"You sure."
He tightens his arm around my waist.
"I'm sure of one thing. You saidhomeon the porch. I heard you. I'm going to wait for the version of you that knows what she wants to do about it. I'll wait as long as it takes."
"Gray."
"Sleep, baby."
"Okay."
I close my eyes.
The wobble in my chest finally stops.
I fall asleep in his arms as the first real light comes through the window, and for the first time in my adult life I sleep through a sunrise without a single thought about what I'm supposed to do next.
13
GRAYSON
Tuesday morning comes like every Tuesday comes. No respect for the calendar of the human heart.
I'm up before her. Coffee on. Her bags by the door because she packed them last night and then spent an hour unpacking and repacking and pretending she wasn't. I noticed. I didn't say anything.
She comes down at seven in jeans and a sweater the color of good bourbon, which is either a coincidence or a cruelty. Hair in the two braids again. Gold hoops back in her ears.
"Morning."
"Morning."
She sees the bags. Sees that I moved them from the top of the stairs to the front door while she was sleeping. Her mouth does a small thing.
"Efficient."
"Eat."
"I can't."
"You can eat a banana."
"Gray."
"Half a banana."
She eats half a banana.
I drink my coffee.
Neither of us says anything about the fact that my chest has been tight since four a.m. when I laid in bed and watched the ceiling and counted the hours until I had to put her in a car.
"Driver's at nine," I say.
"I know."
"I'm taking you myself."
"Gray."
