I grunt. I’m not exactly unhappy. But I wouldn’t say I’m entirely happy, either.
Everything has just been staler than I would like. Lonelier, too. There’s nothing wrong with it. And with his loving family and non-stop, stay-at-home-dad life, I wouldn’t expect Heath to get that.
“Uncle Grant!” Clementine jogs over to me, holding the squiggled coloring page on full display. “This is for you.”
“Thanks, Clem!” I take it from her and chuckle. The entire page is drowning shades of purples and yellows against the bolded black outline of a sea turtle. The laugh rocks me, and when I look up from the paper, there’s a splitting grin on her face.
“Do you like it?” She points to the lines twisting and turning with rhyme or reason. It’s a thousand times more chaotic than my life has been in the last two years.
It’s perfect.
“Yeah, kiddo. I love it.”
five
GRANT
“Thanks, Lily.”I smile while grabbing my matcha latte. The café is vacant for the most part—besides us and a couple huddling together in the corner. The only signs of the after-class rush I avoided are strands of Lily’s hair falling out of her ponytail, and the damp spots covering her apron. Her appearance is all hard work and determination. My skin prickles with how much I admire her for it.
She nods before heading back behind the counter and I set off towards the window. I do the routine of scattering my assignments across the table and glancing over my pristine art textbooks. Then, I do what any college student would do.
I pull out my phone and start to procrastinate.
Maybe it’s luck or maybe my mom was right when she said I was naturally gifted, but my art projects don’t concern me. They always work out. Creative minds work better when they’re not being told what to do and how to do it.
Some classes have taught me valuable information on what colors should be used in certain situations, sure, but beinggraded on when I turn in a storyboard? It’s not going to help me book jobs or win me any awards. Assignments aren’t testaments to my abilities or talent.
Time flies faster when you’re scrolling on social media. My matcha latte is on its last sips, and I’m ready for another, when someone behind me clears their throat.
“Grant?”
The voice is deep, emotionless, and is becoming uncomfortably familiar. My ears start to ring. There are few people I worry about seeing out and about—there’s rarely anyonetosee—and he’s near the top of the list.
Shifting my body towards him, I force a smile.
“Hey, Locke.”
For a few seconds, seeing him in front of me feels like a fever dream. Then I remember he’s about to be at the same university. Walking around the same campus. Probably frequenting this café as much as I do. I internally cringe when I remember the earl grey tea latte on the menu.
I’m terrified this will become a constant.
He stares at me silently before saying, “This is a surprise.”
“Definitely.”
My mouth thins into an awkward smile. I don’t want to be friendly enough for him to assume this is more than an obligatory conversation, but I can’t give away how much he annoys me. I wouldn’t put it past Locke to tell Keller I hurt his feelings. I bet my father would wring me a new one. Then I’d really have to take school seriously, because scholarships are the only way I’d be able to finish out my degree without his money.
I tense my shoulders and shove my way into small talk.
“What are you doing so far from Brown?”
It’s notthatfar. A little over an hour from Boston, I think, but I don’t know what else to say.
Locke blinks at me for a handful of seconds before placing a hand in the pocket of his black slacks. “It’s Thursday.”
I wait for him to continue, to expand, but he doesn’t offer anything else. It’s bordering on unbearably awkward.
“Yup.”
