She snorts. “You always thought silence made you invisible.”
Aspen laughs softly. “Yeah, Emmett, you’re too big to be a ninja. We see you.”
Gran studies her.
Really studies her.
Then, out of nowhere, her hand reaches for Aspen’s.
“You’re good for him.”
There’s nothing foggy about the way she says that.
“He carries too much. Always has. You make him . . . lighter.” My grandma’s thumb brushes Aspen’s knuckles like she’s grounding herself there. “Plus, you call him out on his shit, and lord knows he needs that the most.”
My chest tightens in a way I don’t fight.
Aspen’s voice is gentle. “I like him heavy too.”
That earns her a crooked smile from my other favorite woman.
“Of course you do,” she says. “Love’s not meant to be easy. It’s meant to be honest.”
Love.
I almost look away at the word.
I’ve loved exactly three people in my life—my grandparents and Rory.
Only, maybe now it’s four. It’s hard to say because what I feel for Aspen is nothing like I’ve ever felt before.
My grandmother looks at us like the answer’s obvious and bringing Aspen here already said everything I haven’t figured out how to yet.
Aspen’s confidence falters for a beat, her gaze flicking toward me like she’s unsure what to do with the word hanging between us.
I flip her hand in mine and thread our fingers together tighter, unsure what I mean by the gesture besidesstay.
Having them here together feels surreal in a way I can’t fully wrap my head around.
I might not know much right now, but I know that I can’t bring myself to correct her. Not with these immense, terrifying feelings in my heart.
The silence settles for a moment stretched too long.
When Aspen breaks it, swinging her body back toward my grandmother I see it.
Her blue eyes lose focus little by little, like someone slowly pulling her farther away from us. The grip she has on Aspen loosens, her hand falling to her lap, picking at the blanket draped over her legs. She turns, glancing toward the door.
She’s looking for help . . . and not from us.
“Who are you? Where is Rory?” she asks, her voice shaking with panic instead of just age.
Hearing her name in my grandmother’s voice nearly buckles my knees every damn time.
Aspen looks at me.
I stand and pace. I should go grab Connie who had to step out.
When the sundowning starts, she bridges the gap in her memory that I can’t . . . because I’m not here enough.
