***

 

The next night, I sat in the car, looking up at the lavender-painted stucco in front of me, warring silently with myself.

On the one hand, I wanted to turn around, go home, and continue to wallow in my misery. As my grandmother had said a million times, we were Jews. Suffering was our birthright. And though I didn’t often indulge in self-pity, a broken heart was surely an occasion that warranted it.

But then, the one thing that could un-break my heart, the person who could make me unspeakably happy for whatever time I had left on this planet, was inside that building right now. And I just couldn’t stay away any more. Fuck my pride. I needed to know whether that ‘if’ could become a fully-fledged ‘yes.’

So I stepped out of the car and walked up to the front entrance of The Purple Note with as close to a spring in my step as I could. I nodded to the doorman, who was familiar to me. I’d been in here a bunch of times before, though it had obviously been a while.

He put a thick arm out, blocking me from entering, and I frowned.

“Hey, Joey.” I gave him a nonthreatening smile. “You remember me? I’ve been in here a few times.”

He glared at me. “Yeah, I remember you,” he grunted, sounding positively hostile.

My smile dimmed, and I looked around, wondering what the problem might be. There wasn’t a cover on Wednesdays, and I hadn’t cut a line or anything.

“She said to watch out for you,” Joey growled, and my heart dropped.

There was my answer. Of course. Of course she would have told them to be on the lookout for me, to stop me at the door. Because she didn’t want me coming around here.

Because she didn’t want me. No, of course I wouldn’t be so lucky.

“Oh,” I said. I took a step back, holding my hands up in a placating gesture. “Okay. Not a problem, man.” I started to back away, but his next words stopped me in my tracks.

“She saved a table for you.”

I hardly dared to look at him, for fear my hope would be squashed. “What?”

He shook his head, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “stupid white boy.”

“She saved a table for you,” he repeated slowly, gesturing over his shoulder to the inside of the club. “Right in the front row.”

A smile spread slowly over my face. She’d saved a table for me? She wanted me to come and see her?

“Really?”

He rolled his eyes. “Go ahead and see for yourself.”

So I did, stepping inside and making my way through the dark, crowded club toward the stage. And sure enough, there was a small two-top right near the stage with a card placed on top, the words “Reserved for E. Levy” scrawled across it in sloppy block letters. I grinned as I slipped into a seat. A glance up at the stage told me the crew was still setting up for Sabine’s band, so I took a moment to flag down a waitress and order a beer.

When she returned with my pint, the band members were starting to trickle onto the stage, and my eyes raked the wings, looking for that first glimpse of the woman I’d come here to see. She liked to come on stage last, because she was an expert in making a memorable entrance.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she appeared, and my breath hitched in my throat at the sight of her. She padded out onto the stage looking every inch the goddess she was, a long, flowy dress brushing the tops of her bare feet, her hair as big as I’d ever seen it. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her.

She smiled and raised a hand to acknowledge the cheers of the crowd as she took her seat behind her drums, but all the while her eyes scanned the front row. And then her gaze met mine, and her smile widened, her hazel eyes sparkling at me under the stage lights. The bassist leaned in to say something to her, and she laughed as she counted the opening number in.

I watched, mesmerized, as she sang, never dropping the beat. The song was one I vaguely knew, some 80s tune I’d heard a few times. “I Go Crazy,” I think it was called. It had a jangly guitar riff that was more rock than jazz, but as always, The Baptiste Band made it work. The way Sabine effortlessly blended genres and twisted arrangements to suit her never ceased to amaze me.

Especially since the seemingly random tunes typically fit a theme, one that always made me marvel at her cleverness, once I’d figured it out. I grinned as I realized the theme of tonight’s show. “Teach Me Tonight.” “In the Mood for Love.” “Please Forgive Me.” Every song told a story meant just for me – a love story, starring Sabine and me.

The set wound down, and finally Sabine cleared her throat, taking a sip of water as she leaned into the microphone.

“This last tune is one that’s very special to me. It was my mother’s favorite song,” she said, locking eyes with me once more. “It has some bad blood attached to it, though. We gonna have to exorcize the demons tonight, y’all.” The audience tittered, and she grinned out at them, eating up the attention.

But then her eyes sobered, and she looked back at me. “This one goes out to the man I love,” she said, and I froze.

Love.

She loved me.

She loved me.

Yes!

My heart beat erratically as she continued. “See, he doesn’t know that I love him. I treated him pretty bad, y’all.” There were a few scattered boos, and she chuckled self-deprecatingly. “I know, I know.” Her eyes found mine again, and they softened. “But I need him to know that’s all over now. If he needs me, I’ll be there.” She swallowed. “Because I need him, always. I love him.”

And then the piano began, and a lump lodged in my throat, one I couldn’t get rid of no matter how hard I tried.

“Time After Time.” She was singing my favorite song to me.

I sniffed, trying to keep my tears at bay, but I couldn’t. I just could not stop the emotion that was flowing through me, and I don’t care how unmanly that made me, how ridiculous I looked, bawling like a child as she sang to me. She sang the words that had meant so much to me for so long, her eyes never leaving mine as she poured her heart out to me. Tears streamed down both our faces, and it felt like the audience dropped away, the club and the band and the whole world disappeared, leaving just the two of us, floating in a sea of love. And only we could keep each other from drowning.

Finally, the last notes were played, and in the next instant she was on her feet, running across the stage toward me. I stood, opening my arms, and she jumped down from the stage into them. I staggered as her arms circled my neck, and she rained down kisses everywhere – my eyes, my cheeks, my chin, and finally my lips. I held her tight as we kissed, devouring each other like we would never get another chance to do it.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, pulling her lips from mine. “I’m so sorry. I love you so much. Please forgive me.”

I shook my head, running my hands along her back. “Nothing to forgive. I just want to be yours.”

She huffed out a laugh. “I’m yours. I’ve always been yours. Since the second I saw you, I was yours.”

I breathed deep, holding her as tight as I could, too overcome to answer.

“And if you’ll have me, I’ll be yours forever,” she continued. “I will never leave you again.”

I grinned and inhaled her, the scent of jasmine and coconut oil and clean sweat. And her. My favorite fragrance in the world. “I will have you, forever and ever. I will never let you go. I’m yours, too. Always have been.”

She pulled back, closing her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, they looked almost wary, to my surprise. “Wait. I did this all wrong. I needed to talk to you first. But you were there and you looked so fucking delicious, and then you were crying, and I was crying, and I just lost my head.”

I laughed. “Okay,” I said, rubbing my hands up and down her arms. “So let’s talk.”

She looked around, and I followed her gaze, wincing as I noticed the crowd for the first time. A thousand people were staring at us, some cheering, some chattering, some even filming us.

“Not here,” we said in unison. She laughed as she took my hand, leading me onto the stage and into the wings, through a back hallway.

“So you got my text?” she asked.

I shook my head. “My phone broke,” I explained. Because I’d thrown it at the wall one night, frustrated by its silence. By her silence. Weeks without hearing from her had driven me insane.

She turned her head, giving me an incredulous look over her shoulder. “And you didn’t replace it?”

I shook my head, giving her a sheepish smile. “I hated that thing.”

She laughed as she turned back. “Yeah, you really did.” She led me further down the hall, and I wondered briefly where on Earth we were going. “Anyway, I texted you last week and told you I wanted to talk. I asked you to come here and see me.”

I frowned. “Why didn’t you just come see me?”

She stopped in front of a door, turning to me and arching a brow. “Why didn’t you come see me?” she shot back.

I rubbed a hand on the back of my neck. “Touché.”

She gave me a shy smile as she opened the door, leading me into a small, single-stall bathroom.

“Sorry,” she winced, looking around. “But this is the only place in this dive that passes for private.”

“You’re sorry?” I said, looking down at her bare feet. “I’m sorry you have to touch this floor with your bare feet.” I gave her a look as I smoothed an errant curl away from her face. “Where are your shoes?” I asked.

She frowned. “My feet have been really swollen lately, so I left them in the car.”

I cupped her cheek, tipping her face up to meet my gaze. “Are you okay?” I asked.

Her smile dimmed, and she looked down again, chewing her lip. “Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Oh, God. My heartbeat slowed until it felt like I was pumping sludge through my veins. “Are you sick? Oh, God. Tell me you’re not sick.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m not sick.” A dazzling smile overtook her face. “I’m okay. Better than okay.” She took a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”

I froze.

She continued on in a rush, like she wanted to get it all out. “I took the morning-after pill, you know, when the condom broke that first time. And I thought it worked.” She swallowed. “I got my period, and I never bothered to take a test or follow up. I thought that was it. But then Celia said it sounded like I was just spotting, which is apparently really common in the first trimester, and I started adding it all up – the crazy cravings, the mood swings, the swollen feet, the nausea, the sensitivity in my breasts. It all made sense, you know?” She squeezed my hand. “So I went to the doctor last week, and it turns out I’m pregnant.” She stared at me, her eyes wide, like she was waiting for an answer.

But I couldn’t answer, because my heart had stopped, and a million emotions tore through my brain as I tried to process this news.

Elation. She was pregnant? She was going to have a baby. My baby! Yes! This was the fulfillment of all my dearest wishes. I wanted a family, and I wanted it with her. Check, and check.

Then fear. She was pregnant – something she’d been very clear, up until now, that she did not want. She was anti-child, anti-family, and I was terrified that her stance was not a by-product of her fears of opening her heart up. She’d seemed to overcome those fears. Or at least, she was giving it her best effort. But maybe she wouldn’t want a baby, even if she did want to be with me.

“Oh,” I said, because my brain was like matzoh ball soup right in that moment.

Her face crumpled, and she stepped back, her ass bumping the sink. She swallowed a few times as she stared at her feet, but when she looked at me again, her eyes were defiant.

“Well, I’ve decided I really want this baby.” Her expression dared me to disagree, but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t, not ever. “And I will have it with or without you. I’ve decided I’m naming her Evangeline, after my mother. If it’s a girl, which I think she is. I have a feeling.”

Evangeline. Evangeline Levy. Baptiste-Levy? I shook my head slightly. It didn’t matter. Whatever she wanted, I would happily go along for the ride.

“I will be the best mommy that little girl could want.” Her chin wobbled, showing me the chinks in her armor. “But I want to do it with you.” She glared at me. “So don’t you dare say no.”

I laughed, reaching out to pull her into my arms. “I would never say no,” I assured her. “I love you so much. I know you will be the best mommy, and I want to be the best daddy.” I swallowed. Me, a daddy. “I want you to have as many of my babies as you want to have.” I put a hand to her tummy, noticing for the first time the soft swell there. She’d be almost four months along by now. With my baby.

Our baby. Yes!

Her hazel eyes searched mine like she was looking for the truth. She must have found it, because she leaned forward, resting her forehead on mine and humming happily. She kissed me once, twice, again.

“Two. Maybe three. We’ll see how this one goes.” She pulled back, giving me a rueful smile. “Celia makes pregnancy sound like fifteen years of hard labor.”

I chuckled, capturing her lips for a sweet, soft kiss. “Don’t take her word for it. Celia hates everything.”

She laughed. “Nah, she loves me. All of us, really. In her own weird way.”

I smiled. “I don’t want to talk about Celia anymore.”

She grinned. “Agreed,” she murmured, coming in for another kiss. She hummed as she pulled away. “You know,” she purred, “these hormones are making me really horny.

I sucked in a breath. “Oh yeah?”

She nodded, running her hands under my suit jacket and shucking it off. She inhaled sharply when her eyes found my suspenders, and her eyelids dropped to half-mast.

“You really are a fucking sadist,” she said.

I grinned. “Yeah, but you love me anyway.”

She nodded as she slid her fingertips under the suspenders, sliding them off my shoulders. “I really do,” she agreed.

And then she proceeded to show me just how much she loved me, right there in the club bathroom.