This time there’s a long pause between texts.
Then Miles responds.I guess not. Okay. It’s time to come clean.
Thirty-Four
On Monday afternoon, Valencia takes me over to Gramma Sharon’s house to visit her. My stomach is in knots the whole drive. I’m worried she’s going to hate me—or be afraid of me. I’ve tried to keep Marcus and Valencia at arm’s length during my stay with them, but I wasn’t able to do that with Gramma Sharon.
Miles and I have already decided to tell Agent Grant the truth. But I said I wanted to see her first.
Before we tell him, I want her to know who I really am.
Maybe that’s the other reason I’m so nervous. Not only does she probably think it’s my fault her mouth has been shredded, but she’s going to find out I’m not her grandson.
Valencia leads me up Gramma Sharon’s front steps and the door swings open before we even reach it.
Gramma Sharon gives a weak smile that makes her flinch in pain, then steps aside and welcomes us in silently.
“How you feeling, Mom?” Valencia asks. Gramma Sharon gives her a thumbs-up, but it’s shaky. When she sees how I’m looking at it, she drops her hand and pulls me into a hug. Instead of a kiss, she gently nuzzles her cheek against my shoulder, and I might cry.
But she snaps her fingers in front of my face, then wiggles her index finger back and forth in a “no” gesture.
No crying, I’m fine, her face tells me.
“I’m sorry.” I can barely get the words out.
Again she snaps her fingers and gives me the no gesture. Only this time her face says,Itwasn’t your fault.
That’s not true. Sure, I didn’t put the glass in the Watergate salad, but someone else did because of me. She just doesn’t realize it yet.
I look over to Valencia, who is watching the exchange with a sad smile. Valencia isn’t someone I want to tell the truth to yet. There are too many unknowns. Miles was quick to remind me that we didn’t have any evidence against her, but if we’re suspecting Marcus, we should suspect her, too. He also said women are more likely to poison food to hurt someone than men. And of course, in true Miles fashion, he also pointed out that men murder more often than women overall and the statistic sounds misogynistic.
“Okay,” I say. “Want to play cards?”
She claps me on the shoulder and nods, then leads us into the kitchen and sits at the table.
“Want me to make you some tea, Mom?” Valencia asks.
But Gramma Sharon waves her hand and points to the chair next to her.No, stop fussing over me and sit down.
There’s already a stack of well-worn cards on the table that she picks up and starts shuffling. Valencia tells her about the pineapple can theory and how Marcus is going to threaten to sue them. Gramma Sharon looks bored and uninterested but continues shuffling the cards.
We play a couple hands while Valencia tries to keep the conversation going with only me and her talking as Gramma Sharon gesturesor somehow emotes using only her eyes. The whole time the knot in my gut continues to twist.
It feels like what I imagine coming out would feel like. If I got to choose, I mean. I never planned on coming out to my parents. I already knew what their reaction would be—proven by the events leading to the mess I’m in right now. But my plan was to go off to college, be myself, and if they ever asked if I was seeing a girl, I’d say no and leave it at that. They could ask more questions if they wanted, but I figured they would ignore it, not wanting to know the truth.
Maybe coming out to Frankie should have been scarier, but she came out to me first, so I felt no stress at all. Miles was also different because he had already figured out I wasn’t Nate. Being gay was the less dangerous secret.
That might be the easier way to do all this. Come out as gay to Gramma Sharon, and while I’m at it, throw in “By the way, I’m not Nate either.”
The thought makes me more nervous. And Valencia is still here. I was hoping for some alone time with Gramma Sharon when I asked to visit her, but Valencia said she was going to move her afternoon appointments so she could come with me. And now that she’s here, I don’t know how to get Gramma Sharon alone.
Soon enough, the afternoon is gone, and Valencia is saying it’s time for us to get home. She checks that Gramma Sharon is okay with her dinner—warm bone broth and a protein shake—then we head for the front door.
I don’t want to leave, though. And an idea comes to me.
“Can I stay here tonight?” I ask. Then I turn to Gramma Sharon.“To make sure you’re okay. I feel like you shouldn’t be alone.” But it also keeps me out of the house. Last night I slept with my hamper against the bedroom door and all the lights on. If someone is stepping up their game to violence, I know it’s a matter of time before they outright attack me.
She gives me a kind half smile. Then gently shoves me toward the door. Valencia laughs. “You should know Gramma Sharon prides herself on her independence. I’ll bring you by tomorrow— Oh, you have therapy tomorrow. What about Wednesday? I’ll drop you off on my way to work and you can spend the day here?”
