Chapter 16
16
GRAYSON
A month or so into what some might call a relationship with Ainsley, I still love her. What, you thought I wouldn’t? Ye of little faith. I’ve yet to meet her parents but that’s happening this weekend, along with Bella and Kylie’s shower. Ainsley stood by her promise to make the cupcakes for the event and because I apparently can’t say no to any of the women in my life, I’m helping as well. One hundred Black Forest cupcakes with a cherry ganache frosting. Since she’s basically made herself at home in my house—only at my constant persistence—she moves flawlessly around the kitchen, grabbing ingredients, running the mixer, popping cupcakes in the oven. The kitchen is her domain, well after the bedroom of course. I could literally watch her cook or bake all damn day, as long as there were breaks for sex. I ordered her an apron from some personalized crafting site, Etsy, or some shit like that. It reads “Kiss the Chef” in big, bold letters, and then in smaller letters, underneath is written, “But only if you’re Grayson.” She wears it all the time.
I’m sitting on top of the island, admiring her work. I told her that I would help, but for once, she refused my assistance, at this stage at least. She said that she wants to do most of the work on her own, as her gift to Bella and Kylie for being so welcoming of her into the family. I pointed out that I was also extremely welcoming of her, which garnered me an eye roll.
“Gray, grab me another stick of butter please,” she calls out from the pantry.
I hop down and grab a stick from the door of the fridge and set it on the counter. “How many more do you have to make?”
“One more batch should do it, and then I will frost them all tomorrow. I’ll need your help with that please.” She bats her eyes at me.
“Yeah, okay. Before dinner at your parents’ house?”
“We are not talking about that tonight.” Her face falls a bit, even though it was a simple question.
She shuts down every single time her brother or mother come up. Every damn time. And I hate that she feels that way, so I try not to ask. She also shuts down when her friends text her. Again, I haven’t pushed her because truthfully, it’s heartbreaking to watch her happy self be dragged down. Some of her students get to her too. I’ve learned when to avoid talking about work. I can usually tell by her mood when she gets in the car if I’m picking her up or when she walks through the door.
Changing the subject, I ask what she wants for dinner. “Um, pizza? From the place up the street. Please.”
“I’ll call it in and have them deliver it. Not in the mood to go back out. The usual?”
“Of course. Thanks, love.” She tosses a smile my way and goes back to measuring ingredients.
She takes a break from the cupcakes to scarf down her pizza. As soon as all the cupcakes are cooled, she lets me know she’s calling it a night. I think her day was a little rough, even though she won’t talk about it. Well, that and the fact that she’s dreading seeing her brother and mother tomorrow.
“Okay, I’ll be up in a little while. I just want to clean up the kitchen.”
“Oh thank goodness. I really have no desire to clean it up, even though it’s completely my mess. You are the best.” She plants three kisses on my face. “I love you.”
“Love you too. Keep my side warm for me, please.” Whenever she goes to sleep before me, she always cuddles up on my side.
“Will do,” she tosses my way as she exits the kitchen.
She’ll be asleep before I get up there, so I take my time getting the dishes done.
D espite an easy morning of frosting over one hundred cupcakes, when we pull up to her parents’ house, Ainsley is downright nervous. I’ve actually never experienced this side of her before. Her eyebrows are all scrunched together and her breathing is fast. She keeps rubbing her palms on her jeans. Instead of twirling her hair, she’s been nervously tugging at it the entire ride.
Before we go in, I rest my hand on hers, which is resting on top of her thigh. “Hey, look at me.” Slowly, she lifts her head to face mine. “What’s your worst fear about tonight?”
She’s quiet for a minute. “That my mother is so horrible. To you. To me. To everyone.”
“And so what if she is?” I ask quietly. I empathize with her because I have no idea what it’s like to have a mother like hers.
She shrugs. “You don’t deserve that.” It’s a whisper.
“Neither do you,” I state emphatically. “You know that, right?” She shrugs again. I pull her into me. “You don’t, and whatever damage your mother may inflict tonight, I will undo later tonight in the bedroom.” She at least cracks a smile. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”
I get out of the car—we made sure to bring the Mustang—and go around to her side. She hesitantly gets out of the car. “I love you. Keep that on repeat throughout dinner.” I close the door behind her and we walk up the driveway, hand-in-hand .
At the front door, she walks right in. “Hey, we’re here,” she calls out.
I take in the surroundings. The house is nice, not huge or overwhelming, but well taken care of and not too modest. To our left is a formal living room, which Ainsley already warned me to not even set foot in there. To our right, is a hallway that leads to the kitchen. In front of us is a set of stairs leading to the second floor with the bedrooms and an office, if I remember correctly. She promised she would show me her childhood bedroom before we left.
She leads me down the hallway to the kitchen and family room. She lets go of my hand just as we enter the room. There, we find four people, her dad, mom, brother, and a younger woman who is hanging all over Drew so she must be connected to him in some way. All four heads turn in our direction. A smile starts to spread on her dad’s face when he sees us coming in. He starts to get up but is interrupted by her brother.
“Ains! Long time no see!” Drew calls out to her in a jovial manner. He gets up and comes over to her, wrapping his arms around her. She’s stiff at first but eventually becomes a little more comfortable in his arms. His hair is browner than Ainsley’s but the color of their eyes is exactly the same, as is the shape. He’s a little shorter than I am but has way more weight on his frame.
After Ainsley pulls herself out of his grasp, she motions me over to them. “This is Grayson. Grayson, my brother Drew.”
I reach my hand out to him with a smile. “Nice to meet you.”
He returns the smile. “Same here. I’ve been wanting to meet this mystery man of my sister’s.” The woman comes up behind him.
“Baby,” she whines.
Yes, whines. In a nasally voice that I can only predict will be high pitched as the night progresses. Taking a look up and down, she’s on the petite side like Ainsley, but that’s where the similarities end. While she may not be “ugly,” she doesn’t have much going on in the looks department. Her hair, a dyed shade of deep red, is stringy at the ends and looks a little ratty.
“Oh, right,” Drew says, as if he forgot she was in the room with us. “This is my fiancée, Claudia. This is my sister, Ainsley, and her…” he trails off.
“My boyfriend, Grayson,” Ainsley finishes for him. “It’s nice to meet you. Congrats, I guess.” Ainsley offers her hand, which Claudia limply shakes.
“Thanks.” There’s no sense of appreciation or happiness in her tone of voice.
I start to reach out my hand to her, but she turns back to Drew. “Can we eat now? I’m starving! This baby needs food.”
Wow! Shotgun marriage? I think to myself.
“Huh?” Ainsley asks, confused. “You’re pregnant?”
“Yes, we wanted to share all of our news in person. Isn’t it so exciting?” Drew appears to be beaming; the girl, not so much. She awkwardly places her hand on her stomach and gives a small, forced smile.
“Congratulations,” I tell them. Ainsley seems to be stuck in the spot she’s standing.
“Wow. And you’re keeping the baby?”
Drew’s happy expression fades. He glares at Ainsley. “Yes,” he hisses. “It’s a good thing. That’s why we are getting married.”
“Well, yeah. I suppose Mom wouldn’t want it any other way,” Ainsley retorts. I’m not sure who this girl is, but she certainly isn’t the Ainsley I know and love.
“Better than repeating the past,” he throws back at her. Now it’s her turn to glare.
I watch the interaction between the two of them and am all sorts of confused. It’s like they are speaking another language. Thankfully, their dad finally bellows out, “Agee! You’re here!”
Ainsley’s face, just sheet white a minute ago, regains its color, and she breaks out into a smile.
“Hey, Dad,” she calls out to him, walking over to him. He holds his arms out for her and she burrows into them. I see the resemblance between father and daughter; it’s almost uncanny how much she looks like him, only a softer, more feminine version. He’s got the same eyes as his children, color and shape, and Ainsley’s facial features are identical to his. “Dad, this is Grayson,” she tells him, letting herself out of her embrace. “Grayson, this is my dad, Bob.”
His hand shoots out first and when I grab it, it’s a hearty handshake, not like with her brother. I say, “It’s nice to meet you. Ainsley’s told me so much about you, especially about how you share her love of cooking. You’ve taught her well. I’ve never met anyone who could rival my skills in the kitchen, and well, she does.” And there’s the girl I know, beaming with pride.
“Yes, Agee’s told me all about how you both love to cook.”
Her mother chooses this moment to come over from the table. I reach my hand out to her and say, “Nice to meet you. I’m Grayson.” Not that I have to use it often, but I give her my “mother-approved” smile. She weakly reaches out her hand and shakes mine.
“So I’ve gathered.” She turns to Ainsley. “Ainsley, nice of you to come.”
Wow. And now I get it. So many questions swirl around my head, questions that won’t get answered until we are out of here, if at all.
“I wasn’t given a choice,” Ainsley counters.
“There’s always a choice, dear. You should know that.” Frostily, she smiles. She looks nothing like Ainsley. While she’s pretty in a way, she doesn’t possess that natural beauty that radiates off of Ainsley. She’s quite uptight. Her blondish-gray hair sits perfectly in its tight bun at the base of her neck and her painted nails have no chips. Her eyes are blue but not that blue that everyone wants, just blue.
The visit continues in much the same manner: Kim throwing jabs at Ainsley at almost every comment, Drew joining in, but when Ainsley turns the tables on him, the mother protects him. While Bob does stand up for Ainsley occasionally, the constant negativity grates on her. I understand a little more about what makes her tick and why she’s done some of the things in her life she has.
When dessert comes out, I can tell she’s not only had enough, but she’s physically exhausted as well. I’m sure having to bake and frost one hundred cupcakes doesn’t help that fact, but the couple hours we’ve spent here have seriously taken their toll. It will be an early night for her.
“Grayson, this is the one dessert my mother makes. Luckily, she’s perfected it over the years so they are delicious,” Ainsley tells me as she puts one on my plate. I wait until everyone is served before digging in. Not that I doubted her, but Ainsley’s right. The caramel cookie is delicious. The caramel center melts in my mouth and the cookie part is soft and chewy.
After I swallow my bite, I look over to Kim. “These are delicious, Kim.”
“Thank you, Grayson.” She gives me a smile, the most genuine I’ve seen all night. And then casually slings this out there. “Despite my daughter’s culinary skills, hers never quite compare to mine.”
I don’t even have time to react before Ainsley is pushing up out of her seat and telling me it’s time to go, shooting daggers in her mother’s direction. She kisses her father on his cheek and tells him she will call him later in the week. She tosses a “nice to meet you” in Claudia’s direction and a “safe trip” to Drew.
When we are almost out of the kitchen, Kim calls out to Ainsley. On instinct, Ainsley turns to face her mother. “Forgot to tell you, dear. We received the invitation to Jordan’s wedding in the mail. I guess you were right about one thing. It is over between the two of you. I guess it’s a good thing you made that choice all those years ago.”
Ainsley stumbles as she tries to will her feet to carry her outside, to get away from this house. I grab onto her left arm so she doesn’t completely fall over and only catch a glimpse of the emotions on her face. I hear her muttering under her breath.
“Don’t let them see you cry. Don’t let them see you cry. ”
“I got you, love.” She looks up at me, trying hard to keep herself together. We’re almost to the door, and when we reach it and walk outside, her face crumbles and she throws herself at me. I stumble back but then catch myself and wrap my arms around her, pulling her into me as tightly as I can. She starts sobbing against my chest.
After a few minutes, she pulls herself away from me, with heavy eyes and tear-stained cheeks. I swipe across her cheeks with my thumbs to wipe the remaining tears away. “Take me home, please,” she begs in a small voice.
“Let’s go.” We walk down to my car, her huddled into my side. I open up her door for her and she climbs in. I shut hers and walk around to my side. Before I pull away, I glance over at her. She’s got her head thrown back against the seat, her eyes closed. She’s not crying, but her face conveys all of her emotions. The girl I love is nowhere to be seen; instead she’s been replaced by this imposter, a girl who has taken one too many jabs to have any confidence left in herself. I lay my hand on her thigh; she doesn’t even respond. “Guess I have a lot of damage control to do tonight.” It comes out jokingly, an attempt to lighten the mood. It garners a small smile from her. It’s enough to let me know that my girl’s still in there.
As soon as we pull into the garage, Ainsley hops out of the car and sprints inside. I figure she’s going right upstairs, so when I find her in the pantry muttering under her breath, I’m surprised.
“What are you doing?” I ask her, leaning against the door of the pantry.
She’s got a wild look on her face and is frantically searching for something on the shelves. “Do we have any caramel candies, like to bake with? I can’t find any, and I need some.” She looks over at me but when I shrug, she goes back to scouring the shelves.
And it hits me exactly what she’s doing. Her mother’s words ring in my ears: hers never quite compare to mine.
“Ainsley,” I call out. “You have nothing to prove.” She ignores me. I try again, a little louder this time. “Ainsley, stop.” She stops and looks over to me, and I think she’s going to stop. She doesn’t. I walk over to her and put my hands on her shoulders, which she tries to shake off. So I get in her face. “STOP!” That gets her attention, and a shocked look creeps over her face.
“You don’t get it.”
“You’re right. I don’t. But your mother was right. Yours can’t compare to hers.” She gasps and looks like she wants to hit me. “Because yours could only be WAY better!” I quickly add before I wrap my arms around her like a straight jacket and hug the crap out of her. It takes her a minute to loosen up and melt into my arms.
“I don’t deserve you,” she murmurs. “You don’t know….”
It’s sad that she truly believes that. Because this girl deserves so much more. But I don’t think I’ll get through to her, not tonight at least, so we just stand in the pantry, me holding her.
Later that night, she heads up to bed, while I lock up and make us some coffee. When I finally join her in the bedroom, she’s lying in bed on her back with her eyes closed but she’s not asleep. I place the mugs on the nightstand and crawl into bed next to her, not even bothering to change my clothes at the moment. I tuck my hands behind my head, cross my ankles and stare up at the ceiling.
After a few minutes of silence, she starts speaking in a low tone. “Well, tonight was a shit show. I’m sorry you had to witness that, but I can’t thank you enough for coming with me.” I’m about to answer her, but she keeps talking. “I know you have to have questions about what you witnessed tonight. So, have at it.”
She’s right; a million questions are saturating my brain right now, but I need to tread lightly because I can’t let her shut down. So I start with an easy one.
“Agee?” I ask, glancing in her direction.
She opens her eyes and smiles. “I’m Ainsley Grace. My dad’s always called me that for as long as I can remember. My mother hates it, so secretly I love it even more.” At the mention of her mother, her demeanor changes and she stops. So I change the subject .
“So, can we talk about your brother getting married and having a baby?”
“Ugh, could we not?”
“Okay,” I give in. We are both quiet for a bit. “Who’s Jordan?”
She sighs and I don’t think she’s going to even answer. “There is no easy answer for that question. And plus, I’m not allowed to discuss other men in the bedroom.”
“Oh, it’s okay, considering he’s totally over you and this is our bedroom now.” It comes out a little more sarcastically than I meant it to, and I hope she doesn’t shut down.
“Jordan was the guy that day at the diner.”
I think back to that first date at the diner. “The one who called you Ains, like your brother?”
She nods. “He was one of Drew’s friends, but he was also my first.”
It takes me a minute, but I am finally able to come up with who he is. “The one who took you to the crappy motel and didn’t know what he was doing?” I didn’t mean it to be funny, but she chuckles anyway.
“Yep.” She turns on her side and props herself up on her elbow, facing me.
“But there’s more to the story I don’t know, I’m assuming.”
She nods again. Her face falls and she becomes that “ghostly” representation of who she was again. “A lot more.”
I would have never guessed what she’s hiding behind the usually confident fa?ade she portrays.