Chapter 48
Rayne
How Do I Say Goodbye—Dean Lewis
What am I doing here? What the hell am I doing here?
I shift my weight from one foot to the other as I stare up at Grandma’s house, just like I stared at Easton’s house the other day. I have no idea what I’m doing or why I’m here. It’s been months since I’ve been here, and since I last saw my grandmother. She hasn’t been in touch and neither have I, and I think that pretty much says it all. We have no relationship and we’re not family. It makes no sense for me to be standing here because she can’t help me make the decision I need to make. I need to decide whether to stay in Boston or to go to LA with Easton, that’s what it’s coming down to. One or the other.
Except my grandmother isn’t the kind of person who can help me with this. She doesn’t know me. She has no idea who I am or what I should do.
We did it! They want us! We’re supposed to move to LA as soon aspossible so we can start recording an album. And they want you too. They want us to write songs together.
Easton’s voice has been echoing in my ears for hours and I can’t think of anything else. He left a message on my voicemail while I was still in class. I should have called him back the second I heard the message, but I didn’t. I hate myself for it. He deserves an answer, one full of pure joy. But instead of joy, all I feel is a growing knot of fear in my stomach because I don’t know what to do.
Stay or go. I have to make up my mind. It’s not just a casual “you could come with me” anymore. It’s no longer just a possibility that the band will get signed; it’s a reality. They’ve made it, and they want me to join them to write songs with Easton. Part of me wants to say yes to everything so badly that it hurts. And the other part... doesn’t know anything anymore. With a soft sigh, I turn around to go back to school but stop immediately when I see Grandma walking toward me.
“Rayne,” she says, a little surprised, but still with the same cool and distant tone she always uses.
“Hi, Grandma.” I raise my hand awkwardly and wave to her, then immediately wish I hadn’t.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was just in the neighborhood and thought—” I stop when Grandma’s neatly plucked eyebrows go up. Well, if I were her, I wouldn’t believe a single word I said, either.
“Would you like to come in?” She points to the house.
I hesitate for a second and then nod, following her up the stairs to the door. Nothing has changed here in the months since I moved out; everything is exactly as it was before. There’s even a bouquet offlowers on the dining table that looks identical to the one she had at the beginning of the year.
Grandma’s house still feels strange to me, even though I lived with her for six months. When she tells me to sit down at the dining table, I realize that I’ve always felt like a guest here, not like this was my new home. Not like the New England School of Ballet felt from the very beginning, including the dorm, my room there, and the people I live with.
Grandma disappears into the kitchen and returns a few minutes later with a tray holding a teapot and two cups.
“So why are you really here?” she asks after sitting down across from me, gracefully lifting the dainty cup. I haven’t touched mine yet.
I open my mouth. I want to tell her, but something else comes out instead. “Why didn’t you ever reach out to me? You said you would that day we saw each other on campus. But you never did. Why not? Don’t you care about me?”
She doesn’t bat an eyelash. Instead, she sighs heavily. “Rayne,” she says, setting the teacup down with a delicate clatter. “I do care about you. I just don’t know you.”
“But you could have gotten to know me. After all, I was right here.”
“Yes, you were here, hiding in your room all day. You weren’t interested in getting to know me.”
For a minute her words leave me speechless. “I was trying not to lose my mind,” I manage to say, my stomach clenching. This is all going in the wrong direction. “I’d just lost my parents. I didn’t know how to—”
“And I lost my daughter,” she replies, a very familiar pain flashing in her gray eyes.
“I know,” I reply quietly. “But—”
“No, you don’t know,” she says. “Losing your only child is...” she stops and shakes her head. Her shoulders are tense, her back as straight as a board. “It’s even worse when you realize you already lost that child much earlier.”
My eyes burn, and suddenly I wish I hadn’t come here. But I’m here now, and I can’t just leave.
“You mean when Mom went to LA with Dad?” I ask.
She nods. “I was against it. But your mother always had a mind of her own. She threw away everything we had built up over the years: her career, her life. She gave it all up for your father.”
“And for me.” The words come out as a whisper. Mom was already pregnant when she dropped out of college and went to California with Dad.
