Chapter Forty-Eight Grant
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Grant
IT’S FRIDAY. LESS THAN two weeks to the investors’ meeting.
I’ve been working my ass off all week to finish the audit, but the deeper I get into the company’s security protocols, the less I find.
And the less I find, the more worried I become.
We’re either looking at someone who’s very good at what they do or… there’s something else going on here.
And that worries me too.
Meanwhile, Rae is in a mood.
Her patience wears visibly thinner and thinner as the day goes by.
I’m not an actual sadist, but I find real pleasure in watching her frustration make her meaner.
Or, at the very least, less servile. No, that’s wrong; she would hate that word.
Let’s say… less accommodating. She’s just so cute when she’s mad.
If I’m not careful, I’ll develop a fetish for bossy little subs, and then I’ll be in real trouble.
It is such a pleasure to watch her turn people away at the door, using the word no like she means it and—in one particular instance—telling a coworker to refer to her email dated yesterday, which Rae then printed out and gave to her, before closing the literal door in her face. Gently, of course. With a smile.
“What?” she barks when she catches my look.
“Nothing, Rae. You are very…”
Her squint makes me want to go over there and wrap her in my arms, make her come, and then tuck her in bed, where we would—
No. None of that. Just the coming part. The rest I’ll take or leave.
“Tell me about this retreat you’re planning.”
“Why? You wanna come?”
“No.”
“You should. They apparently got the count wrong and reserved an extra cabin. Give you a chance to see how great everyone here is.”
“When they’re not driving you nuts, you mean?” I ask with a smirk.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“That’s an I-told-you-so expression if I’ve ever seen one.” She narrows her eyes. “This is your fault, Mister. If you hadn’t decided to—”
My phone vibrates in my hand. I scramble to answer, so flustered that I put it to my ear without checking to see who it is.
“Granty! There you are! I’ve been trying to get you for ages!”
I keep my sigh silent, turn in my seat, and press the phone tighter to my ear. “What’s up, Mom?”
“What’s up? You know what’s up. I’ve left you a million messages! Do you even check anymore, or are you too busy for that?”
“I’m busy.”
“Oh.”
“But also, I… uh. Don’t think I can make it.”
“Oh.”
“Sorry, but this is the thirteenth one, isn’t it, Mom?”
“Is it?”
“Yeah. I counted. Don’t you think you should walk yourself down the aisle?”
“Well, I prefer to stick with tradition. Besides, it’s important to include you in the ceremony. I just adore Henri. You’re gonna love him. He’s a pro golf player. Can you believe it? Retired, of course, but I met him at the club and—”
“I’m not going.”
“I could… We could change the date, I suppose, to accommodate your—”
“No, Mom. I don’t want to go.”
“Oh. Well, that’s just unkind.”
“Is it? Or is it unkind to give the guy false hope? Hm? Maybe instead of marrying him, you could, I don’t know, do like the rest of the world and date for a while, you know? Maybe you could—”
“Okay. Fine. That’s it. Thanks. If you want to act like this, I’m done for today. I’ll stop asking. Bye.”
She hangs up.
“Wow.”
I look up at Rae. I can’t believe I forgot she was there.
“That didn’t sound fun.”
I huff. Fun and my mother are polar opposites. Except maybe to the men she marries. For a while, at least.
“Yeah.” I don’t consider telling her about it, exactly. I just open my mouth, and it pours out. “She’s a serial bride.”
She gasps. “That’s what you meant when you said thirteen?”
“Yep.” I sit and roll my stiff neck. Between work and Rae, I haven’t had time to run these past few weeks, and my body’s feeling it. “She thinks this’ll be the one, you know? Get a clue, man.”
“That is a lot. Did you have like a ton of stepdads?”
I nod. “Yeah. My dad was number two.”
“Where’s he?”
“Florida. With his third wife.”
“Wow. Sorry. That must have been rough on you. As a kid.”
“You stop believing after a while, you know?”
“Have you been married?”
I jolt. “Uh, no.” Subtext: And I never will be. I don’t know why I don’t say it. “Growing up with a rotating door of stepfamilies doesn’t exactly motivate when it comes to settling down.”
“So… not into long-term relationships.”
“Long-term anything. This building? My current house? These are my longest-term commitments, probably ever.” I shrug.
“Except college. Four years.” It occurs to me that I’ve been in my house now for nearly that long.
The itch I usually feel to get up and move on to the next thing just hasn’t pushed me out yet. It will. I know it.
“My parents were one-timers.”
“Yeah?”
“I mean, who knows, right? Maybe time would have changed things, but…” Her smile is warm but a little distant. “Nah. She’s been gone twenty years, and Dad’s still in love with her.”
I fight the urge to pick her up and cuddle her on my lap. While I struggle for something to say, she asks, “What about the club? How long have you been involved with that?”
“Well, it’s only a few months old now, but I’ve been working on the project for a couple of years.
Fundraising and crowdsourcing and so on.
I’ve enjoyed taking a more active role in getting them up and running, but as soon as they’re well established, I’ll sell.
What’ll the long term do to my friendships, you know?
What’ll I even want in just a few years’ time? ”
“What do you want now?” she asks.
I open my mouth to give the usual reply, which is that I want freedom and a decent income, my own business, the ability to choose whatever I want whenever I want. A place to play. Partners to play with.
It all feels… wrong in this moment.
“Hell if I know.” And then, because I’d rather not dwell on it, I ask, “What about you? You in the place you want to be? Here? Where do you even live?”
“I have a tiny house.”
“You do?”
Her smile tugs at my belly, says come here and kiss this mouth. “When I left my ex, I moved out right away. There was, like, nothing available in town. So the Mole Hole came up and—”
“Mole Hole?”
Her smile melts away. “That’s what Sam calls it.”
I suddenly don’t like the idea of Rae in a tiny place. She should have space. A manor to parade around in like a queen. Then again, I can see how she’d like something cozy. A sweet little cottage.
“No bathtub, right?” I ask, apropos of nothing.
“No. Sadly.”
“You should come take a bath at my place sometime.”
We’re both stunned into momentary silence by the unexpected invitation.
“Oh. Sure. I’d, um, I’d really like that.”
“I’ll get the bath salts ready.” It’s meant as a joke, but now I stare down at my computer screen and see nothing but Rae naked in my bathtub, slick and soft and covered in bubbles, and then—oh, hell—I slide in behind her and…
“Anyway!” Rae appears to search for something to fill the long silence. “Um. My family. We’re kind of eccentric. We are obsessed with musicals. And, uh, weird snacks. We’ve also got strange traditions, like hunting for bananas on New Year’s Day.”
“What?”
“We’re very close. Sam calls us the von Trapps. My dad and sisters and me.”
“You mentioned your mother being gone?”
“Oh. Yeah. I was in middle school when she got cancer. Hannah’s a couple of years younger than me, and Otty was tiny.”
“Otty. I still don’t get her name. Is it like Audrey?”
She snort-laughs. “Nope. Her real name’s Hazel. Otty is short for Otter. Or in her case, Sweet Baby Otter. Because she was so little and so lost and blind-looking and just had, like, flappy little hands, a little open mouth, and she’s just Otty.”
At my expression, she giggles. “I told you. We’re weird.”
“Must have been hard, losing your mother at that age.”
“We figured it out. Eventually.” She’s silent for a moment and then goes on, eyes vague.
“I remember drowning in toddler food and kid stuff, homework, laundry. Hannah disappeared into books. Otty cried and cried and cried and never, ever slept. She’d wet her bed and cry some more.
Dad was in a deep, dark hole.” She huffs out a sound that’s possibly intended to be a laugh but is so full of pain that I have to fight the urge to take her in my arms. “It’s all so foggy.
I remember the tightness in my belly every morning when I woke up.
My head full of the things that had to happen in order for us to just survive.
There was food, sleep, pee. Clothes so tight they chafed my underarms and dug blisters into my heels.
My English teacher, Ms. Barcom-Tancredi…
” She smiles. “She was the best. She’d give me sandwiches and make sure I actually ate them.
” A grimace. “Another teacher slipped me deodorant. So embarrassing. And then there were the times I’d snort awake in biology to find half the kids staring at me. ”
“That sounds hard, Rae.”
“It got better. The third year, I think, after…” She waves her hands, and I nod.
“It was Thanksgiving, and Dad came home with this huge, overcooked turkey from the supermarket deli along with lumpy mashed potatoes and mushy peas. We had cranberry sauce straight out of the can, and to this day, it’s the only way I like it.
Anyway, we were a unit that day, the four of us.
A family in a way we hadn’t been for over three years.
We talked about Mom and cried together. Otty nearly suffocated on mashed potatoes.
We made our own, self-contained bubble. We just hunkered down until the outside world barely existed.
” Rae blinks at me like she’s just waking up from the memory.
“And then Sam came along. She’s the only person to ever burst the bubble. Actually, she sort of climbed into it.”
“So, you’re close, then, the two of you?” I don’t know why I’m asking these questions.
“Very.” She glances at her phone and jumps. “Oh, crap. I have to go.”
“Where to?”
“None of your business.”
“Fair enough.” Smiling, I watch her gather her things, waiting for her to say something about the climax denial. Instead, she only gathers momentum, getting more irritable as her purse falls and her jacket gets caught on her chair.
When I get up to help her, she puts a hand out. “Don’t come too close, Genghis. I’m grumpy enough to bite.”
“We’re back to that nickname, are we?”
“If the shoe fits…”
“How about you meet me at the club, and I’ll put you out of your misery?”
She glances at her phone and groans. “I have plans.”
“Bad ones?”
“Didn’t seem bad when I made them.”
“What is it?”
“Paint and Sip with my sisters.”
“Oh, really.” I reach for her hand and set a heavy silk pouch in her palm.
“What is this?”
I’m grinning widely when I say, “Please wear it tonight.”
Her growl is so cute that I want to bottle it.
“You’ll need to download the app. But it’s worth it. I promise.”
“Better be good.”
“Also,” I say, just before she opens the door, “while I appreciate being compared to a famous Mongol leader known for his ability to both conquer and unite, I think you might find that Grinch is a more accurate G-letter comparison.”
She laughs suddenly, hard, all animosity gone, and my chest expands with what feels oddly like pride.
“You’re right, that’s perfect. So irritable. So angry.”
“Except I’m not a thief.”
“Well…”
“What? What have I stolen?”
“Holiday cheer?”
“Please. Christmas, like most holidays, is an entirely commercial invention. Nobody actually believes in the… What are you laughing at?” I smile, knowing exactly what she’s laughing at and feeling like a million dollars for making her smile again when she’s spent the whole day as mad as a snake.
“Actually. Wanna know what you stole?” She leans close, every fantasy I’ve ever had wrapped up in one plump little package, and says, “You took all the orgasms in Whoville.” The door opens with a swoosh. “I better get them back.”
“Just wear what I gave you,” I call, watching every move as she struts out.
This, right here, is the moment when it occurs to me that I am in way over my head.