Almost Married

Steph sipped her tea. “You should really try to get along with him. Your lease is for a year, right?”

Jaz pursed her lips and slapped the phone into Steph’s hand. “Call Griffin.”

Steph stared at the phone. Griff had changed his cell number years ago and never bothered to give her the new one. “I don't have his number anymore. I just contact his manager.”

“His manager?”

Steph took another sip of tea before admitting, “I'm married to Griffin Huntley.”

Jaz’s jaw dropped. “Omigod! Griffin Huntley from Twisted Star? Griffin Huntley”—her voice hit a decibel that only dogs could hear—“the rock star?”

Steph cringed and lowered her hand, asking for a voice that didn’t shatter glass. And her eardrums.

Jaz did a quick, excited foot-stomping dance from her seat on the sofa. “I love Twisted Star! You and Griffin Huntley! Omigod, how did that happen?”

Steph lifted one shoulder up and down. “I met him before he was famous. He was my guitar teacher. He taught private lessons on the side while he played gigs with his band, hoping to make it big. And then he did.”

“And then he left you.” Jaz squeezed her arm to soften the words.

“Yup. He got the big contract, went on tour, and never came back. We kept in touch that first year, doing the long-distance thing, but his calls got further and further apart until they just stopped.” She twirled a piece of her hair. “I guess some part of me was hoping he'd come back, and we'd pick up where we left off.”

Jaz gave her a sympathetic look. Everyone knew Griff had his pick of women. The gossip mags splashed with pictures of her husband with supermodels should’ve killed any hope Steph had of a reconciliation, but Griff kept it alive with what he did for her younger brother. She pushed that thought aside. Their divorce was long overdue. And she’d do her best for her brother with or without Griff’s help.

Steph sipped her tea and went on. “I just never met anyone that mattered enough to really push the issue of a divorce until—”

“Dave.”

“Dave.” She sighed.

Jaz shook her head with a smile. “Could Dave be any more different from Griffin?”

The two men were like Ashley Wilkes to Rhett Butler. Then who was Scarlett? Definitely not her. Griff sure liked attention like that Southern belle, and he had long black hair. She giggled, picturing her tattooed ex as the beautiful Scarlett.

“Maybe that's why it works between us,” Steph finally said.

“You've got to be the squeaky wheel and keep following up with Griffin’s manager. That's the only way this'll happen.” Jaz looked her in the eye. “You can't leave Dave in the dark either. That’s not fair to him. Tell him right away.”

She was right. Steph knew she was right.

“Call Griffin's manager first,” Jaz said. “Then tell Dave you want to see him tonight, and you’ll tell him in person.”

“Yes, Bossy Pants.”

Jaz smiled. “That's Miss Bossy Pants to you.”

~ ~ ~

Dave arrived at the brownstone in Brooklyn he'd grown up in and bent to kiss his grandmother on the cheek. “Happy birthday, Nonna.” He handed her a card. Inside was a gift card to her favorite restaurant, Nathan’s Famous (Famous for hot dogs).

“Thank you, sweetie. Are you hungry?”

His Italian grandmother felt it was her life's mission to feed him and his older sister, Christina. Only Chris refused to stuff herself on their grandmother's behalf. His sister was petite like their mother's Italian side while he was tall and lean like his father's Norwegian ancestors.

“Always,” he said.

“There he is, my genius,” his mom said, coming in from the kitchen and hugging him.

Dave winced. “Ma, I'm not a genius.”

She ruffled his hair. “Some would say differently.”

Dave smoothed his hair back into its side part. “Where's Dad?”

“He stopped by your Aunt Helen's house to see why her car keeps stalling.”

His dad was a master mechanic, a skill he'd passed on to Dave from the age of five when he could first hold a wrench. Dave had considered following in his dad’s footsteps, but his mom was adamant that he and his sister be the first in their family to go to college. He’d started out in mechanical engineering because of his affinity for machines, but was soon lured in by the beauty and elegance of mathematics. He’d gotten sidetracked after his master’s degree by a two-year stint in Teach for America, teaching math to inner-city middle schoolers. He loved teaching—felt like he was making a real difference—and never looked back.