OCTOBER 31st, 1991, SEATTLE, WA
"I'M REALLY GLAD you're coming," Reagan said, tugging a brush through her hair to remove any of the random snarls that had suddenly popped up since when she'd first gotten ready.
"Me too," came Chris's reply. She was sitting on the edge of Reagan's bed, pulling on her dirtied Converse sneakers. "So tell me, is there really going to be a documentary crew filming there?"
"That's what Dave said." Reagan set her brush down and mused her bangs, scrunching her nose back as she did so. She caught Chris's eye in the mirror. "I'm not that surprised. The album went gold this morning."
Chris let out a low whistle, shaking her head in disbelief. "Holy shit. Your husband's an actual rock star."
"Something like that," Reagan said with what could only be perceived as a shy smile. She absentmindedly twisted her wedding ring, snugly fitted on her finger as it always wS. "Don't say that in front of him, though. It might go to his head."
"When your band sells half a million records, these things are allowed to go to your head."
Reagan drifted out of the bathroom and towards the spot near her bed where her motorcycle boots were usually kept. She slipped them onto her feet and spun around to face Chris.
"Does this look alright?" she asked uncertainly, pulling on the hem of the babydoll-like dress she wore. She couldn't remember a time in which she had desperately searched for approval when it came to outfits. The only consolation was that it was Chris she was asking.
"Since when are you worried about how you look?" Chris snorted, ever the telepathic. "But yeah, you look great. One might even use the term 'hot' to describe you tonight."
"I haven't been in the mood to wear jeans lately," Reagan explained, as if her choice in attire warranted an explanation. Of course, she was only trying to pacify her own thoughts.
Her new antipathy for pants was just one of the many weird quirks she'd taken up since getting pregnant. All she was sure of was that jeans had become entirely too restricting and that she was more comfortable in the cap-sleeve sundresses that she'd once rejected. She hadn't totally forgotten her old look of jeans and t-shirts — in fact, she couldn't wait to get back into them once she had the baby.
That night Reagan wore tights beneath her dress, a last-minute addition since it was chilly out. On top she had layered a little black sweater, one that buttoned up in the front and she had found in the far back of her closet. It wasn't glamorous by any means, especially with the motorcycle boots drab-ing the whole outfit down, but it was comfortable. And Reagan definitely needed comfortability after having combatted her morning sickness for two weeks.
"I'm sure Dave will be a big fan of your lack of pants," Chris said with a shrewd smile as she and Reagan readied themselves to walk out the front door. There was enough innuendo in her words to make Reagan shake her head and laugh. She was proud of herself for not blushing red.
"He won't be around long enough to appreciate it," she said, leading their way out the door and locking up. Even behind the haze of clouds, the sun was still visibly setting in the distance, ringing in the nighttime.
"Are you telling me that you guys didn't bone each other enough times today to make up for the next few months?"
Reagan narrowed her eyes. "Why does everyone think that that's the only thing that he and I do together?"
"Come on Reags," Chris said, jamming her hands into her jeans pocket and flashing her friend a knowing look. "The first time that you guys met, you fucked in a broom closet."
"That's not how today went," Reagan protested. "We didn't do anything. And it's not like it really matters. He's staying in Seattle for an extra two days because they cancelled a few tour dates in the Netherlands."
"Ooh, sounds like it's your lucky day. But hey, I still don't believe you. You turn into a mega-slut around that dude. But in a good way," Chris said nonchalantly, waving her hand conversationally through the air as she spoke.
Reagan huffed, but didn't refuse a smile, knowing it would make Chris happy even though her insinuations were completely wrong.
Reagan was telling the truth and whether Chris believed her or not didn't change it. Earlier that morning when Nirvana had arrived back in Seattle, Reagan had of course immediately met up with Dave and spent the next several hours at his side. They had not been truly alone though, having decided to hang out with Krist and Shelli while Kurt did his own thing in solace. This had not seemed to dampen their reunion, not when Dave had managed to score extra time to spend with Reagan before the tour resumed.
So the day had continued on with the four of them hanging out, catching up over lunch just outside of Seattle's downtown area. Dave and Krist had regaled Shelli and Reagan with a wide variety of funny anecdotes from the tour, decidedly leaving out any parts that might have explained the grumpy look on Kurt's face when they'd gotten home.
From the moment she'd seen him, Reagan had had a strange hunch about what was plaguing Kurt so badly, but she didn't want to dwell on it. The fact that her theory inevitably had to do with drug use was enough to make her want to put it out of mind, at least for the sake of enjoying her limited time with Dave.
As soon as she had caught her first glimpse of Dave, her first true glimpse since September, she had felt her heart soar. The troubles with her morning sickness seemed far away as she'd charged into his arms and kissed him, feeling triumphed to have made it through one long month without him. The reunion had been perfect, better than Reagan had imagined. When she had pulled away from their initial hug to stare into his eyes, she'd felt relieved to have the same person she loved back in her embrace. As far as she could tell, nothing had changed about him.
While the miniature celebration with Krist and Shelli did not exactly equate to privacy for the two of them, Reagan had nonetheless felt an immense appreciation in being around their humble spirits. Watching Dave and Krist feed off of each-other's contorted sense of humor alone was magical. They had made her laugh endlessly, a feeling she had sorely missed while sick.
The attention during the gathering had at one point even been wheeled like a spotlight onto Reagan, as they all three inquired about her new job and if she was liking it. She told them with sincerity that she did, trying to make her usual work day at DGC sound interesting. But in reality, it sounded like boring work even to Reagan, who in truth found it be to a great job. While she reiterated how she usually got stuck answering phone calls or waiting on the demands of A&R folk, Dave still beamed proudly at her like she'd been singlehandedly running the country instead.
Together Shelli and Reagan had accompanied both men back to the Paramount Theater for their sound check. Kurt had already arrived at that point and looked frazzled as he stood in the shadows of the stage, smoking a whole pack of cigarettes down to his fingertips.
"Is he okay?" Reagan had asked gently as Dave twirled a rogue drumstick in his hand, waiting for rehearsal to start. She had barely spoken to Kurt, exchanging only a few words with him about his new love interest, Courtney. He'd promised that Reagan would meet her soon — the mentioning of her name was the only thing that had brought a shred of light into his otherwise dulled eyes.
"He's fine," Dave had murmured back, seeming to want to end the conversation immediately. Once again, Reagan had known with an intuitive tug in her gut that something was wrong. Kurt was doing something wrong, and while that something strongly pointed to his previous sly affair with drug use, Reagan wanted to believe that it was out of the question.
When it had come time for her to finally go, she had pulled Dave aside in the empty backstage area of the Paramount where the roadies and crew members had dispersed. In their own pocket of privacy, she eyed Dave with a shy smile.
"I have something for you," she'd said, relieved to have him alone. From one of the ratty satchel purses that she rarely used, Reagan had pulled out a small, square photograph, flipped over so that the white backside was the first thing Dave saw. She'd handed it to him as he'd knit his eyebrows together with curiosity. Once he'd turned the photograph over, he stared at the first-ever ultrasound image of their baby.
"Reags," Dave said softly. A slow smile spread across his face as he stared at the photo, touching the tip of his pointer finger to where the fetus's silhouette had been captured. He looked mystified as he studied it, bringing it closer to his face.
"I thought you might like to have it on the tour," Reagan said. "Maybe it will lend some inspiration to think of baby names."
"It's a peanut," Dave declared, still grinning as he inspected the first ever picture of his child.
Reagan looked at him, aghast. "We're not naming the baby 'Peanut,' if that's what you're getting at."
"No," Dave laughed, flipping the picture around for Reagan. "It looks like a peanut. See?"
Reagan cocked her head to the side and squinted at the intrauterine photo of her baby, trying to imagine whatever image had been conjured for Dave.
"Really? A peanut?" she asked.
"Come on! You can't tell me that doesn't look like a boiled peanut in a room with the lights off!"
"Oh my god," Reagan said, shaking her head. Dave had laughed again and snatched her up into a hug, holding her firmly against him with the picture still clutched in his hand.
"I love it," he whispered. There was an audible thrill in his voice. "Seriously. I love our baby. And I love love love you."
"I love you and our peanut baby too."
As Reagan and Chris drove into downtown Seattle, this is what Reagan thought of as she stared through her rain-spattered windshield. She felt bad about it, mostly because Chris was talking about Yellow Fellow and a potential gig they had landed, but also because she was already thinking about how Dave was going to leave again.
She scolded herself, knowing she should have been thankful for her luck. Instead of one day with him, Reagan had nabbed another two simply because the Nevermind tour had been extended in the States. She should have been elated, thinking of nothing more than the extra forty-eight hours that awaited her and Dave, but instead she felt bitter that she'd soon have to watch him take off again.
The only thing she banked on was the hope that her morning sickness was fading. Maybe then she would be able to get through another grueling month without him. At least she wouldn't be puking her guts up the whole time.
"So what do you think? Should we take the gig or no?"
Reagan immediately shifted gears in her brain to refocus on Chris, who was staring at her expectantly in the passenger seat. She nodded at her friend but kept her eyes trained on the slick wet road in front of her.
"Obviously you should," Reagan said pointedly. "A gig is a gig. It's what you guys have been waiting for."
Chris sighed. "Obviously you missed the part where I mentioned that they wouldn't be paying us."
"Oh," Reagan said, wincing. "Maybe not then. Sorry."
"It's okay. I know you're thinking about Dave. You've got that misty-eyed look on your face."
"It's hard not to be reminded that the tour isn't over yet," Reagan admitted. She wasn't even going to try to deny that Chris was right. Dave was indisputably on her mind.
"Aren't you going to visit him though?" Chris asked. "I thought you had a date planned to meet up with him during the tour."
"I do," Reagan said. "I already have the days off from work and everything . . . I'm supposed to go see them play in France."
"Damn," Chris said, sounding thoroughly impressed with a longing sign. "France. And I thought us driving to Portland on the weekends for shows was a stretch!"
"I'm nervous to travel that far. I don't want to be on a plane that long. What the hell is there to do on a plane for that many hours?" Reagan said with a frown. "But . . ."
"You get to see Dave," Chris finished for her. "I totally get it. And hey, it's France. That seems pretty romantic and shit."
"Yeah, it does," Reagan laughed, always susceptible to Chris's unintentional humor.
"You know, I'm sorry I haven't come to see you more often," Chris said, suddenly changing the subject. She lowered her voice several notches, her tone growing softer. "If it weren't for my piece of shit car, I would have been there while you were sick. Every day, if I could have been."
"It's really okay, Chris. Kate has helped me out a lot. And I'd rather get to see you under these circumstances, when we can do something fun together. Not when I'm throwing up ginger ale and saltine crackers."
"I do have a slight phobia of vomit," Chris said with a shudder. "But as long as you're not lonely by yourself in that apartment."
Chris stopped talking, chewing the inner corner of her lip as she squinted out through the windshield. Reagan automatically sensed that there was a question she wanted to ask regarding her aforementioned loneliness, though she was obviously unsure if it was alright to bring up.
"If you were wondering," Reagan began. "I am going to see my family again. My mom wants me to come over for Thanksgiving. And I'm going to visit soon to see my dad and the kids."
"It's not that I think you should do it," Chris assured her quickly. She scowled deeply as if to prove her point. "I don't think your family deserves a whole lot out of you right now. But if it means you won't be alone, that's good to know."
"It's just my mom who's undeserving," Reagan said, tightening her fingers around the steering wheel at the mere mention of Kimberly. "But we're working on it."
"Good luck with that," Chris retorted with an exaggerated eye roll, sinking down into her seat and kicking her feet up on the dash.
"I'm not expecting anything to actually come from it," Reagan sighed. "Hell, I'm not expecting anything out of everything. Things are so weird."
"I know," Chris agreed. "My best friend falls in love for the first time with a drummer, the drummer got famous, knocked her up, and then married her. And I'm stuck in bum-fuck Olympia as a gay, shitty bass player without said best friend now . . . weird."
"Isn't that a teensy bit of an over-dramatized version as to what really happened?" Reagan asked as she side-eyed her friend in a motherly manner.
"Nope," Chris replied, popping her lips. "That's the whole god damn truth."
________
"Home! Thank fuck!" Dave moaned, bursting through the apartment's front door with his duffel bag and beelining for the couch.
Reagan followed him in, smiling to herself as she watched him collapse face-first down on the couch. She turned around and spoke to the door as she locked up.
"Did you miss it?"
"More than you know. This is like, the Taj Mahal to me right now."
"Before you know it, you'll be staying in hotel rooms that are bigger than this apartment."
"Have I ever told you that I love your wild imagination?"
Reagan laughed and dropped her keys on the kitchen counter, bending over to pull off her boots and wiggle her toes free from her socks. Her feet hurt, but with perfectly good reason. The concert at the Paramount had been amazing, one of the best that she had ever been to. And even that had little to do with the fact that it had been her husband behind the drum kit that night.
It was funny to Reagan that she had been able to have such a good time at a concert while pregnant. It wasn't like she was a heavy drinker before everything had happened, but just the idea of a pregnant girl at a punk rock concert made her giggle. It was a conundrum, much like everything else in her life.
The obvious highlight of the night had been watching Dave play. She could never see his face while he was on stage, mostly because of all the hair-flailing that he did, but it never mattered. His energy and the way he pounded on his drums was enough to keep her yearning for him. For Reagan, watching Dave play for even an hour was the metaphorical equivalent of giving a dying man a sip of water in the desert. It was a small but great blessing.
"Did Chris have fun?" Dave asked, rolling over on the couch and tucking his hands behind his head. He yawned, breaking off the tail end of his question.
"Oh yeah. She told me that it's like being in a dream, hanging out with a crazy famous band."
"She thinks we're crazy famous?"
"Damn it, Dave. When are you going to realize?" Reagan said with a heavy sigh, folding her arms.
"It's not that I don't see things," Dave explained. "It's just that I'd rather be me. I'd rather the band be just us. We're not asking for a lot, here."
"I know," Reagan said. She could understand Dave's point, even though she thought privately to herself that he would never be able to shut out the fame forever. There was no chance of that.
She went into the kitchen to clean up dried dishes, putting them away and tidying the countertops. By the time she had turned off all the lights and went back into the living room, her stomach tingling with giddy anticipation, she found Dave asleep in his spot on the couch.
It had taken him only ten minutes to pass out. As Reagan's eyes adjusted to the dark, she analyzed his sleeping face. It appeared that he had practically lost consciousness talking to her — even his hands were still clasped behind his head.
She forced a smile, knowing he must have been exhausted. Their alone time would just have to wait. From the opposite corner of the living room, she dragged a blanket back to Dave and draped it over his sleeping figure. Ultimately, it was enough for her that he was even within arm's reach. She would fall asleep soundly that night knowing they slept in the same space, once again together even if just for the blink of an eye.
Reagan tiredly made her way into their room. She had already showered before the concert, but while there she had broken a sweat from all the excitement. Carefully she peeled off each article of clothing, leaving them scattered on the ground as she walked into the bathroom and flipped on the shower. Once she deemed it hot enough, she stepped in and closed her eyes, feeling her muscles relax as the water sprayed her skin.
She stood there for several minutes, her eyes closed and her face tilted up to the nozzle head when she heard the billowy curtain suddenly part. When she turned in surprise, she saw Dave stepping over the edge of the tub and into the shower
"What are you doing? You were just asleep," Reagan remarked.
Dave jerked the curtain closed before joining Reagan under the downpour of hot water. A thrilling zap of pleasure tickled its way down her spine when he clutched his hands against her slippery wet hips.
"Did you really think I was going to go to bed without doing this?" he murmured. There was no trace of sleep in his eyes as he stared at her, tilting his head so that his mouth touched hers with a slowly building urgency. His right hand slipped past her hips and further downwards, causing her to catch her breath around a sudden moan. He didn't have to further elaborate as to what 'this' had meant.
Roughly, but not roughly enough to cause her any lasting damage, Dave backed Reagan against the tiled walls of the shower as he kissed his way hungrily from her lips down to her chest. She could already feel herself losing control and slipping away into the bliss that she had so desperately missed. Reagan felt no need to steer the direction of where this was going. She wanted to witness for herself how badly Dave had missed her.
He hooked one hand around the curve her thigh and hitched it up to his waist, pushing her higher up against the wall. His lips found hers again and over the sound of the gushing water, she thought she heard him try tell her that he loved her.
She didn't let him finish the declaration before she was kissing him again, giving herself completely to the moment she had waited for and to the only person she had and would ever love in the world.