Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Layton
Y awning, I walk into Grandma’s house without knocking. I’m well aware it’s not just her house anymore, but it’s a habit, and my sour feelings toward her fiancé will not make me suddenly want to knock.
“Layton honey, I’m so glad you’re here,” Grandma says, walking toward me with open arms. I bend to embrace her, eclipsing her tiny frame with mine and squeezing her warmly.
“Family dinner night, as promised,” I say with a grunt.
Despite my nonchalance, I swear I see tears form in her eyes, but she doesn’t allow them to fall. The realization that my actions might be hurting her makes my gut feel like acid, and I shift from one foot to the other, clearing my throat.
She nods, stepping back and turning toward the kitchen. “Yes, it is, and I’m so happy to see you. Is Jenson joining us?”
“Not tonight. He said he has to pack. He’s buying a house and has to move out soon. Before his dog gets him evicted,” I tell her, wishing I had him here as a buffer, to be honest.
“Oh dear. Must be a big dog.”
“Yeah, he’s a brute, but still a puppy, just full of energy.”
“Well, you can bring him a plate when you leave.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, sitting at the table topped with all my favorites.
My grandma is an amazing cook and could have made anything. Still, tonight, I’m sitting in front of her famous lasagna, breadsticks, and a bowl of tossed salad with my favorite Italian dressing from Olive Garden. I can smell the apple pie on the counter beside her double oven.
Looking around, I see things that have remained the same since my grandfather lived here with her. The curtains are the same. The damn dish towel hanging on the hook by the sink with blue geese. These are things that bring back such fond childhood memories spent here with the two of them. Watching them dance to her favorite song. She slapping his hand when he would sneak a deviled egg off a tray she was making for a potluck.
“Layton, so glad you could make it.”
Then, my trip down memory lane is interrupted by him . Darrel steps into the kitchen, and I nod sharply, with no other response. It’s not the man’s fault, and deep down, I know that. I want my grandma to be happy, but I can’t help but miss my grandfather more when I see Darrel with my grandma. The teenage me wants to scream that it’s unfair, but it’s been a long time, and I know I need to get over it. Move on and be happy for them. But nobody said I had to do it with a smile.
“Smells amazing in here, Elenore,” he tells her with a kiss on her cheek that lights up her face. Her smile is wide, and her cheeks are pink.
“It’s her favorite. Hope she loves it. I don’t think I’ve ever made it for her before,” Grandma responds.
“You did wonderfully, honey. She’s going to love it,” he replies, and my brows rise.
“She, who? I thought you made my favorites, Grandma,” I say, half teasing, part of me already offended.
“Oh well, I didn’t know if you would really come. I’ve invited you before, and you haven’t.” Elenore Michaels is never a woman lost for words, but as she stands in front of me, she stammers, looking toward Darrel. There’s a look of genuine remorse on her face for saying it in front of me, and I can’t help but laugh. I can’t even be mad. She’s absolutely right. I’ve made excuses not to come to dinner every time she’s invited me, knowing Darrel would be here.
“You’re right. I’m sorry, Grandma. I’ll do better. I promise,” I tell her honestly. Losing my grandpa, I don’t need to keep avoiding my sweet Grandmother.
A knock at the door catches our attention, and with a small smile, as if I said exactly what she wanted to hear, she walks away to answer it.
Wait. Suddenly, I remember who we were with when she invited Jenson and me.
“Hello, sweetheart. Thank you so much for coming. You didn’t have to bring anything, but oh my, this looks delicious.”
Then I hear Daphne thank her. A voice that holds a mirage of memories all on its own. There are some things I don’t want to think about while sitting here and eating with her. Spend any time at all with her. Remembering how sweet she was, how fun it was to be around her, and how she tasted. Fuck! No. I shouldn’t have come. Because remembering how great my ex is, reminds me of the shitty way I hurt her. Selfishly and cowardly, and as much as I want to apologize, no words will ever be good enough. So, what could I say? I tried the night I drove her home, but luckily, her sister stopped me.
Anger rises in my throat when I remember seeing her and that fuck face outside the bar. Just the thought of him having the audacity to try to force himself into her space makes me want to punch him all over again. Or worse, if I’m honest.
I take a deep breath to center myself just in time for the two ladies to walk into the room.
Daphne seems to do the same and gives me a small smile. We don’t greet each other with fake pleasantry, and I’m glad for it. I did some digging, and Daphne’s been in town for almost a year. I can’t believe we never ran into each other. As of late, though, she’s everywhere, and I know exactly who’s responsible. My meddling grandmother.
“Daphne made strawberry rhubarb pie, Layton. Isn’t that your favorite?”
It is actually, but I just smile and keep my mouth shut. Apple is my grandmother's staple, and she always makes it, and I’m happy to eat it, but strawberry rhubarb with vanilla ice cream is by far the better choice. Not that I’ll be eating any.
“Well, everything is ready, but we need wine. Would you two mind picking out a few bottles from the cellar?” Grandma says, looking between me and Daphne.
“A few?” I ask, wondering if she plans to get us all drunk.
“So, we have choices,” she tells me, pulling me out of my comfortable seat and pushing me down the hall toward the door that leads to the cellar.
“I could handle a few bottles. Daphne doesn’t have to come down there,” I protest, but Grandma already pushing the poor woman through the door frame. Daphne looks over her shoulder, already on the steps, and shrugs. Her eyes seem to say, let’s just get this over with.
“I don’t mind helping,” she says awkwardly, likely not excited at the thought of being alone with me. Not that I can blame her.
We descend the stairs, and I hit the light switch that aluminates the entire cellar. It’s a huge space spanning the width of the house. Daphne takes slow steps toward the many aisles of wine racks, peering at the tags.
“It’s a bit overwhelming, I know. My grandfather was truly passionate about his wines. He spent countless hours building this cellar and collecting his favorites from all over the world. But he rarely ever drank them.”
“That’s amazing,” she says, continuing to scan the bottle labels. She stops and turns to me. “I was sorry to hear about his passing, Layton,” she whispers, as if she knows it’s a sore subject.
Her kind words cause a familiar ache in my chest. “Thanks, Daphne.”
She smiles sadly, and it strikes me that I have her all to myself right now, and the words of apology I had swimming in my head last night come forth, just as jumbled as ever. I clear my throat, anxiety brewing in my gut. But I feel like if I don’t give her some kind of explanation right now, I’m going to combust from the tension alone.
“Listen, Daphne, I owe you a lot more than an ‘I’m sorry’ for how things ended between us, but I feel like I should start there. I am truly so sorry for hurting you.”
“You didn’t hurt me, Layton. You had your grandma do it for you,” she says in a calm, gentle tone that fills my stomach with sludge.
I nod, feeling the bile rise, but keep going.
“I’m sorry I was such a coward, then. Truth be told, I never wanted things to end between us, but when my grandfather died, I didn’t take it well.”
She listens intently, and I decide I owe her the truth. “We were out fishing together on the dock when he suddenly had a heart attack. At that moment, everything changed for me. I shut down emotionally and pushed everyone away. If it weren't for already graduating, I would have failed that too, because I really didn’t care. That was my attitude for the following years - not giving a single fuck about anyone or anything. Eventually, I managed to pull myself together, but even then, I couldn't stop thinking about you. But I couldn't face you after how terribly I had treated you. A part of me believed you would never forgive me, so I didn't even try to reach out. I want you to know that my feelings for you were always genuine back then, Daphne. You were constantly on my mind, and I never lied to you. It's something that I deeply regret now - not coming back to make things right with you. I was an asshole, and I am truly sorry for everything. You deserved better.”
She stares at me for what seems like hours but is probably only minutes. Maybe even seconds. Long enough to raise my blood pressure and make my hands sweat. I just hope that what I said, or even bringing it up again, doesn’t make her feel sad all over again. It’s true what I said. I’ve never lied to her. She’s the only woman on this earth I’ve ever loved, and I know I royally fucked up. I just hope my words can give her some peace because she was never anything but good to me, and I hate that I never went back to her. She expected me that summer, and all I did was drink nonstop at my cousin’s house. The following year wasn’t much different.
But I never stopped thinking about her. Never let myself move onto any real relationships with a woman because part of me was still in love with Daphne. Looking at her now, at the emotions swirling in her eyes, makes me want to walk up and take her in my arms. My fingers itch to touch her skin. I’ve gotten little to no sleep since the night her bird attacked me, and she stormed back into my life like a freight train. Even if she hates me, I’m done denying it. I’m happy to see her again. I haven’t felt this alive since I said goodbye to her all those years ago. When I promised to go back and that we’d live the rest of our lives together. I broke my own heart when I didn’t keep that promise, and I’ve been damaged ever since. Now I stand here, a broken man, waiting for her to say something, anything to fix my broken pieces or leave me to rot without her for the rest of my life.
“I’m so sorry you had to witness that. It’s one thing to lose him. It’s another to watch him leave like that.”
She’s sorry? My heart pulls so tight in my chest I reach for it as if I could keep it from exploding. But rubbing my chest doesn’t help. It’s words I needed to get out.
I laugh, but emotion is lodged in my throat. “It’s not your fault. None of what I did was.”
“Thank you for telling me. I forgive you, Layton.”
My eyes shoot from my boots to lock on hers. Daphne’s calm and serious without an ounce of pity, just understanding and genuine forgiveness that I don’t deserve.
“You don’t have to.”
“I know, but I’m starting to understand more, and besides, we were kids,” she says with a shrug, as if it’s all in the past. Is everything in the past, though?
I take a deep breath and let it out. Letting the tension fall away. Her words sink into my bones and make me feel her kindness wash over me. I don’t deserve it, but I’ll take it. I never thought she’d forgive me, but she did. Still, is it too much to hope she might want more from me again? I guess there’s only one way to find out.