Laughter floats up from the table with the girl and the grandma, and I realize they have their food. I realize it’s been a really long time.
Fishing my wallet out of my pocket, I grab two of the four twenty dollar bills Evie insisted I take with me. She stuffed them in my hands and told me you should never leave the house without a few bucks, the warmest smile I’ve ever seen on her face, as she nudged me and my mom toward the pizzeria.
They probably went home, I remember. They wanted to stay nearby, but my mom told them she’d drop me back off. That she had a car, she just needed the address. They looked reluctant but said okay. That they’d see me later.
I place the bills on the table, avoiding eye contact with the server on my way out. I punch in the street I live on into my map app and set it to walking.
It takes me thirty minutes to get back to the house, and I wonder where my mom is now. If she went back to the booth and is wondering where I am. I creak open the front door, hyper aware of the dawn approaching, signaling just how long this day has been.
“Grant?”
Evie’s on a fancy sofa in the front sitting room, flipping through a magazine, almost like she was waiting for me. When she looks up, I see that familiar tint of anxiety in her gaze. Connie told them she’d bring me back, and here I am, alone.
Evie pops up from her seat, approaching me with her arms wide. When she wraps them around me, her flowery perfume is overwhelming like it was the first time she bear hugged me like this. I let my mouth relax and close my eyes.
“Do you want to talk about what happened?” Her voice is so soft, I could cry.
I shake my head again, not sure if tears will escape if I speak.
“We should’ve waited for you. I’m so sorry, honey.” She rocks gently from side to side, swaying us so gently I almost don’t notice. I look up at her, forcing a smile.
“It’s okay. I’m fine, really.” She gently pushes me away from her, hands firmly on my shoulders as she looks at me, her gaze hard and sturdy—so at odds with the usual lightness I find there.
“Do you want to see her again, Grant?”
Dread pools low in my stomach, guilt crawling up my throat. I don’t want to tell her the truth—that I never want to feel that way again. That I feel worthless, and that seeing her waiting for me is the only thing making me second guess that. I pull in a short breath, my brows wrinkling as I try to stop the tears forming.
I just shrug, instead.
“How about this,” Evie says, like she’s leveling with me. “If you want to, I won’t ever stop you. But I won’t ever force you to, either. Won’t make you feel like you owe her your time just cause she birthed ya.” She tilts her head, waiting for an answer.
“Yeah,” I nod, relief falling on me like a blanket. “Okay. Thank you.” My voice cracks, and a tear finally runs out.
“Come here, honey.” She pulls me back in, swaying again, and even though I felt too old for this first time, I lean into it, feeling safe for the first time since I sat down at that pizza table.
She releases me after a minute, her own smile a little watery.
“Alright. It’s a school night. Get your things in order, okay?” She winks at me before nodding toward the stairs, dismissing me in a way only a mom could, I think.
I collapse onto my bed, the comfort still new to me. I’ve only had a twin bed anywhere else, and rarely was it just for me. On this one, my feet don’t dangle off the edge and I don’t wake up until my alarm goes off in the morning.
I wonder where Evie learned to be so good at being a mother.
I wonder where my mom went. What was so important that she couldn’t stay.
25
Gen
My muscles ache with every step and the soles of my feet feel hopelessly bruised. The muscles in my calves burn as I ascend the stairs to Grant’s, but I lean into it, stretching the tendons there until it feels like I’m working them again.
Rehearsals have gotten more intense, and more frequent, as we approach the show. With only a month to go, most parts are beginning to be called every day which means I’ve gone from rehearsing a few times a week to constantly. It’s exhausting, and my social life has become nonexistent andI love it. The ferocious grace of the dance, the performance of it, those are a part of it but for me, the extent to which you have to give yourself over to the craft is addicting. You leave, battered and bruised, but knowing you created something so beautiful, for only a moment in time, with your body.
The only thing I want to do more than sink into a deep sleep is see Grant. I rap my knuckles on the door of his apartment once, then twice, before it gives way. He stands there, dark charcoal sweatpants, a black t-shirt, and darkbaseball cap backwards on his head, scanning me. I drop my duffel and reach up, reveling in the soreness brought to the fore by my movement. I kiss him for the first time in two days, and you know when you’d lose your mom in the supermarket, heart racing, and then you’d spot her? It’s relief. Like oh—he’s still here and I found him and he found me.
“I missed you.” His smile is crooked, charming, distracting, and I want to photograph it.
“I missed you,” I say, my heart feeling like it’s going to burst.
