“That’s not what I’ve been—”
“Yes, you have,” I say, my fists clenched against my shorts. “I’m sorry you haven’t felt like you could lean on me like I’ve leaned on you. Ihatethat I made you feel that way. But I never asked to be protected from your heartache, or your family’s. Did you ever think that maybe Iwantto be needed? Instead of constantly feeling like the walking shit show in our friendship?”
Sofia looks like she’s been slapped. “It was never my intention to make you feel like a shit show.”
“Well, it’s hard not to feel that way when we can’t have a conversation without you pushing me to take a studio space. When you don’t trust me to know what’s best for my own life or feel like you can even confide in me.”
At this, Sofia’s eyes widen. “Your happiness is theonlyreason I keep pushing you to get back in a studio and sew again. I’ve known you since we both believed in Santa Claus, and I cantellwhen you’re acting from a place of fear instead of joy. And this whole bullshitscheme to try convincing Jude to keep Larkwood?” she asks, circling a hand in the air. “It’s fear central! I know you think you have some leverage with the cottage now, but you’re deluding yourself if you think he won’t figure out a way to get rid of the estate, Gracie!”
I want to run away. Just sprint down this quiet suburban street until I disappear into the dark. I think about last night, when Jude told me his plans for Larkwood haven’t changed.But he also agreed to keep meeting up for wedding planning tasks, I tell myself to keep the panic at bay.He said the meeting with Daphne had an impact.Surely, if we keep going, I’ll have another chance to change his mind, right?
But what if he’s just running out the clock?an insidious little voice asks.
I don’t want to believe it. We’ve grown closer than I ever expected, and I want to think his feelings have changed since getting to know me and some of my vendors. I want to believe I still have a hope.
“Maybe you’re right,” I finally say, wiping the moisture from my face. “Maybe losing so much has made me terrified of losing Larkwood, too. Maybe the smarter move would have been giving up on helping my friends and forgetting about Agatha’s wishes.” I release a shuddering breath. “But Jude agreed to keep an open mind, and I’m going to see it through to the end.”
After a moment, Sofia nods stiffly. “Then I guess you’d better get back to Larkwood.”
She starts the drive back to my car at her studio, and regret for every word I’ve said punches through me. We both lashed out, and now the inches between us may as well be a chasm I have no idea how to cross. I don’t know how to tell her how much I love her, and how badly I want her to lean on me—especially after she just gave me the chance and I fucked it up. Some words simply can’t be taken back. So instead, we let them settle like stones between us, quietly nursing wounds we never wanted to give. Desperately, I try to hold on to what’s left of my faith in love.
But in the silence, I can almost hear a muffled snap in the very center of my heart.
24JUDE
Three Weeks Before the Wedding
I thought I was having my son over for dinner, not a cardboard cutout.”
I look away from an abstract painting of the ocean that I’ve been staring unseeingly at and bring my mother into focus. Dinner is done, and she’s barefoot and curled at the other end of the living room couch from me, her attorney general armor left outside on the porch. She’s smiling softly at me and holding her wineglass with worrying nonchalance over the cream-colored rug, until a touch of concern creases her brows. “Everything okay over there, Rabbit?” she asks.
At the old nickname, I quietly exhale, pulling my mind away from Gracie’s rejection last night and into the present. I hardly ever get to visit my mom when she’s off duty at home, since it would mean seeing my father, too. But he’s in London for work, and I should be making the most of this rare pocket of downtime we’ve found.
“Sorry,” I say, taking a drink from my own glass and hoping the biting tannins will lift the fog I’ve been in. “A lot on my mind.”
She tilts her head, her auburn hair brightening to gold beneath the floor lamp above her. “Work, or the house?”
I lean back against the couch cushions, glad my mom can’t hear my mind repeating Gracie’s name with the relentlessness of an EKG machine.
“Both. But it’s fine,” I say. “I cut back my caseload, and I’m headed to Larkwood tonight. I’ve got a meeting with the art appraisal people tomorrow morning about that godawful hunting painting in the main dining room.”
My mom places a hand on her chest and looks affronted. “You wouldn’t be talking about the portrait of your hallowed ancestor, Great Uncle Rifle Dick, would you?”
I snort as I get a vivid mental image of the stout, red-faced man who presided over every family dinner, posing with his large, suggestively placed rifle. “The one and only.”
She shakes her head and takes a sip of her wine. “I never knew why Mom insisted on keeping that one up.”
“Are you kidding? That gun was one of her favorite dinner topics. ‘Look at the flared tip, Judy—what do you think it symbolizes?’?” I say in my best Nana impression.
My mom lets out a cackle that’s so reminiscent of my grandmother, it’s almost like she’s here with us. I’m grinning right back until, inevitably, questions rise inside of me that yank down whatever happiness was trying to emerge.When was the last time she was this relaxed? Does she ever laugh when he’s around?
“Wow, I needed that,” she says, but a moment later, her smile fades. “It’s too easy to get caught up in the loss and complications and forget the good stuff.” She pauses. “Sometimes it’s hard to remember that things were ever easy.”
I nod, thinking of how effortlessly Gracie pulls my most joyful memories of Nana from me like a lodestone. How much easier it’s become to talk about her when I know someone else will understand.
“I’m trying to get better at remembering the good,” I say, before adding carefully, “Talking about her helps.”
My mom’s gaze stays soft even though she sees right through my effort to open her up. “It’s not your job to walk me through this,” she says gently. “You’re already taking on too much as it is, sorting through the house.”
