17. Grady
CHAPTER 17
GRADY
I’ve had to remind myself several times this morning that the woman sitting at my kitchen counter is the senior Sinclair, and not Spencer. When I have my back turned, focusing on the omelet I’m preparing for Marla, their voices are nearly identical. Their mannerisms are, too. Especially this morning. Marla seems lighter than she did last night, and something about having her as a guest in my home is nice, familiar even.
It’s just the two of us in the kitchen, and Spencer is still in bed. I crawled out of bed as quietly as I could, letting her sleep after the harrowing night she had before I brought her inside. She looked so peaceful lying there, her shock of red hair splayed across my charcoal grey sheets. It felt like she was always meant to be there. Like my bed was missing something fundamental before her.
Even without Spencer here to bridge the gap between Marla and me, our conversation this morning hasn’t been forced or uncomfortable.
“I keep having a bit of a jump scare every time I turn around. You and Spencer are so much alike. You could be sisters,” I say, earning a hearty laugh from Marla that fills the kitchen in the same way that Spencer’s laugh fills a room with her presence.
“You flatter me, Grady.” She waves off the compliment, just like Spencer would, too, I note.
“No, really. You two are like twins.”
“I have had a lot of Botox to keep my youthful appearance, so I’ll pass the compliment along to my injector. Who, by the way, Spencer still needs to call about those horrid crow’s feet she’s getting.” Marla sips her coffee with raised eyebrows, like we’re co-conspirators. She’s read the situation all wrong. I wouldn’t change one thing about Spencer.
“I quite like Spencer’s face just the way it is,” I say, squeezing out a line of whipped cream cheese onto the egg before rolling it gently into a perfect omelet. “Aren’t crow’s feet just from laughing too much? I think it’s nice that she’s had so many reasons to smile, that her face shows it.”
Marla makes a punctuated hm sound, so I steer the conversation back to something more neutral. Something that won’t get me in trouble.
“So, what’s the plan for today?” I ask as she sips her coffee.
“Not a clue. Whatever Spencer is up to, I’ll probably just tag along,” she answers, and I grin to myself, imagining Spencer rolling her eyes at that statement.
“That sounds like a great day. Spencer will be busy running errands and setting up for the event later tonight.”
“What event? Spencer never said anything about an event.” Shit. I flinch and try to recall if Spencer ever said anything about not mentioning the party to Marla, and I come up short.
“I’m sure she just didn’t anticipate you being here for it is all. It’s a fundraiser that we’re hosting at the Whisky Jack. She’ll fill you in, I’m sure. She’s done most of the leg work for it.”
“I would love to help her with it,” she says, as I slide the plate across the kitchen island to her. She takes the first bite, and I watch for her reaction. She doesn’t compliment the food, I note, but she squints at me for a moment, assessing me before saying, “I’m glad my daughter has found you, you know.” And that sentence is better than any compliment I could ever receive on my cooking. Hands down.
I nod to her in thanks, unable to speak past the overwhelming squeezing behind my ribs.
“I’ve worried about her for a long time. Always the lone wolf. I know my life certainly hasn’t been perfect, God knows it hasn’t. But I’ve had a lot of love in my life. I’ve had passionate love, soft love. While it was hard when those relationships ended, I always had this sense that I wouldn’t have changed a thing about them. Better to have loved and lost and all that.”Marla sets her coffee cup down on the granite countertop with a clink and wraps her hands around the warm ceramic.
“You’re a romantic, Marla. A rare breed these days, it seems,” I say, and though I know her assessment of Spencer is accurate, all I can think about at this moment is that I want to give that to her. I want us to have a passionate, soft love. One that she cherishes, even if it doesn’t last. God, I want it to last.
“That’s not the word my husband would use, I’m sure.” Her tone is somewhat exasperated as she says it. “Ex-husband now, I guess. I don’t know how I’ll go back to living without Roy. The house will seem so empty now.”I’m listening, but I have my back turned while I crack two more eggs into a bowl and whisk them briskly.
“Spencer told me you live in wine country. The Okanagan?” I ask, still occupied with breakfast preparations.
“Yes, Peachland.”
“It’s beautiful there. I went once on vacation as a teen, and I’ve always wanted to go back.”
“It is. Every day I wake up and think about how lucky I am.” I can hear a wistfulness in her voice.
“What’s your favourite thing about living there?” I crack two more eggs into a bowl and grind some pepper into it.
“What don’t I love about it?” She chuckles in a way that sounds almost relaxed, an unfiltered version of her. “I love having my coffee on the porch and looking out over the lake. I love getting up on summer mornings and going for a swim.”
“That sounds like a dream, really. When did you move there?” I inquire, pouring the eggs into the pan with a sizzle.
“Oh, several years ago now. After my second divorce. Wow, that makes me sound like such a mess. It was about a year before I met Roy. Now I can’t imagine being there without him,”Marla says, and although she and Spencer look alike, and behave alike, this is what makes them fundamentally different. Spencer has a hard time imagining her life with a man in it, while Marla can’t live without one.
“I think you can. You bought that house for you . You built your life for you. Sure, it will be an adjustment. But you’ll adapt, with or without Roy. I think you’ll land on your feet because you created the life you love before Roy even came into it.”
Marla regards me, her face pensive.
“See, this is why I like you, Grady.”
“Why do we like Grady?” Spencer’s groggy voice interrupts us as she comes around the corner to join us in the kitchen. She’s still in my T-shirt, I notice, which does something funny to my chest. She’s bleary-eyed, and her hair is mussed, just the way I like it.
“A multitude of reasons. I’m just a likeable guy,” I answer. Spencer beelines to the coffee pot, and I slide a mug in front of her, which she takes as if it came out of nowhere and she isn’t going to question it. Not a morning person, noted. “Your omelet is almost ready,” I add, planting a soft kiss on her temple. She responds with a soft, sleepy smile.
“Thank you. I’m sure it is a perfect omelet, but right now I just need caffeine in an IV drip, please.” She shuffles over and takes the bar stool next to her mom.
“You’ll have to go to Ally’s for that, I’m afraid. Here we just serve coffee in a mug.” Spencer flashes me a ha-ha look.
“What have you two been yammering on about out here? If you think you’re quiet by the way, neither of you are.” Spencer’s comment makes me wonder if she heard our conversation, and if so, how much. Not that it matters. Whatever I said to Marla I would say in front of Spencer in a heartbeat. Though, I can’t help but worry that I’m coming on too strong with her, that today might be the day I push her away.
“We were just talking about the cocktail party tonight. Your mom is excited about helping you with your errands today,” I answer.
“Oh, is she?” Spencer says through a smile, though her teeth are gritted.
“I am. I am so excited. Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it. Put me to work.” Marla sounds giddy. Whether it’s because she needs to take her mind off Roy, or because she gets to spend time with daughter, I’m unsure.
“Great,” Spencer says, and her tone is less sarcastic than I anticipated. “We have a lot of ground to cover today.”
“You can take the car,” I offer, knowing that Spencer doesn’t have wheels other than the ones attached to her home. “Oh—” I run down to the entryway, grab my spare set of keys off the hook, and come back to join them in the kitchen, taking the stairs two at a time. “Take a house key. It’s yours if you’re going to be staying here now.”
I hand it to Spencer, who takes it from my hand gingerly. She doesn’t put it in her purse, she holds it tight in her palm while she finishes her breakfast, like she’s afraid she might lose it. Like it’s precious to her.
“I guess we’ll meet you at the bar later?” Marla clarifies.
“Yeah, I’ve got a few things to sort out today and then I’ll head over. The boys will be over soon to see if I can make servers out of them.”
“Good luck with that.” Spencer scoffs, and I’ll need it, knowing my brothers.
Spencer gobbles up her omelet, plants a kiss on my cheek, and heads off to take a shower in my ensuite. It takes everything in me not to go and get in with her.
“I’m up here!” I call from upstairs as I hear Hudson and Jett come through the front door. They’re anything but quiet when they’re together, and their footsteps on the few stairs leading to the open-concept living space sound reminiscent of the thunder from last night.
“What’s Spencer’s van doing in your driveway?” Hudson asks. As he and Jett come lumbering into the kitchen, I see him pause and assess the mess I’ve left from breakfast, the three plates still on the counter. “Were you cooking her breakfast? Like, as in, she stayed the night last night?”
“It’s not what it looks like,” I try to explain. But it’s exactly what it looks like. “Her mom showed up in town, so I offered to host. Spencer just insisted that she stay in the van so that she could be here.”
“Did she stay in the van? That’s the real question,” Jett prods.
“She didn’t, did she? I thought we talked about this.” Hudson sounds disappointed in me, and it kind of irks me that he feels the need to worry about me. It’s never been this way in our relationship. I’ve always been the older brother, the one to worry about him, to make sure that he’s okay. Not the other way around. It’s not going to start now. “Jett, back me up here. This is a bad idea. Spencer’s got one foot out the door. You know Grady’s not the friends-with-benefits type.”
Jett shrugs.
“Don’t look at me for relationship advice. I am not the one to talk to when it comes to feelings and shit. It sounds like the perfect scenario to me. Two words: fuck and chuck. ”
“ God, Jett, why are you such a dick?” Hudson says. “It’s going to catch up to you one day.”
“Yeah? Tell me how it’s worked out for you pining over your high school sweetheart,” Jett chides.
“Don’t bring Wren into this. You don’t even know the half of it.”
“It’s not like that with Spencer. I don’t know, something is different between us. There’s a connection, I can’t really describe it,” I explain.
“Whatever, dude.” Hudson dismisses what I’ve said. “I just know what she did to you last time she left. You try to be what everyone else needs, hoping that someone will see you and do the same. Just don’t assume she can read your mind. If you really want her, you gotta go after it, okay?”
“Like you’ve gone after Wren?” Jett sneers, and from the colour blooming on Hudson’s cheeks, I think he might actually explode.
“Okay, okay. Enough. I didn’t bring you two bozos here so you could argue,” I say, shoving two serving trays I borrowed from the bar towards each of them. “You’re here so I can whip you into shape for tonight.”
“Why doesn’t Mason have to be here?” Jett whines.
“You know why Mason doesn’t have to be here. He’s got important shit to do, unlike you clowns.”
“Hey,” Hudson protests.
“Sorry Hud, you’re right. Jett is the clown here.” I walk around the living room where I’ve set up various surfaces to mimic the layout of the bar. I shouldn’t really be making fun of Jett. After all, he did volunteer to help with the cocktail party tonight. I needed extra hands behind the bar to help Finn make all the drinks, which left me short a few servers, and they stepped up. I’m not calling it a success just yet. Neither of them has ever served a day in their life, so my expectations are low. “Each of these tables represents a table in the bar. I’m going to hand you drinks on your tray and you deliver them to the right table number, got it?” The pair of them nod. “Let’s get to work.”
I take my place behind the kitchen island, my makeshift bar, and load up a tray with two glasses. We’ll start off easy. Jett takes his tray, one hand underneath, and whips it around as he turns towards the tables. A glass goes flying, spilling the water and shattering on my hardwood floor.
Fuck me, this is going to be a long day.