Title: An Inevitable Conclusion

Characters/Pairing: Jesse/Rachel

Disclaimer: Glee and its characters belong to FOX & Ryan Murphy. I own nothing.

Spoilers/Warnings: Post-"Journey"

Summary: I know that Rachel is going to be a star; it's just a matter of when it'll happen and who will be by her side supporting her when it does. Jesse POV.

Notes: Okay, guys. I know it's been forever since I updated. Life happened. But this is part one of the epilogue. I debated whether I was going to post it all at once, but decided to split it up into two (maybe three?) parts since it's not even finished and I was at a ridiculous word count.

—

13. Time Moves Quickly

Rachel and I have been in New York for three years. It hasn't always been easy, but we've persevered. That first year was the roughest, what with us both being in school and working part-time in order to help Marshall get the rent paid.

I'm sure were you to ask either of us, we would've said that we wouldn't have traded anything for better circumstances. That first year solidified our relationship. Rachel started talking about our future more, making references to our wedding day, the children we would have… We were solid. Even despite Marshall's attempts to lead me astray.

We lived with Marshall for a year, surprising the both of us that we stuck it out for that long. Because as long as Marshall and I have been friends I never realized what a colossal slob he is. We'd find half eaten chicken legs in the couch cushions and his smelly, dirty socks were tossed on every available surface in the apartment. And it doesn't even beg to mention that Marshall has no concept of privacy. He thought just because he paid a third of the rent that he could just barge into our room whenever the mood struck. And a few of those times were of intimate moments between me and Rachel. But most of them were of Rachel in the shower. To say she was not amused would be an understatement.

When we finally worked up the courage to tell Marshall that we planned to move out, he told us that he was moving in with the actress he'd been dating—and I use this term loosely as Marshall has never ever taken a girl on a date. So we kept the apartment and got rid of Marshall.

Housing wasn't our only issues, though. Where we excelled in school we struggled in the workforce. It wasn't easy finding jobs in New York. Though they were plentiful they weren't always…good.

I had a few odd jobs: custodian, garbage collector, fast food worker. I worked at Starbucks for a couple of weeks, but schlepping coffee was not what I envisioned for myself at that point in my life. It took me awhile but I finally found a position that was more suited to who I was and afforded me the opportunity to still audition and pursue the stage. I've spent the last two years serving drinks at a dive bar down the street from out apartment. We host karaoke night on the last Friday of the month; it's the night where most of our money is made because people have come to watch and listen to me and Rachel perform.

When I first pitched the idea to my boss, he wasn't completely sold on it, but he didn't have any ideas of his own so he went with it. After the first night's success, he put me in charge of marketing and gave me a raise. We keep the karaoke to one night a month, but we've introduced slam nights and a songwriter's showcase.

Tonight, I'm washing down the bar after closing when she breezes through the door. I'd been watching the door for a half-hour and can't smother the sigh of relief I let loose as I always do when she arrives safely back in my vicinity. I don't like the though of her taking the subway late at night but when I get too overprotective Rachel goes into what me and Marshall have dubbed "beast mode." I look behind her where her rehearsal partner usually strays. I glance at the clock behind me, then glare over the bar at her as she slides onto a stool in front of me. "I don't want to hear it. Just give me a drink," she says, tossing her bag on the chair beside her.

"You know I hate you walking the streets late like this."

"I know, I know. But you hate seeing Jamie even less. I've learned to pick my battles." She winks as I grab and glass and start on her drink. "Besides, I knew you wouldn't want me on the subway so I sprung for a cab. He dropped me right out front. It was all completely safe, I assure you."

I wasn't assured in the least, but I let it go. "You look stressed," I say, pushing Rachel's cocktail towards her.

"I am," she says, guzzling half of her drink in one swallow. When she sets it does, she twirls it around and around, murmuring, "I have to tell you something." Those words make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. As if they weren't suspicious enough, she followed them up with, "Don't be mad."

There could be a hundred reasons for her to say that to me, but only one which jumps to the forefront of my mind. I know it's ridiculous, but Rachel is beautiful and isn't a stranger to compliments from strangers. Jamie looks at her like she hangs the moon and it pisses me off, but when I say anything to her she just smirks at me knowingly. Marshall has told me time and again I might lose her if I don't put a ring on it. I snap at him that he's not Beyonce and that Rachel would not cheat on me. After all, our disagreement about marrying young is still an unresolved issue much to my own chagrin.

"Professor Bradley got me an audition."

I can't help but smile. "Get out."

"Yes. It's in pre-production right now. The lead actress had to drop out because she's pregnant so they're auditioning again—privately. He thinks I'd be perfect."

"Wow. That's…wow." I look at her closely. "Why would you think I'd be mad? I'm ecstatic."

"You've been trying to get auditions… and I don't know…" She wipes at the condensation on her glass. "I just feel weird about it. I don't want you to think I'm rubbing your nose in it or anything."

I don't say anything for a long moment. I just watch her stare into her glass. Then, I ask, "Are there kissing scenes?"

She looks at me skeptically. "Yes. Why?"

"As long as you practice them on me, I have no issues." I wink at her and lean forward, lowering my voice. "I've got about twenty more minutes here then we can go and…" I clear my throat. "…run lines."

"Oh, God," she moans, her cheeks turning pink. It doesn't take a rocket science to know that she's remembering the numerous times we've run lines in the past and how it's led to us getting horizontal halfway through the run through. Good times.

"I'm curious to see how far that blush has spread."

She takes a tiny sip from her drink, then sets it back on the counter, staring into her glass once more as if it contains the answers to the universe. "I thought it'd be different by now," she says, more to herself than to me, I think. She looks up at me, her cheeks rosy, her breaths soft. "That the lust would have waned, but it's somehow stronger."

"Yeah. I get that, too." I reach across the bar, placing my hand atop hers. "There's not a second that goes by when we're apart that I don't want you. If I could survive by having sex with you, believe me I would."

"Maybe we should become porn stars," she jokes.

"Nah, we like the stage too much. Eventually we'll land jobs that will work us endlessly so we'll be too tired to have sex."

She gapes at me. "Do you really believe that?"

I contemplate her question for a moment, then bark out a laugh. "Not one bit. Macking on other people numerous times a week will probably only make us want each other even more."

She grins, nodding in agreement. "So, how was your shift? Got any numbers?"

It's a running joke between us, the numbers that get shoved in my pocket by the female patrons. Most of the regulars know that I'm in relationship and have met Rachel but the new customers? Well. As much as I tell them that I'm in a relationship already and have no desire to take what they're offering, they're still shameless in their pursuits. And for some reason it turns Rachel the hell on that other women give me their phone numbers.

I reach into my shirt pocket and pull out the three slips of paper, tossing them onto the bar in front of her. I watch as she unfolds each piece of paper, reading the names silently. "Tulip?!" she says, reading the last of the names.

I scratch my head, awkwardly. "Pretty sure that one was a drag queen."

She throws her head back and laughs and my heart turns over in my chest. I love her laugh. I love every goddamn thing about her. She pushes aside the papers, sending a coy look across the bar. "Looks like that's three for me tonight."

"I'm up for the challenge," I brag as I walk away to lock the door.

I think about the deal we struck early on after I started here and started attracting the unwanted female attention. Rachel wasn't always as forgiving of the numbers in my shirt as she is now. Back then she was still insecure about our relationship even despite the fact that we were living together and I had made my intentions clear.

The first few times she'd found the numbers, she shrugged it off even though it was obvious that it rankled. When it happened on a date night when we were there for a nightcap she about lost her shit.

To pacify my jealous girlfriend, I offered a trade: she not be jealous of the numbers since they meant dick to me and I reward her with however many orgasms I receive in numbers. It's a win-win. I don't get accused of cheating and she gets her socks knocked off any number of times. Now it's a sexual game for us—one that we both look forward to.

She watches me as I go around the bar, turning off the lights. She's quiet and watchful, but she usually is as she tries to deduce how she'll get her orgasms. I shut off the remainder of the lights, leaving only the neon lights behind the bar on. They cast shadows across Rachel, swathing her in a mixture of blue and pink.

"Have you thought about what you want to sing Friday?" I ask, disrupting her thoughts as I sneak up behind her.

"No," she sighs as I nuzzle her neck, pressing wet kisses down the column of her throat. "I haven't… I haven't really thought about it," she stutters, her brain scattered, exactly as I intended.

I bite down gently where her shoulder meets her neck, delighting in the squeak that emits from her mouth that tapers into a breathless groan. I reach forward, gathering her dress and start to inch it up. Rachel widens her legs, helping the endeavor. I slide my fingers up the inside of her thighs, relishing Rachel's choppy breaths in my ear.

"Here?" she pants.

"We're alone. Why not?"

"We haven't done it here since…since Tate walked it on us."

"I know," I breathe in her ear.

I'd been working at the bar just over a year when it happened. Rachel frequently came to help me close up and if she had any studying to be done, she'd usually come and hang out at the bar because she despised being home alone. If Tate wasn't using it, he'd let Rachel use his office.

One night we were slammed and short staffed because Tate was stuck in Brooklyn where he'd gone to drop off his daughter to his ex. He got stuck on the bridge due to a five car pile-up and we were down an extra set of hands. Rachel was in the office studying and it took quite a bit of begging on my part, but she'd agreed to give us a hand until Tate showed. But by the time closing rolled around, Tate was still AWOL. Rachel helped me clean up and watching her serve customers and get hit on struck my hot button. I couldn't wait until we got home to have her.

When she'd gone to lock up the money in Tate's safe in his office, I'd followed her in. What started as a hot and heavy make out session led to me taking her on Tate's desk. We were interrupted when Tate opened the door. The mood was killed then and we hadn't attempted to have sex at the bar since.

I stroke the inside of her thighs again, caressing her center with a single finger, enjoy her breathless gasp. "But Tate's gone to New Jersey to visit Stella. He won't be back until Wednesday."

As I let that sink in, I start unbuttoning her dress. Her breath catches with every button that pops free, her legs rubbing together as the pressure builds. Pushing the sides of her dress away, I peek over her shoulder as I move to unfasten her bra. My hand freezes before I can reach the clasp.

"This one? Are you fucking kidding me?"

She meets my glare, batting her eyelashes innocently. "I thought you liked this one."

"Yeah, for me. You were wearing this under your clothes when you spent the afternoon with Jamie? Christ, Rachel."

"It's not like I showed it to him!"

I run a hand through my hair as she scrambles to stand up, letting the dress fall to her feet. I take a minute to just drink her in—the sheer ice blue demi-bra barely covers her nipples and the lacy boyshorts leave nothing to the imagination. Blood flows hot through my veins straight south to my cock. I reach down to readjust myself before meeting Rachel's heated gaze.

I say nothing as she steps free from her dress and kicks off her flats before reclaiming her stool. She shakes her hair free from its up-do, widens her legs and beckons me with a crook of her finger.

I cross the two feet separating us, spearing a hand through her hair, yanking her head back. She gasps, both in surprise and pleasure. "I hate knowing that you had this under your clothes while you were with him."

"It's not like that with Jamie. I've told you that."

"If given the opportunity he'd jump all over it. And if he'd see this…" I trail off, dropping my eyes down to look at her body. "Brittany is not allowed to buy you Victoria's Secret gift cards for Christmas anymore."

She giggles as she pushes my t-shirt up, kissing my chest. "And here I thought you liked all my lingerie."

"I do. When you're wearing it at home where I can take it off with my teeth." I pop the clasp on her bra and send it tumbling behind Rachel onto the floor. I pull my shirt over my head and bring her body flush against mine. "I know Jamie wants to fuck you and I just don't want you dressing provocatively around him. Even if it's under your clothes and it's supposed to be for me."

"So when I meet with Jamie it's only Granny panties from here on out. Noted."

I ignore the sarcastic quip. "Can we stop talking about Jamie now?"

"God, yes," she moans and I'm not sure if it's from agreement or in response to me pinching her nipple.

Unable to stop myself for a second more, I fuse my mouth to hers. I kiss her while my hands map her body, touching all the places that aren't the one place she wants me to touch. She breaks our kiss long enough to spew, "Stop fucking around and touch me!"

I laugh as she kisses me again and attempts to push my hand where she wants it. I put both my hands on the bar behind her, caging her in and focus on her mouth. I kiss her. I kiss her until the savagery has worn off and our mouths have gentled. When her nails dig into my back, I slip my hand into her panties and touch her. Just barely. She wiggles trying to get the friction she needs to come, but I don't let her dictate this. This is my show.

She tears her lips from mine and lets loose a growl. A fucking growl. "Jesse, please."

Unable to resist her begging, I wrap my hands around her hips and lift her onto the bar. I strip her of her panties and widen her legs. She grins down at me as I lower my head and take the first lick up her center. Her fingers curl into my hair, her heels dig into my back as she thrusts her hips to help her along. It takes mere minutes before she's chanting my name and coming on my tongue.

We're insatiable after that first orgasm. Rachel hauls me up to kiss me as she attacks my pants with gusto. However, once I'm finally inside her we're not as savage. We've both gentled though our coupling is still quick. I promise her a more thorough repeat once we're back in the privacy of our own home.

I've just finished fastening the last button on Rachel's dress when I hear the keys in the door. Rachel's eyes snap to mine as the door opens and Tate waltzes in. "What are you still doing here?" he asks, looking from me to Rachel with an arch of his brow.

"Uh…" I stammer as Rachel says, "I thought you weren't coming back until Wednesday." Yeah, that didn't sound suspicious at all!

"Women are fucking crazy," is his response. He points to the door. "Go home. I have work to do."

Rachel grabs my hand and pulls me toward the door. I grab my bag off the bar and let her lead me out, a smile on my face. Once we're on the sidewalk, Rachel faces me, her face beet red. "If he'd gotten there five minutes earlier he'd have gotten another show," she says as I drape my arm around her shoulders and steer her towards our apartment.

"But he didn't."

"I'm not having sex with you in the bar ever again. You know that, right?"

I laugh as I say, "I figured." I press a kiss to her lips then lead her in the direction of our apartment.

—

I slip into the seat across from Marshall who is absorbed in whatever he's looking at on his phone. I kick him just in case he hasn't realized I'd arrived. "Hey dipshit. I'm your lunch date, not your phone."

He smirks up at me, but returns his gaze to his phone. I scoff. "What's so fucking interesting?"

He turns his phone around and I'm assaulted by a massive pair of breasts. I shove myself back in my seat. "I shouldn't have asked."

"No, you shouldn't have," Marshall says, tucking his phone into the pocket on his shirt. "I'm surprised you're without your woman."

"She's at work."

"She approved of you coming to lunch with me? Or you didn't tell her where you were going?"

"You're under the assumption that I keep shit from Rachel. Just because you were an intolerable roommate doesn't mean she doesn't condone our friendship. She likes you… just not as a permanent resident in her apartment."

Marshall drums his fingers on the table, giving me a long, assessing look. "I knew it wouldn't work out with the three of us living together. I may have dramatized myself more than I should."

"Is that what you were doing?"

"I was cramping your style. And you were cramping mine. No chick wants to bang when there's another chick in residence."

"The ones you brought home didn't seem to have any problems with it."

"I'm not talking about my chicks. I was talking about yours. Rachel handed me my ass one morning after one hookup was so loud that she couldn't enjoy the sex with you."

I'm not sure where I was when that particular conversation took place, but I'd have to ask Rachel about it later. I steer the conversation back to more neutral territory. Or at the very least away from my girlfriend. "So are you going to tell me who the boobs belong to?"

"Not yet."

Before I can start an inquisition into that non-answer, my phone starts to ring. I look down at the display and freeze. It's my mother.

My mother never calls.

It's the first thought that fills my head as her number continues to blink across my screen.

"Jesse?" Marshall prods from across the table. "Are you going to answer that? Is it Rachel?"

"It's my mother," I explain, staring at my phone like its grown horns.

"Well, answer it."

"I'm not sure I want to. She hasn't called me in two years."

"Then definitely answer it."

I accept the call and put the phone to my ear. "Mom?"

"Oh, good, you answered. Jesse, there's been an accident."

I look at Marshall sharply. "Was it Dad?"

"No, no, your father is fine. It's Patrick." There's a shrillness to her voice that I'm unaccustomed to. I know that she and Uncle Pat have had their differences but he's still her sibling.

I feel the earth move beneath my feet as her words permeate my brain. No, not Uncle Pat. "What…" There's cotton in my throat. I don't even look across the table at Marshall because I know he's focusing on my every word. "What happened?" I finally get out, somehow cognizant of the fact that Marshall is flagging down the waitress to take care of the bill. Did we even order? I can't remember.

"A car accident. He was on his way home and he was blindsided. Some stupid kid who had been drinking. He's stable, Jesse. For now. But the doctors… the doctors aren't sure…"

"I'm coming. I'll need to book a flight…it'll take me a few hours…"

"I'll see you soon then. Text me your arrival time and I'll make sure someone picks you up."

"That's not necessary. I'll grab a cab."

"Whatever you wish." I can hear the disappointment in her tone, but I ignore it a million thoughts skipping around my head.

"Mom," I say before she can hang up. "Thank you for calling me."

"Patrick has been more of a parent than your father and I have been. I knew that this would devastate you. Be careful, Jesse. I'll see you in a couple of hours."

I drop my phone onto the table, my entire body numb. "Come on, J," I hear Marshall say as he lifts me by the arm out of my chair. Before I know it Marshall is pushing me into a cab, rattling off my address to the driver.

Everything's a blur until we arrive back at my apartment. Once we step inside, Marshall grasps my arms, forcing me to look at him. "You gotta get your shit together, J. You have a flight to book and…where the hell is Rachel?"

That one word and the present clicks into focus. "Fuck. I need to call her." I glance around for a clock, completely forgetting the watch on my wrist. I spy the time on the stove. "She's probably just leaving work."

Marshall points to the bedroom. "You go pack while I hop on your laptop and secure your flight. Should I book one seat or two?" When I look at him confused, he reiterates, "One for Rachel?"

"No, just for me. She has two big assignments due this week. She can't miss them. She's still behind from when she was out with the flu a few weeks ago."

I fly into my room and start gathering what I'll need for a few days. I don't know how long I'll be home so I pack enough for five days. I could always go to Uncle Pat's to do some laundry. Maybe not. Maybe a Laundromat would be better, given the circumstances. I wouldn't want to be there if he's not, anyway.

Rachel walks in as I'm haphazardly stuffing clothes into my duffel bag. She drops her purse and sets the bag of Chinese food down, her intuition telling her that something is awry. "Jesse? What's going on?"

I've had time to get my emotions in check, but just barely. When I look at Rachel, emotion seizes up my throat again. "Uncle Pat," is all I manage to get out and luckily it's enough.

Rachel forces me to stop packing, wrapping her arms around me in a gesture meant to be comforting, a gesture that only makes my body spasm in a mixture of rage and worry. I wrap my arms around her, willing myself not to break down, after all my mother said that Uncle Patrick was stable, though her for now rings like a doldrum in my ear.

It was the first time I had spoken to my mother since I left Lima. She texted often, just to inquire how I was and how school was going so when she called me today, I knew that something was amiss. Although, I never expected this…

"I have to go," I tell her, slipping out of her embrace, kissing her forehead. "I leave from JFK in an hour."

"Would you like me to fly down there and meet you?"

I shake my head as I zip my duffel. "No, no. It's all going to be family and you…you have classes. You're still in the middle of makeups."

"You're more important than any class, Jesse."

I look at her then, knowing that she means the words she says. I'm so consumed with love for her that it renders me speechless. For a moment I just stare, wondering why this woman ever gave my sorry ass another chance, forever thankful that she did. I caress her cheek tenderly before leaning forward to brush my lips across hers. "I love you, Rachel. I love every goddamn thing about you, but you…right this minute…if I didn't love you already, this would be the moment that I knew I did."

I circle the bed to grab my phone charger and meet her back in the middle of the room. Rachel has become a physical person in the years that we've been together. When we first slept together she was timid, almost scared to touch me. Now she possesses no such qualms. She straightens the collar of my shirt, fingers my hair that is in definite need of a trim. "Hurry back to me," she says, kissing me once more before pushing me toward the door, both of us wishing that she were accompanying me but knowing full well why she's not—and it has shit to do with her schoolwork.

—

Uncle Pat is still unresponsive when I arrive. I sit silently by his bedside for what seems like hours, my Grandma Trudy my only other company. But she's been asleep and snoring as long as I've been here so it's not like any words have been exchanged.

After an hour, Grandma Trudy makes her departure to go home to rest and I leave the room to find the vending machine. I haven't eaten a thing since before my not-lunch with Marshall. As I enter the waiting room, I'm unprepared to find my mother sitting there. For a moment I contemplate pretending I haven't seen her and continue on to my destination, but I find myself awkwardly falling into the seat beside her. I keep my eyes focused on the floor, not knowing what to say, if anything should be said at all.

Silence stretches between us for long minutes when she says suddenly, "He'll be glad that you came."

"Thank you for calling me." I think I told her that during our initial phone call, but it bears repeating.

"I know how close you and Patrick were—are," she quickly amends. She closes her eyes and takes a steadying breath. She's quiet for a few minutes, looking at a spot across the room, not focused on anything in particular. I can almost feel her gathering her thoughts. "You came alone?"

I nod, not knowing if she's looking at me or not as my eyes are trained on the floor at my feet. "Rachel has classes. She wanted to come." Though, I didn't want her to. I wanted to save her from awkward conversations like this one.

"You're still together, then?"

I snap my head to the side and finally look at her. "Yes. Did you really think we wouldn't be?"

"I didn't mean to imply..." She expels a bereaved sigh and something about it commands my attention. "After that day at the house…I realized I overreacted. It took me some time, but I did. I realized I was projecting what had happened to me onto you and that was so unfair."

She sighs, pushing her hands through her hair, mussing it up. I don't point out what she's done because I like it. I've never seen my mother mussed up. It's sobering as I note the small changes in her. I'm in the middle of mentally cataloging the outward changes as she starts speaking, otherwise commanding my attention.

"I'd like to explain a few things, if you'd let me. I know that this isn't the appropriate place, but it can't wait. It's waited much too long as it is."

"Okay," I say, not sure where this conversation is headed, but curious nonetheless.

"When I met your father I got so caught up with him…I loved him right from the start. Love at first sight, if you can believe it."

"Seriously?" I bark out a laugh because the notion is completely ludicrous.

"Yes, seriously. I was much different twenty years ago. And your father…he was a lot like you are. Headstrong, driven…Not once did he ask me to abandon my dreams for his. And I didn't. He was very supportive. But then I got pregnant and we were unprepared." She takes a deep breath. "I didn't really want to be a mother, Jesse. Like Broadway was your dream, Juilliard had always been mine."

I felt my entire body grow cold, but I didn't say a word. I let her speak to see where she was going with this story. I knew she blamed me for her failed career; she'd just never been brave enough to admit it.

"Your father was so excited. He proposed and said that he'd take care of us. I hoped that I could be the mother that you deserved. We made plans for me to return to school after you were born, after my body healed. But there were… complications… during delivery. They had to perform an emergency hysterectomy. It's why you don't have any siblings. I couldn't give you anymore. Your father was beside himself for a long time because he dreamed of having this huge family." She looks at me with a small smile. "He's holding out hope for lots of grandchildren, just to warn you."

I laugh despite myself. "That's not really up to me, but it's noted."

"I was really depressed afterward. I didn't know how to be a mother and I felt…lost. Empty. I couldn't connect with you. I mourned the children that your father and I would never have. And the longer my depression stretched on, the more detached from you I became. As you grew older, you exhibited…You were so intelligent, Jesse. You talked so young and so well. And when you started singing…"

"You resented me."

"A little, yes. I tried to work through it. Your father sent me to counseling. He took a temporary leave from work and tried to do whatever he could to help me adapt."

Adapt. She had to adapt to being a mother. I wanted to point out that his good deeds were failures since she still hadn't adapted but I kept my mouth shut. "Where are you going with this? Why are you telling me all of this now?"

A tear slips down her cheek which she quickly swipes away. "Your father and I have separated, Jesse."

"Since when?"

"Not long after you moved to New York. He was very angry at me for how I handled that entire situation. Patrick came to give me a peace of his mind and…I don't know. It seemed to have been the final straw."

"Are you divorcing?" I've spoken to my father frequently over the past few years and he's mentioned none of this. Though, to be fair, we don't speak of my mother.

She shakes her head. "It hasn't come to that point, yet. We're going to counseling. But while I'm working on repairing my relationship with your father, it's also made me realize that I need to fix my relationship with you. We don't really have one at all and I would so very much like to rectify that. I want to be in your life. I know it probably doesn't mean much now, but I need you to know that I am very proud of the man that you've become and all that you have accomplished."

I feel myself tearing up. "Mom…"

"Seeing my brother in that bed, nearly lifeless…it put things in perspective. I don't want to be all alone if something like that happens to me. Patrick has no wife, no children. I have a husband and a child and I'm estranged from both of them. I've ridiculed Patrick for years for being alone and I'm probably more alone than he is." She turns her body until she's fully facing me. "You speak to him regularly, don't you?"

I nod. "We have a weekly phone call. Uncle Pat even texts and emails Rachel." I smile despite myself, thinking about the camaraderie between the two of them, the dirty jokes he emails to her and the funny gifs that she sends him through text messages.

"And I understand that Patrick has even befriended her parents." She looks away for a moment. "God, what he must think of us."

I sigh. "I'm not sure what you want me to say, Mom. I don't know if this changes anything. A lot of shit has happened over the years and I just don't know if I can just ignore the part you played…or didn't play."

"I understand," she says weakly, standing at the same time I do. "That doesn't dissuade me from my plans, Jesse. I want us to have more of a relationship than we do. I plan on going to New York at the end of the month. I'd like for us to have dinner together. And I'd like to meet your Rachel."

Before I can respond to that bombshell, a doctor walks into the room. "Mrs. St. James?"

"Yes?"

"Mr. Grady is awake."

—

Uncle Patrick is back to his old self four days later. Sitting at his bedside, he asks, "Where's your better half?"

I smile and shake my head. "Rachel had classes. She wanted to be here. I've told her that you're getting stronger and I'm sure by the time you get out she'll bombard you with a slew of funny gifs."

When our mutual laughter has tapered off, he says, "When are you going to make an honest woman out of that girl?"

"Uncle Pat…" I moan. This isn't the first time he's brought up marriage with me, or at least hinted at an engagement. I'm not completely indisposed to the idea. It's something I've contemplated myself walking to class or after Rachel has fallen asleep and I'm awake and alone with my thoughts. I still worry that she'll say no, though—it's that worry that's staying my hand.

"What are you waiting for—until you knock her up?"

"I'm not having this conversation with you," I tell him, sliding off the bed. I'll propose to Rachel once I'm ready—and once I'm100% sure I know what her answer will be.

I walk to the window and look outside at the boats moving in the bay. I hear my uncle say my name, the conviction in his voice making me turn to face him. "Take some advice from your uncle, Jess—life's too short. One day you may wake up with her gone, your only memento a photo of her and some cowboy named Tex."

I think of Anna now, the woman that Uncle Pat was with for the majority of my childhood, the woman that I called aunt because I suspected that one day she would be. But then one day Anna was gone and Uncle Pat wouldn't tell me where she'd disappeared to. I never suspected that she'd left him for someone else.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Pat," I say now in light of his revelation.

"Don't feel sorry for me, kid. Just learn from my mistake. Don't take the chance that I did and just assume that Rachel will always be there."

—

I put my hand on Rachel's knee to stop her incessant fidgeting. "Relax," I whisper. She's been a fidgety mess ever since we left the apartment. Even before that. Okay if I want to be honest she's been a basket case ever since I returned from Ohio and told her my mother would be visiting.

"I can't. I'm meeting your mother," she says, reaching for her wineglass. It's her second glass and we've only been her fifteen minutes. This dinner will not go well at all if Rachel is sloshed from the get-go.

"You've met her before," I remind her.

"Yes, and have you forgotten that I was undressing you in her kitchen?"

I smother a laugh at the outrageous look on her face. "Rachel, my mother isn't the same woman she used to be."

"So you've said."

"I wouldn't let you in the same room with her if she was still the same bitch she was."

"Jesse!" she says, horrified that I would refer to my mother in such a way. If the shoe fits…

"Sorry I'm late," my mother says approaching the table. She's casually dressed in dark jeans and a nice blouse. I don't think I've ever seen my mother in jeans before. I give Rachel a quick glance as I stand up to greet her. She waves me back down. "Oh sit!" She sets her purse on her chair and circles to Rachel's seat. "Hello, dear. I'm Sharon St. James."

Rachel stands up, staring at my mother like she's got two heads. I know how she feels. This version of my mother is more daunting than the original. Before either of us knows it my mother has Rachel wrapped in her arms, grinning like the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland. Despite myself I grin and when Rachel resumes her seat and sees it, she pinches my leg, though she's grinning herself.

"You're in good spirits, Mom. Hit the mini bar at the hotel?"

Rachel stabs her finger into my ribs as my mother throws her head back and laughs. She fucking laughs. I've never heard my mother laugh like this. I find I like the sound. A lot.

"They're called anti-depressants, Jesse. I can give you one if you like." She winks at me as she picks up her menu, causing Rachel to snicker beneath her hand.

As the dinner progresses, I listen as my mother batters Rachel with questions about our life in New York, taking a genuine interest, one that she's never taken before. I see the confusion in Rachel; she's torn between knowing the monster that I've painted the past five years to the woman sitting across from her.

As the servers clear the table and we mull over the dessert menu, Rachel tells my mother of her role in the off-Broadway play. "That's wonderful," she coos. "I'll have to fly back for opening night." Realizing what she's intimated, she looks to me quickly. "If that's all right with you, Jesse."

Both women look at me for an answer which I don't have to think twice about. "I think we'd both love for you to be here for Rachel's big night, Mom."

—

My relationship with my mother flourishes in the months that follow. She's a steady presence in both my and Rachel's lives, steadily calling and texting and emailing, keeping us apprised of her life and constantly worrying about ours. She and my father are slowly working towards reconciliation and she's thankfully kept any intimate details that would scar me for life to herself.

We've decided to join her at home for Memorial weekend. She's having an intimate barbecue with my father and has invited Rachel's dads and Uncle Pat as well. It's going to be an interesting weekend for more than one reason.

I look at Rachel who's fallen asleep against my shoulder on the plane and shake her gently. Her eyes blink open slowly and she gives me a sheepish smile. "Sorry," she murmurs trying to stifle a yawn.

"I wouldn't have woken you but we'll be landing soon. Figured you'd want to get your bearings before we start to descend."

"Did you sleep at all?" I hold up the book I'm holding and shake my head. "You haven't been resting, Jesse. I'm starting to get worried." She touches my cheek gently, the concern evident in her tone.

I grab the bag at my feet and stuff the book into it. "I'm fine. A few things on my mind…but it'll pass eventually."

Her eyes search my face for a deeper meaning. "Is there anything I should know?"

"I'm fine and it's nothing to do with you or us."

"You promise?"

"I swear." I lean over and sweep my lips against hers and it calms her as the plane begins its descent.

When we arrive at my parent's house an hour and a half later, my mother and father are making out in the kitchen. Her arm is wrapped around his neck, a spatula full of batter dripping down my father's back. Rachel snickers beside me as I clear my throat. They break apart looking like a couple of shamefaced teenagers.

"Hey Jess," my dad says trying to smother a smirk. He crosses the room to kiss Rachel's kiss. "Rachel, we're glad the two of you could join us this weekend."

"We couldn't have missed it," she says and I can't help but bark out a laugh.

"We're going to go save and our stuff." I follow Rachel toward the stairs, hearing my parents whispering in the kitchen, my mother's laughter following us up the stairs. It's a sound I didn't think I could get used to, but now after having gotten accustomed to it, I don't think it's a sound I could go without.

I push open the door to my room, letting Rachel enter before me. She sets her bags down on the floor, running her fingers along the comforter on the bed. "She's happy."

I push the door closed. "She is. I think they both are. For much of my childhood they weren't."

I set my bag down as Rachel sits on the bed, a serious look on her face. "I wonder if children are complications."

I lean back against the wall facing her. "Why do you say that?"

"So many relationships unravel because of children. Either they can't handle the stress of them or the mother's develop post-partum after birthing them. I can't stand the thought of that happening to us. Is it worth it? I mean I look at your parents now and they're so different. Granted, I never saw them together before, but just the thought of us going through that…" She shakes her head.

I cross the room and settle on my knees in front of her. "Honey, we are not my parents. I don't think that could happen to us even if we tried. My parents…they were barely together for five minutes when she got pregnant. They barely even knew each other. Sure, they loved one another, but they were still strangers. We're so much stronger. And we'll only get stronger." I pause, taking her hands in my mind. "Do you want children?"

"Yes," she answers without hesitation.

"Good. Me, too. I can't even contemplate a life where we don't have children."

She smiles, taking a deep breath, her head falling onto my shoulder. "I don't know where all that came from. I've thought about it more recently. The more me and your mom talked about things. I know we won't let that happen but sometimes things happen that are beyond our control."

"It helps that we both want children. My mother didn't."

Rachel straightens, putting her hands on my cheeks, forcing me to look at her. "But she wants to be a mother now. You have to let her. She may have failed you during your childhood but she wants to rectify that." She strokes her fingers down my cheek reverently. "She's going to be an amazing grandmother."

I smile at her despite the anguish that still lingers from my mother's prior behavior. "I know she will." I grin at her. "And you'll be an amazing mother when that time comes."

We're interrupted by a double knock on the door. When it swings open my mother stands there, a smile on her face. "Your uncle called. He'd like to take us all out to dinner if you're not too tired from the flight."

I look at Rachel who says, "I don't know about you but I'm famished. That bag of peanuts they give you during flight wore off long ago," making me and my mother laugh.

"I'll call Patrick back and tell him we'll meet him at Breadstix around six."

Once my mother is gone, Rachel pushes me to my feet. I pull her up from the bed, wrapping my arms around her. "I love you, Rachel, and I want us to have everything my parents never had—a solid marriage, children they dote on. I want it all and I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure we get it and sustain it."

"I believe you, Jesse. I believe in us. I do. Don't ever doubt that."

"I don't doubt it," I assure her, sliding out of her arms and grabbing my suitcase. "I do, however, doubt that I can make it through this dinner if my parents continue their PDA."

"Our kids will probably say that about us one day." We share a smile before Rachel disappears into the adjoining bathroom.

I smile to myself as I scour through my bag, my fingers closing around the box hidden amongst my clothing. I finger the velvet before snapping open the lid. I stare down at the ring, touching the princess cut diamond, hoping that I'm picking the right moment to do this. Praying that I haven't misread all of Rachel's cues.

When I hear her finishing up in the bathroom, I hide the box back inside my clothes.

"Ready?" she asks with an infectious smile.

"As I'll ever be," I say, taking her hand as she leads me out of the room toward the night that will hopefully begin the rest of our lives.