He looks back up at me with heartache in his eyes. “That’s literally all I know about her. She was just some girl I picked up at the bar after being in a shitty mood. We got a hotel room and went our separate ways the next morning. I can’t help but feel guilty about it all. Just knowing that one day Gracie will ask me about her mother, and I won’t even be able to tell her anything, fucking devastates me,” he admits.
I place a hand on his thigh. “I’m sure there are people out there who knew her. People who will be able to fill in all those unanswered questions.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right. The day it happened, Stephanie left Gracie with her best friend. She gave me her number just in case I ever needed it. I’m guessing that’s what she meant by that.” He shrugs and picks up his glass again.
“That was kind of her.” I smile warmly before leaning back in my barstool and removing my hand from his lap. “Okay, your turn. What do you wanna know?”
He waits a beat before shifting his head toward the drying mugs. “What’s the story behind the mug?”Shit. I should have known he’d be curious about that.
I bite my lip and look away. I don’t talk about this. Not even Tommy knew. Normally I’d just make up a story, stating it was a silly birthday gift. But when it comes to Greyson, I feel the need to tell him.I want him to know me, to see me.“My grandfather bought it for me.”
He inspects my features, noticing this is a touchy subject for me. “You don’t have to tell me if it’s too much.”
“No, it’s okay. I want to tell you.” I turn back to him and take a deep breath, then let it all out. “When I was a kid, I was obsessed with sunflowers. I still am, but it was a crazy obsession. Everything I owned and everything I wore had sunflowers on it, to the point where my dad started calling me Sunflower instead of Emma. One day when I was eight, my dad was working and my mother claimed she needed some alone time, so my grandfather took me with him to a thrift shop.” I chuckle to myself as I remember my grandpa.
“Even though we had all the money in the world, he loved finding unique things that couldn’t be bought in high-end stores. My mother hated it, said it was a waste of money, and showed poorly on our ‘social circle’.” I air quote the words and roll my eyes. My mother and I couldn't be more different. All she cares about is her image above everything else.
Including me.
“While we were browsing down the aisle, I came across that specific mug and fell in love with it instantly. At first my grandfather was reluctant. I was a kid; what use would I have with a ceramic mug? But I begged and begged and promised I’d be careful with it. That I’d be so careful it would last a lifetime.”
I smile fondly as the memory dances through my mind. The joy and excitement I felt in that moment, not knowing it would be so shortly lived… My hands begin to fiddle with the hem of my dress, and I look down at my fingers and swallow, my smile turning sad.
“Finally, he accepted and bought it for me. As we were walking out of the store and heading for the car, my grandfather had a heart attack… He started squeezing his fist against his chest and reached out for support. But there was nothing around but me, and the car was still too far away. As he fell to the ground, he hit my shoulder and knocked the mug out of my hand. It didn’t break, but there’s a chip on the rim because of the fall.”
“I noticed the chip,” Greyson says delicately and takes my hand in his, offering some form of support.
I sniffle as my eyes become glassy. “I screamed so loud the cashier from inside the store came rushing out. When she saw what was happening, she grabbed me and turned my back to my grandfather so that I couldn’t see him lying there lifeless while she called 9-1-1.” I swallow past the lump in my throat, forcing myself to say the last words that still haunt me to this day.
“When my dad finally came to get me and my grandfather was taken away, the cashier handed me back my mug and told me to treasure my last memory forever.” A tear slips down my cheek, and I rub it furiously away, hating that Greyson is seeing me like this.
“Fuck, Bunny…”
“It’s okay, it was a long time ago.” I look up and offer him a dejected smile.
“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to feel this way. You don’t need to hide your emotions all the time, certainly not right now,” he says, squeezing my hand lightly.
“Strong women don’t cry in public. We do it behind closed doors where the world can’t see.” I chuckle sarcastically. “It’s what my mother told me on the day of his funeral.”
“Fuck your mother. I’m sorry, but that’s a shitty thing to say, certainly to a child who just lost someone important in their life.”
I let out a real laugh this time. “My mother is a piece of work. Pray you never have to meet her.” I sigh, dropping my shoulders. “When I said we would get to know each other better, I didn’t think it would turn so depressing.”
“Yeah, if I’d known, I’d never have agreed.” The corner of his mouth lifts.
I gasp loudly. “Was that the start of a smile I just saw!?”
He shakes his head and looks down. “Shut up, Em.”
“Okay! Let’s share something that will lighten the mood. Tell me something funny about you.”
He thinks for a moment, then says something I wasn’t expecting as I take a sip of my wine. “My first tattoo was done because I lost a bet. Now I have a penis on my ass for life.”
I nearly spit my wine out, coughing a few times. “You’re lying!”
“I wish.”
“Can I see it?” I find myself asking before I can even stop the words from spilling out of my mouth.
