"We definitely couldn't go get the annulment after that. And Dad was demanding I get one, and?—"
"We all know how you feel about being told what to do."
"Correct."
"That boy came on our family road trip and put up with us. That's one hell of a task." She eyes me slyly. "You know what that means, don't you?"
"What?"
"He loves you."
"I'm not sure about that," I say, the argument automatic. It's muscle memory. Safer to argue, to doubt. But it only takes a quick tally of all Dom's actions to know better.
The way he looks at me, all focus and attention on me like I'm the only other person present in a room of people.
How he listens, even if I'm saying something unimportant.
He’s always there. Steady. Unshakable. Mine.
Just like that, my automatic denial feels like a lie I’ve been telling myself for too long. My chest tightens with something akin to hope, because maybe he does love me. Maybe he has for a while.
I look at my grandma. "He said he was coming on this trip because you asked it of him, and since you're, uh"—the word sits there on my tongue, heavy and repugnant—"um."
"Dying," Grandma supplies, unemotional.
"Right. Yes. That. He wanted to give you what you asked for."
"That can be true. And that makes me love him for you even more than I already do. But, Cecily, please believe me when I say men do not look at women the way Dom looks at you unless they're in love."
"How does he look at me?"
"Like he wants to exist in your orbit."
Dom's face comes to me easily. His smile in the morning when he opens his eyes and sees me beside him. The kisses he presses to the corner of my jaw, his voice husky. The way he shows up, time and time again, wanting nothing more than to be there for me. He's not asking me to be any different from the person I already am.
"I love him, Grandma."
She pats my leg. "I know you do. It couldn't be more obvious. You two have so much chemistry that sometimes it feels indecent to look at you."
I know exactly what she's talking about. Sometimes it feels indecent to stand beside him in public, like my private thoughts are suddenly visible on my forehead, and everyone can see how addicted to him I've become.
"You know," Grandma says thoughtfully, but I'm not fooled. Whatever she's about to say, she has been thinking about for a while. "If you were shocked to hear Duke feels the way he does, what's the likelihood your parents don't know how much they hurt you when you were growing up?"
The conversational about-face makes me shrink back. "How could they not know? I left Olive Township. I rarely go back."
Grandma shrugs. "I think people create stories around situations in order to protect their feelings. Their egos. Who knows what else? I bet your parents don't want to confront the poor parenting choices they've made. Although it seems Duke has already gotten the ball rolling on that conversation."
"Of all people."
"Seriously. I had my money on you."
"Is that why you asked us on this road trip? Were you trying to make us mend fences before you?—"
I can't say it. I won't.
Grandma touches my shoulder, squeezing me gently. "You need to say it, honey."
"No." Unshed tears fill my whisper.
