“Oh. Eva’s coming?”
Luca pulls a face. “Um, yeah. Considering she lives with us and all, I figured it’d be pretty rude to not invite her.”
“Right. Right, okay.”
“What the hell’s up, Gray?”
“Nothing.” I pull my order pad out of my pocket and fiddle with the pages. “It’s just—?”
“Grace!” I hear Emmy call through the swinging door into the dining room. “You have a four-top!”
“Okay, thanks!” I stuff the pad back into my apron. “I’ve got to go.”
“Hang on.” Luca hooks his finger through the waistband of my apron. “What’s going on?”
“It’s nothing. Eva and my mom are just hanging out some, and it’s weirding me out.” I say it really fast, like speed can make it less weird.
“Oh,” Luca says, wincing a little. “Yeah. Mom and Eva have had some words about that.”
“What do you mean?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “You know . . . Mom’s just concerned. I mean, she hasn’t told Eva too much about Maggie’s . . . history. She wouldn’t do that, but Eva’s having a hard time settling in with us, and Mom’s trying to figure out the best way to help her. Maggie told her to quit dance, for crying out loud.”
“She didn’t tell her to quit. She told her she didn’t have to do it.”
“Is there a difference?”
“I think so.”
Luca frowns. “Well. Mom’s still worried. And you know how Maggie is.”
I fold my arms. “Yeah. I do.”
He presses his mouth flat and gives me this Come on, Grace sort of look. “Then you know she’s probably not the healthiest influence on Eva right now.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah. I mean, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t think.”
He stares at me before shaking his head and walking over to the time clock on the wall. “Kimber was right; this always happens,” he mutters.
My stomach clenches. “Kimber? What always happens?”
“You and your mom. You can’t be pissed off about her bullshit, Grace, and then get pissed at me when I call her on said bullshit. You can’t have it both ways.”
“I’m not trying to have it both ways.” But even as I say it, I know that’s exactly what I’m doing. In the back of my mind, I know Emmy has every reason to be wary. She and Mom have a precarious relationship for a reason. Healthy moms don’t take off on their kids for a few days, only to turn up like nothing happened. But the minute anyone actually says this, my hackles go up.
“Have you told Eva anything about Maggie?” he asks.
“No. You think it’s easy to talk about?”
“Of course not, Gray. But I don’t want Eva to get hurt,” he says, jabbing at the numbers on the screen. “And if you’re really friends, if you’re . . . if you like her, how could you not tell her?”
I ignore that last part, because I don’t know. I don’t know. “She won’t get hurt.”
He turns to me, his eye narrowed in unbelief. “You can’t know that. You get hurt every single day. And usually I don’t say anything because I know that’s not what you want, but that doesn’t mean I’m not thinking it.”
