Chapter Fifty-Three
Grant
On Monday, I enter the office at the usual time carrying a rectangular item wrapped in thick brown paper. Aspen’s desk is empty. She still hasn’t returned my texts or calls. I don’t know if she was home, because when I went by again yesterday evening, all the lights were out in her apartment. She didn’t show at the bar, either. Damn it. I shouldn’t have bought it and acted like such a dick. She said she wouldn’t quit, but given her pride, she might have. Jenna said Aspen hadn’t called in sick, but the disapproving pursing of her mouth said she blamed me. And I take full responsibility.
After placing the wrapped item on the table between the two couches, I set up my laptop and roll my shoulders. My eyes feel dry from lack of sleep. I tossed and turned until it was time to get up and come to work.
Aspen will be here. She’d never jeopardize her grandfather’s wellbeing, and she needs the monthly two thousand dollars GrantEm pays the Orange Care Center.
Emmett enters through the open door. His eyes are slightly bloodshot, although they’re otherwise alert.
“You wanted to see me?” he says.
“Yeah.” I gesture at one of the couches as I take the other. “How’s Monique?” When I texted last night to see if we could meet up, he said he couldn’t because Monique was running a fever and kept vomiting.
“Much better.” Emmett yawns, sitting down. He’s only showing how exhausted he really is because he’s with me. He would never do that in front of others.
It’s the same for me. You don’t show vulnerability to people you can’t count on to have your back.
He adds, “Amy’s taking the day off, though, because she’s refusing to be away from her mom.”
“Poor Amy,” I murmur. “Can’t be easy to take care of a sick baby.”
“The nanny’s coming, so it should be okay. They can tag-team her.” He crosses his legs. “Anyway, what’s up?”
“It’s about our bet.”
“Our bet?” He looks confused.
“The one about Aspen. I lost.” I’ve always been competitive, but right now, it feels great to admit defeat. The bet is immaterial. What’s important is Aspen. And I need to resolve this if I want to start fresh.
He frowns. “I must be a lot more tired than I thought, because I could swear you just forfeited. Don’t we still have time until the three-month mark?”
“We do, and I did.”
“Weird. You hate losing more than anything.” He cocks his head, scrutinizing me. “So you aren’t going to get her to quit?”
“No.”
“And you aren’t going to try to back out of the bet?” His tone is somewhat wary.
I laugh humorlessly. “No.” I take the package off the table. “Here. Hang it with pride.”
He rips the wrapping off. It’s a framed paper, on which I’ve handwritten my defeat.
To Emmett,
You were right, and I was wrong.
Grant
Emmett stares at the paper. “You’re serious.”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“I want a clean slate with Aspen,” I say.
