke up,” Posey said.

Gretchen’s face brightened. “Really?”

“Don’t look happy, you pain in the ass.”

Gret grimaced. “Sorry. I am, Posey. He seemed like he really liked you.”

“Well, not enough, I guess.”

Gretchen’s perfect nose wrinkled. “Your supper’s burning,” she said.

Sure enough, smoke was coming out of the oven. “Crap,” Posey muttered, looking in. Dang, she’d forgotten to take off the plastic wrap.

Gretchen grinned. “You said you didn’t want help,” she said. “Don’t worry. I’ll whip something up.”

A half-hour later, Posey was eating the best omelet of her life—herbs and some exotic cheese left over from Gret’s month here—laughing as her cousin told a story of her own cooking disasters on the air. “No wonder that stupid show didn’t get any ratings,” Gretchen said thoughtfully. “I just don’t think America really wants to know how to deep-fry pork rinds.”

“More for us,” Posey said. “Even if they do take ten years off your life per serving.”

Gretchen smiled. Then she gave Posey a long look. “Think we can be friends? Even if you are a weird little junkyard dog who dresses like a man?”

Posey smiled. “You bet, Gret. Even if you are a pretentious diva obsessed with her own boobs.”

They clinked glasses and sealed the deal.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“DAD? ARE YOU OKAY?”

Liam looked up from the strut he was installing. “Oh. Hi, Nicole.”

His daughter didn’t come down to the garage much…certainly not since the cold war that began when he grounded her. The past two weeks had been filled with Nicole either ignoring him or whining that, seriously, he had to lift the ban on Facebook, texting, cell phone and friends, which only made him more and more tense.

His daughter gave him that baffled look she’d perfected around age twelve. “Dad, I’ve been standing here for, like, ten minutes.” Her voice echoed off the walls of the garage.

“Sorry. What do you need?”