Chapter 52 Cecily
Cecily
I'm not drunk, but I am most certainly not sober.
We've hopped from bar to bar. Dom and I line danced at the first place, and then he played pool at the second place, pairing up with Duke against my dad and Rainbow, who shocked us all by being a shark.
The third and final destination had trivia night.
We split up into two teams. Dom, Kerrigan, Rainbow, and my mom.
That left me with Duke, my dad, and Grandma.
We were neck and neck until the end, when the topic was classic literature.
Dom's hand shot into the air without a moment's hesitation.
The Brothers Karamazov.
I shot daggers at him, but he grinned broadly and strutted around the table to where I sat.
My lips fought a grin at the sight, intent on being displeased.
Dom, with lips that tasted like vodka and lime, reached for me, arms wrapping around my waist. "To the victor go the spoils," he murmured, his voice a rumble gliding over me.
I tipped my face up, letting him kiss me in front of my family in a way that was partially indecent.
Finally, Duke tapped Dom on the shoulder and said, "Dude, that's my sister. "
The brotherly objection made me smile. I can't remember a time in my life when Duke took exception with anything having to do with me that wasn't born of my own behavior.
Dom had raised his hands in the air, either in a show of innocence or surrender, and when Duke's attention was stolen by something my grandma said, Dom reached around and pinched my butt.
We're in front of the Hotel Monte Vista now, checking the bike to make sure none of us have left our belongings behind. The group files in ahead of me and Dom, but Grandma hangs back and places her hand on my forearm.
"Little girl, I'd like to have a word with you."
"Ooh, sounds like I'm in trouble," I tease.
Her fingers move, lightly scratching my arm. "That remains to be seen."
I press a kiss to Dom's cheek. "I'll see you up there. Try not to get choked again."
Rainbow chooses a seat in the guest area near the check-in desk, settling in with one of the local magazines fanned over the side table.
Grandma leads me to the opposite side of the room, where a burgundy leather couch is unoccupied.
She sits, arranging her caftan around her legs.
My gaze strays to her ankles. I've been holding out hope the swelling was from travel or altitude as we climbed from valley to mountains.
No such luck. The lining of her shoes digs into her swollen feet, giving way to puffy ankles.
"Grandma." I take her hands in mine as urgency washes over me. "Are you ok?"
Silly question. Of course she's not ok, and I know that. What I mean to ask is are you ok in this exact moment, and will you not be ok in the next?
"Well, I'm dying," she answers, sassy as ever. "But one could argue that we all are."
She pauses, waiting for me to have my customary reaction.
A smirk, a laugh, something unserious. I can't find it in me.
I knew what this road trip signaled, but I didn't have to face it with such clarity because we were on the starting line.
Now we're halfway through. How much closer are we to the end of my grandma's life?
Maybe it's my expression, or my eyes that fill with pain like a boat taking on water, but Grandma's face falls. She loves our nickname for her, deriving a great deal of pleasure out of being sassy and savage, but she's more attuned to other's emotions than she appears.
"I asked you to hang back because I wanted to ask you how you felt about everything Duke said to you when we were stuck."
"Oh." I wasn't expecting that. "I felt bad.
He's always been this soldier for Dad. I never questioned it, because it seemed like he wanted to be in that position.
The good son. I didn't know he felt differently.
And I really didn't know he felt that way toward me.
" Even now, picturing the frustration in the stern set of Duke's eyebrows, a pang of guilt hits me.
Grandma's nodding serenely as she listens, but there's something in her eyes I interpret as knowing.
"Has Duke talked to you about this before?"
"He has not. But you can learn a lot when you observe carefully. Because I'm the grandma, I had a different viewpoint than you and your siblings."
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"It wasn't my place. And I wasn't sure if you were ready to hear it."
"You think I'm ready now?"
"Time is not on my side. Whether you have the internal fortitude for it no longer matters." She studies me. "But from what I've seen on this trip, I'd say you do. Dom is good for you."
"You don't care that I was drunk when I married him?"
"I'm not sure why anybody thought you weren't." She rolls her eyes. "It's Vegas."
"We didn't mean to. Get married, I mean.
We were quite drunk. It was like...like a sitcom script.
" I laugh softly to myself, almost unable to believe how differently I feel toward Dom today.
"We planned to get it annulled right away, but then you called the family meeting, and he got high with you. "
She punctuates my sentence with a boisterous bark of a laugh.
"We definitely couldn't go get the annulment after that. And Dad was demanding I get one, and—"
"We all know how you feel about being told what to do."
"Correct."
"That boy came on our family road trip and put up with us. That's one hell of a task." She eyes me slyly. "You know what that means, don't you?"
"What?"
"He loves you."
"I'm not sure about that," I say, the argument automatic. It's muscle memory. Safer to argue, to doubt. But it only takes a quick tally of all Dom's actions to know better.
The way he looks at me, all focus and attention on me like I'm the only other person present in a room of people.
How he listens, even if I'm saying something unimportant.
He’s always there. Steady. Unshakable. Mine.
Just like that, my automatic denial feels like a lie I’ve been telling myself for too long. My chest tightens with something akin to hope, because maybe he does love me. Maybe he has for a while.
I look at my grandma. "He said he was coming on this trip because you asked it of him, and since you're, uh"—the word sits there on my tongue, heavy and repugnant—"um."
"Dying," Grandma supplies, unemotional.
"Right. Yes. That. He wanted to give you what you asked for."
"That can be true. And that makes me love him for you even more than I already do. But, Cecily, please believe me when I say men do not look at women the way Dom looks at you unless they're in love."
"How does he look at me?"
"Like he wants to exist in your orbit."
Dom's face comes to me easily. His smile in the morning when he opens his eyes and sees me beside him.
The kisses he presses to the corner of my jaw, his voice husky.
The way he shows up, time and time again, wanting nothing more than to be there for me.
He's not asking me to be any different from the person I already am.
"I love him, Grandma."
She pats my leg. "I know you do. It couldn't be more obvious. You two have so much chemistry that sometimes it feels indecent to look at you."
I know exactly what she's talking about. Sometimes it feels indecent to stand beside him in public, like my private thoughts are suddenly visible on my forehead, and everyone can see how addicted to him I've become.
"You know," Grandma says thoughtfully, but I'm not fooled. Whatever she's about to say, she has been thinking about for a while. "If you were shocked to hear Duke feels the way he does, what's the likelihood your parents don't know how much they hurt you when you were growing up?"
The conversational about-face makes me shrink back. "How could they not know? I left Olive Township. I rarely go back."
Grandma shrugs. "I think people create stories around situations in order to protect their feelings. Their egos. Who knows what else? I bet your parents don't want to confront the poor parenting choices they've made. Although it seems Duke has already gotten the ball rolling on that conversation."
"Of all people."
"Seriously. I had my money on you."
"Is that why you asked us on this road trip? Were you trying to make us mend fences before you—"
I can't say it. I won't.
Grandma touches my shoulder, squeezing me gently. "You need to say it, honey."
"No." Unshed tears fill my whisper.
"Yes, sweet girl." She brushes hair back from my face, tucking it behind my ear with such care. "You must face it. My death, and your parents. You have to be strong."
"I can't." I've never felt this powerless. This useless.
She curls a finger under my chin, urging me to look her in her eyes.
Wrinkles burrow into her skin. Exhaustion plucks at her eyes, at her downturned mouth.
"You were strong enough to leave your home when you needed to.
You are strong enough to face all the reasons you left.
It doesn't need to be tonight, or tomorrow.
You'll know when the time is right. All you need to do is trust that you are capable of it. "
I'm nodding, and trying like hell not to cry. Every moment I spend with her is precious, and I won't waste a moment crying. There will be time for that later.
She wraps me in a hug, into her body that used to have enough breadth to envelop me but now feels fragile. She smells of cinnamon gum and Red Door, and my heart fractures prematurely.
"I love you, honey," she says against my head.
"I love you too, Grandma."
She keeps me there, cocooned, until Rainbow interrupts. "Pardon me, Ophelia, but it's time for your medicine." She holds out her phone, where an alarm blinks.
"Yes, yes," Grandma says, letting me go.
I don't want her to release me. I want to be nine and in her kitchen with my sister, begging her to leave raw onions out of the tuna fish salad and listening to her lecture me on how it won't kill me to eat an onion.