“I’m leaving you my planning binder,” I cut her off, pointing to where I left it on the kitchen table. “It’s got the contacts of all the vendors I’ve used, and my master checklist. As long as you stick to the schedule, you should have no problem getting everything done on time.”
“But I’m coaching all week, and Josie has back-to-back clinic clients,” Brianna says. “We don’t have time to sit around making balloon animals!”
The anger that my fear has kept at bay flares to life. “Trust me, neither do I.”
“Then what? Are you expectingMomto plan her own party? You’re anevent planner,” Josie says, enunciating those last two words like I’m not fluent in English. “This is what youdo.”
“And would you be willing to use your clinic hours to give me PT, whenever I asked, free of charge?” I shoot back, starting to see red. Jude gives my hand an encouraging squeeze.
Josie’s face flushes. “It’s not the same thing. This is just a party.”
“If it’s ‘just a party,’ then it shouldn’t be a big deal to tie up the last details.” I look at my mom while Josie and Brianna exchange dumbfounded looks. “Mom, I’m sorry I can’t make it to your party this year. If you want to go out to lunch to celebrate sometime in August, I’d love that.”
My mom puts a hand on Brianna’s shoulder, stopping whatever she’s on the verge of saying to me. She looks at me like she’s seeing me fully for the first time in years. “Of course I understand. Thank you for everything you’ve done so far, Gracie. We’ll take it to the finish line.”
Surprise, gratitude, and some other hard-to-name emotion pile up in my throat like a three-car collision. I think it might be pride.
“Well, it was lovely to meet one of you,” Jude says, pulling me against his side, “but we should get going. Happy early birthday, Mrs. Bowen.”
And before my stepsisters can protest, he guides me out of the kitchen and out the front door.
With each step closer to his car, I have to repress the urge to either punch the air in victory or throw up. By the time he’s opening my door for me, I’m not sure my feet are even touching the asphalt. When Jude gets in, I turn to him and shout, “Did I really just do that?!”
“Yes, youfuckingdid!” he yells back, and then he’s pulling me into a hug across the center console, kissing my temple repeatedly.
I pull back a little to look at him and realize I’m shaking with excitement, nerves, and the feeling of unadulterated freedom. “Thank you,” I tell him. “Thank you for helping me get rid of all that goddamnshrimp.”
He laughs, grinning so widely that I see his elusive nose-scrunch. “Your real motivation, revealed at last.”
“I can think of far worse motivations than an oversupply of discount shellfish.”
He lifts a hand to the side of my face, and I can’t stop myself from leaning my cheek into his palm. “I’m so fucking proud of you,” he says. “I wish I were half as brave.”
His eyes are so sincere and breathtaking in the sunlight, that for a moment, I wish I could let myself fully acknowledge the truth: I’m falling in love with this man. Even if he can’t share his whole story with me. Even though I know he’s keeping secrets. Even if time is running out for our arrangement, and the fate of Larkwood and my future hang in the balance. The simple fact is, being with him feels like stepping into the warmth after shivering for years. And when he smiles, saying, “Come on. I know a place withgreatshrimp cocktail,” my heart tries to leap from me, completely certain he’ll catch it.
34JUDE
One Week Before the Wedding
This morning, as I was walking into court for the emergency hearing I motioned for, I got a text from Henry that read: “Congrats, Judy, you’re the official new owner of your least favorite place on Earth! Still on for lunch today? You’re buying.”
Somehow, I managednotto release an existential groan in front of my nervous client. Not only did his message cement something I’ve been dreading my entire life, but I’d also forgotten about lunch. Quickly, I texted back, “In court. Nick’s 1:00 p.m.” and then turned off my notifications. Unsurprisingly, it was much harder to shut off the intrusive thoughts about Larkwood and coming clean to Henry about Gracie.
Thankfully, I managed to keep my focus on my client, but now that the hearing is over, all the worries I compartmentalized have crawled back out of the box I stuffed them in. But I don’t have time to spiral.
I rush into Nick’s ten minutes late and find Henry at our usual table near a big window, waving me down. Trying not to look like I’m walking to my own execution instead of lunch with my best friend, I accept his handshake and quick back-slapping hug as he stands to greet me.
“Hey, man! I was starting to get worried you’d been eaten alive by your client’s respondent.”
I unbutton my jacket as I sit, remembering my client’s full-bodyrelief when I told her it would just be us and the judge today. “Nah, no respondent, it was ex parte. Sorry I’m late.”
He waves my apology away. “The wheels of justice are slow, blah, blah, blah. I just hope you saved some room for lunch. I ordered the fried squash blossoms, and you’re not allowed to make me eat them by myself.”
Henry’s eyes won’t meet mine. To anyone else, he might sound completely normal, but there’s an artificial brightness to his voice that has me on edge. Is it because of Gracie? She said she ended things with him, but despite my efforts to call and text, he’s been evading me since it happened.
The server comes to take the rest of our order, interrupting my thoughts, and I tack on a gin and tonic at the last second.
Henry raises an eyebrow at me. “Is that a celebration G and T or an ‘oh god, help me numb the pain’ G and T?”
