fifty-nine.

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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."

OUT OF THE RED ↝ dave grohlWhere stories live. Discover now