I can pick up on her rolling her eyes even in the dark.
“Let me rephrase that,” I say. “I’m still working on accepting help. But I’m glad you care about me.”
She smiles.
We get to the event space, a large bar complex with games and various sections for activities, and walk up to the entrance. I read online that this place has a golf simulation (at which Joan will excel and I will be terrible) and karaoke (which I will enjoy and Joan won’t touch with a ten-foot pole).
Music drifts from speakers mounted in corners. No one’s on the stage yet, a wooden platform on one side of the room. Other rooms boast things like mini-bowling, the golf simulation I read about, and more traditional bar stuff like darts and pool tables. Old signs and Americana accents decorate the black walls, and pendant lights illuminate a long, wooden bar top.
We find the guy who contacted me, one of the older med students, and introduce ourselves. We mingle with some of the other incoming students—all a few years younger than me, aspredicted—and I start to actually have fun, something I haven’t been capable of for weeks now. I drink some delicious cocktail made with gin and jalapeño. Once people start taking the stage, Joan urges me to sign up, and I oblige, of course.
Even with the excitement of meeting my new comrades, though, an ache still sits behind my breastbone. I miss Grant. God, I miss him. I want him here with me, at my elbow, whispering encouragement in my ear. I’ve come to a decision, and I’m going to call him as soon as I leave.
My name gets called after about an hour of socializing. Joan nudges me.
“Go get ’em,” she says.
I wind my way through some of the gathered crowd. Nerves flutter in my stomach, a phenomenon that’s never gone away before I get on stage, and I take another sip of my drink to settle myself.
I climb the steps to the little platform. When I turn back to look at Joan, a shocking scene greets me. Time crawls.
Grant. He’s here. He speaks urgently with Joan, who listens with intermittent nods. I stare. Are they talking about me?
Of course they are, though. He must be asking for advice.
Something turns over in my brain. My legs freeze. A slice of pain knocks the breath out of me.
It’s clear who Grant is now. That’s been clear formonths. It’s me who can’t let go of my past picture of him. I’ve been so stubborn I’m getting in the way of my own happiness.
The DJ clears his throat. “Come on up, Kendall.”
I startle, then keep walking toward the stage and up the little steps to the platform. Grant locks eyes with me.
He drinks me in, scanning me up and down like he can’t get enough of me. I’m doing the same thing. I want to smooth out the piece of blond hair that sticks up on one side. I want to kiss him. His tan coat falls over a pair of dark blue jeans, and I want to wrapmyself up in it. He’s beautiful, this man, and the few weeks away from him have heightened the impact of him, not just his hotness but also the energy around him. He’s a force field drawing me in.
I bring the microphone to my lips. I’ve chosen a Cranberries song, and though my voice doesn’t sound like the lead singer’s, it’s one of my favorites. I keep looking at Grant as the first notes play.
He doesn’t look away, either. I’m serenading him, and despite my earlier assertion about how I don’t do that, I can’t help pouring my raw emotions into the melancholy lyrics, hoping my intent comes across. My heartache’s on display.
My eyes start to well up toward the end, and Grant strides purposefully toward me. He meets me at the bottom of the platform.
“Can we talk?” He edges closer to me.
“I think that’s a good idea.” My throat stings. I look around. “What brought you here?”
“I knew you’d be here. One of the older med students mentioned it to some of the residents. And I figured this would be a neutral space, better than showing up at your apartment, in case you want to tell me to fuck off.”
I laugh, but it’s a sad sound. “Grant,” I say, “I’m not going to do that. In fact, I was going to call you after this.”
His eyes widen, and my heart punches against my ribs. I search for Joan and mouth “are you okay?” at her, but she shoos me away. She’s talking to one of the med students, presumably someone she knows if their gestures are any indication. The crowd swells around her, and with her height, her hair, and her general affability, she’s like sunshine come to life. No wonder Lucas loves her.
“Can we go outside for a minute?” I touch the sleeve of Grant’s coat. His head snaps down like he can’t believe I’m actually touching him.
He follows me out one of the side doors. Given the temperature, no one’s out here, so we’ve got a little alcove to ourselves.
“I want to go first,” I tell him. I shiver, and he steps toward me, but thinks better of it and lets his hands hang at his sides. “I miss you.” My voice cracks, and dammit, why does that keep happening?
This time he surges forward. My hands loop around him, inside his coat so that I’m enveloped in it like I imagined earlier. I lay my head against his chest.
