After I’ve hauled the flowers into the reception space, Vivianne hands me a pair of scissors and I get to work. We spread the variety of Indian blanket flowers, blue Rocky Mountain columbine, and purple daisies evenly, until the tables are alive with color.
Once we’re finished I head back to my cabin to freshen up and find Grant waiting on the steps. He’s halfway ready, in dress pants and a button-down, but his hair is wet and his eye is a mess of purple and yellow. I await retaliation, but he just asks, “Can we talk?”
“Sure.” I open the door to let him in.
He looks around, assessing the place. “So, you took over the parents’ cabin?”
“I thought it was the best option, considering,” I reply, letting the events of last night hang in the air.
“About that.” Grant rubs at the back of his neck. “It’s not what you think.”
“I know,” I say, taking a seat at one of the barstools in the kitchen. “Mira talked to Meredith.”
He’s fidgeting, and this nervous energy is making me uneasy.
“I need you to know nothing ever happened when you were together. I know we’re not on the best terms but I’d never do that. Bro-code and all. But Katherine came to me last night, crying about you. She said you were over. I shouldn’t have crossed that line and I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t punch you because of Katherine,” I explain as the guilt lifts from Grant’s shoulders.
“You didn’t?”
“No. We’ve been over for months. She can sleep with who she wants. If I’m being honest I think I’d just been waiting for an excuse to punch you for years.”
“I get that,” Grant says, taking a seat on the couch across from me. “I’ve been an asshole to you. And that’s not fair. I’m not saying this as an excuse or anything, I know that my actions are my own, but growing up in that house, you have no idea what that was like. You got to go home, but I got Susan twenty-four-seven.” Grant’s shoulders slump as he takes a deep breath.
“I lost my mom. My best fucking friend. And then within a year, this woman came in and tried to take her place. I didn’t want her. I didn’t want you. I just wanted my mom back.”
His vulnerability reminds me of the glimpses of Grant I used to see. The one I shared popcorn with in the game room when George and Susan were arguing. The one who lent me his Game Boy when mine fell from the treehouse and cracked in half. The one I’d catch sitting up on the roof late at night, staring up at the stars. And as if a glamour’s been removed, I see it, the armor he’s been wearing all these years, rusted and cracked, worn with age, as it slowly slips off and away.
“It’s okay,” I say, but Grant shakes his head.
“You didn’t deserve a mother like Susan. Neither of us did, and that’s a lot to handle. I was conditioned to accept her, because it was all I knew, but you knew there was something better and that’s not fair to you.”
We sit in silence for a few moments.
“These are probably the most words we’ve said to one another,” I say, trying to recall the last time we had a real conversation.
“What can I say, I’ve grown up, man.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“And it doesn’t hurt that Meredith has me going to therapy.”
“Really?” The admission catches me off guard. “That’s amazing.”
“I resisted at first. But Meredith told me that if our relationship was going to work we had to communicate effectively, and I took that shit to heart. I mean, your mom and my dad never talk. She asks for the Black Card and he hands it over. And I didn’t want that life. I wanted a real partner.”
I remember all the years we endured awkward dinners, Susan chatting to friends on the phone as George typed emails on his phone or read the paper. It definitely wasn’t the basis for a healthy relationship by any means.
“And it’s nice being able to talk to someone about anything. It made me see a lot of shit differently. And it’s really made me and Meredith make a deep connection.”
“I bet,” I jest, as Grant nudges my shoulder.
“I never thought that anyone would accept me, or understand what’s going on in my head, but Meredith does. She listens. She supports me. And most importantly, she calls me on my bullshit. Like how I’ve been a shitty brother to you.” Grant turns towards me, in earnest. “You always put in an effort. You always tried and I never let you in.”
“I could have tried harder,” I argue.
“You did more than I deserve,” he replies. “Like I know you got us that permit for the wedding.”
