“You don’t know that,” I laugh, trying to curb my bitterness because I like them. I really do. “You’ve never seen me dance.”
“Well, if Grant says so, I believe him. Always been more rational and honest than his sister,” Beau says, sending Grant a look I know I saw my dad give me time and time again. Total faith. “He never entertained that kind of pie in the sky thinkin’ like she did.”
“Grant’s an incredible player,” I blurt out, shocked to find the words on the table just as much as him, I’m sure. I catch the slightest tick of his jaw, see the smallest intake of breath.
“Well, sure,” Beau says. “He’ll be an even better chief executive one day. Won’t you?”
It’s just pride I find in his gaze, but it makes my stomach churn. He’s blind to it, I realize—blind to the idea that Grant could want anything different. That he should be able to forge a path for himself, regardless of the life they’ve given him.
Grant just smiles, placid and easy going, and it’s theversion of him I used to think was real. Now, I realize he’s just trying to please everyone, trying his best not to upset the balance he’s created for himself.
I don’t mention it again. I let Evie lead the conversation and watch the sun finally set in the sky, the glow of it reflecting in the pool behind them. And when it’s time to tidy up, Grant convinces Evie to let him help. I sidle up next to him, drying the dishes he hand-washes next to me.
“I can’t imagine why you’d ever leave this weather,” I tell him as the breeze rustles the herbs set on the ledge of the open french windows above the sink.
“The weather’s all the south really has to offer,” he laughs, his southern twang more pronounced after less than a day here.
“Are you okay?” I whisper, not knowing where his parents might be.
“Don’t worry about me. I’m used to it.” His smile doesn’t meet his eyes, and he turns to finish up the last few dishes.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and when I check it, it’s Will’s name I see on the screen.
I click the ringer off as my mind races a mile a minute.
Does he know I’m here? And why do I care if he does?
But I haven’t spoken to Will since the gala. I’ve ignored every call, avoided having to see him—and he hasn’t darkened my door the way I thought he would. Licking his wounds maybe, but I’ve let him sit in his own mess because I don’t think anyone has in years. Everything is brushed under the rug, or handled, or coped withforhim.
My phone rings again, and nervous energy slinks down my spine, my fingers itching to answer—but I don’twantto talk to him. The physiological reaction I have to him calling multiple times is quieted the moment I ask myself “and whatthen?” the way my therapist told me to when I was having a hard time throwing away those bakery boxes.
“You didn’t want to answer that?” Grant’s voice carries a slight edge, but I can tell he’s trying to mask it.
I shrug, shaking my head. “Nope.”
“Seems important if he called twice.”
We haven’t talked about that night in its entirety. It’s just that it’s this dark, heavy thing and I’ve felt so good and light and happy. Bringing it up feels like calling a storm over us, but we’ll have to. At some point, we’ll get sick of existing in the margins of each other’s lives. And so long as we don’t talk about it, he’ll be this constant presence, haunting us both.
“I haven’t spoken to him since…well, you know.” He knows about the coat check girl, about Liv. Everyone does, thanks to the paper, who sent out a detailed news blast the following evening.
His throat bobs as he nods, his hands submerged in the sink water as he pauses his scrubbing. I watch his mouth open and close one too many times before his jaw subtly clenches. He finishes the last dish, drying it himself before taking my hand and guiding me through the house.
“We’ll have breakfast before we head to the airport?” he says around a door frame, poking his head into the library with the massive burning fireplace he showed me earlier.
“Okay, sweetheart. Goodnight,” I hear Evie say. “And goodnight, Gen!” she says cheekily, and I feel fifteen again, too nervous to be seen by my crush’s parents.
My stomach sinks just thinking about fifteen year old me’s crush, about how long ago that was and how long I spent holding onto that feeling when I should’ve been trying to let it go.
Grant still holds my hand in his as we make our way upthe stairs, the width wide enough for us to walk in lock step. He still hasn’t said anything, and when I look, his jaw still ticks. And I don’t know what to say because I’m now wondering if he’s mad I haven’t formally ended things with Will, even though there is nothing to end.
I make to walk into the room I’m in but he pulls me back, brings me into his room and shuts the door softly before resting his forearm on the frame.
“Grant?” I say, my heart beating loudly in my ears. He stands up straighter but doesn’t turn to face me.
“Why haven’t you talked to him?”
“I don’t want to talk to him,” I tell him, not really wanting to talk aboutthiseither.
