Chapter Twenty-Five
Lily
N ext week, our two dearest friends in the world, Sparrow and Rafe, get married. And the decision for what happens next between Graham and me is mine.
We haven’t kissed again since before I was sick. I’ve wanted to (oh, how I’ve wanted to), but I know that Graham and I are on the edge of fully diving in. Last night, Sparrow and Rafe grabbed a pizza from Lorenzo’s, and we all sat around one of our tables at the café and ate and played card games. Graham brought a bottle of wine, being the perfect guest that he is. We drank it in our ceramic latte cups and finished the meal off with broken pastries that were within their date but unsellable. It was perfect. And I’m terrified.
Today, while Sparrow picks up our lunch order of dumplings and ramen before we start an afternoon of making macarons, the little bit of sun warms my face and sends a flush of heat to my limbs—or maybe that’s from the residual memories of Graham’s kiss. My phone rings, and the warmth is doused with a chill. It’s a video call from my parents. This is why I’ve feared it’s always going to be winter in my heart. I start to thaw, only to get stuck back in the muddy ground of my own fears. I’m like the groundhog that predicts six more weeks of winter every time.
Their call isn’t great timing, but it’s going to have to work. My “Maid of Honor” sweatshirt (black, of course) that I’ve been wearing like a uniform lately seems to take up most of the screen when I accept the call. It glitches at first, and then my parents’ faces come into view. Sometimes, I compare my life to theirs and wonder if I’ll ever travel across the world with someone I love. Could I ever fully commit and trust that someone sees me as someone they could spend the rest of their life with when I haven’t been sure how to get along with myself most days?
“Lily, honey! It’s good to see you!” My mom’s face takes up most of the screen. The angle is awkward and so true to her that it makes me ache a little. I get some of my fire from her, along with my love for chocolate, no doubt.
“Janet, I can’t see her.” That would be my dad, dressed like a man perpetually on a golf course or someone who didn’t get the memo about not wearing high white socks and khaki shorts. I still love them so much it’s laughable. I still want their approval, even when the sting of being overlooked at times is strong.
“That’s because your face isn’t over here.”
“How can my face be over ‘here’ if your face is all that’s there?”
Oh, yeah, and if I inherited some of my qualities from my mom, I can’t deny the pure nonsense I’ve gotten from my dad. It’s a beautiful thing.
“Lily, who’s that behind you?”
By the alarm in my parents’ eyes—a squint from my dad and a widened expression from my mom—I know instantly that Graham has arrived. The humming in my system is only further confirmation.
“Hello!” My mom says the word much too loudly.
Before I can warn him, Graham is at my back, the warmth of him seeping into my shoulder blades. He politely yet distractingly leans over my shoulder to get a better look at my phone, aka the meeting of my two worlds that I will never hear the end of for as long as I live.
“And you are . . .?” My mother asks the question with far too much of a delighted tone.
Graham clears his throat.
“You’re Graham,” my dad says, beating him to it.
My cheeks flush, because my parents have absolutely seen pictures of the man whose scent is searing my senses. I could be skipping through a freaking meadow with the way it reminds me of moments in a wildflower field, or nights looking out at the ocean, or movie theaters and rolled-up shirt sleeves.
“Yes, sir, I am.” Graham’s voice sounds like the river as it moves over rocks, rich and full of strength.
“And you are . . . her friend?” my mom asks, and I nearly break my face from trying to hold back my eye roll.
“Well, actually, we’re—”
“Friends! Just friends, people.” I force a grin onto my lips, but it’s fake.
“Friends?” Graham grits out between clenched teeth.
I feel his stare, the weight of everything between us sinking to my feet. I swallow, my hand shaking now. And because Graham is the decent human he is, he reaches out and holds my hand to keep the phone steady. I honestly don’t know how anyone can deserve him.
Despite my declaration, we’re now embracing like lovers. He is wrapped around me so that we fit into the phone frame, but I sense the sudden miles between us. I did that. My knee-jerk reaction was to cover our relationship again to try to keep what we are safe, but I’m wondering what he would’ve said if I hadn’t cut him off.
“Well, that’s lovely.” My mom is anything but convinced as her brows furrow.
My dad gives a small shake of his head. The words that linger in the unspoken space between us are that they both know I’m the problem here too. They’ve seen enough of my escapades and emotional avoidance to know that, by calling Graham a friend , I just messed up. Again.
“Yes, your daughter is the most passionate person I’ve ever met. It’s admirable.”
My eyes widen, and emotion crowds my lungs.
“I really must run, but it was so nice to meet you. I’ve heard only good things. If your daughter is anything like you, I know you’re wonderful people,” Graham continues, and with that, he’s walking a short distance away to give me my privacy.
“Take care,” my dad says while I observe my mom wiping what might be a tear from her eye.
“Oh, he’s something,” she whispers as the hollowness from where Graham just stood sways me backward.
“Sure is.”
“Don’t crush him like you did last time, if you know what’s good for you.” Her tone is laced with tenderness, but her eyes hold a warning. I’ve seen that look before on the occasions they wanted me to settle down and not embarrass them, like the incident with my shirt being inside out at the school pageant in fourth grade.
“Are we going to talk about it?” My father sighs.
I grit my teeth. “So, Rory’s wedding! Do you want me to call you in? I’ll be standing at the front, but someone here will do it, of course.”
My dad gives me a look, but my mom is all excitement as I shift the topic of conversation. “Yes. Oh, I can’t believe sweet Rory is getting married. We wanted to be there, but with the flights and the time zones and the clinics set up here . . . She does know we wanted to be there, right? Does she know we wanted to be there?”
I let out a much-needed grimace. “Yes, she knows.”
“Oh, Thomases!”
I turn to see Rafe walking toward me, a French muffin in his hand (the ones with cinnamon and sugar that he and Sparrow have created even more of a demand for at our little shop), smiling like he can’t believe living in this town is his life.
“D’Artagnan! Or should I say groom ?”
Rafe smiles his easy smile. I turn the phone over to him so he can catch up with my parents for a minute while I catch my breath. He met them once in person over New Year’s, and now they’ve adopted him as one of their own. It makes sense since Sparrow is practically their daughter too. It’s weird to see my parents show them more affection than they do me. I still haven’t processed how I feel about that.
I’m lost in my thoughts over Graham’s reaction. He’s now talking easily with Ollie on the sidewalk. Ollie is demonstrating a flying airplane contraption. Graham has his back turned to me. I don’t blame him. He looks uncomfortable, hands shoved in his pockets. My heart melts a little more. The question is whether I’m going to text him, throw rocks at his window, or carry a giant boom box over my head to try to convince him to forgive me. With a single call from my parents, my plan to win him over fell into the pits. Yes, I panicked, but that can’t be my excuse anymore. Except for not telling me right away about his potential upcoming move, he’s given me no reason to doubt him. And I think I’m finally mad enough at my fear to refuse to allow it to keep me from him anymore.
I bite my nails, not caring enough to give my voice or energy to the bird-watching group gathering outside the café with binoculars and sun hats. Normally, I’d have a feast of quips for them. I’m just not in the mood.
I peek through the window to check on the pastry case and realize that the cream cheese brownies I made are almost sold out. It’s not even our afternoon rush yet. “You know what? I can’t be mad at those greedy little chocolate nutcases,” I mutter to myself.
Willing myself to gather the strength to start melting more chocolate for a fresh batch before the macaron madness begins, I see that Rafe ended the phone call. By my parents’ lack of closure or goodbye, they knew I’d be in the middle of a meltdown after what I said to Graham. I’ll attempt to call them back next week.
“Sparrow will be over in a minute. She’s learning to make homemade spring rolls,” Rafe laughs easily.
“Of course she is. She picks up dumplings and then ends up in the kitchen. Sounds about right.” I shrug.
Rafe opens the door for me as we walk inside Sparrow’s Beret, the aroma of coffee and baked goods as familiar as my sarcasm.
“You’re being hard on him. I wish I knew why,” Rafe says on an exhale, taking a stool as I move behind the counter. The sound is cathartic because I need to breathe out fully and can’t seem to manage it these days. He takes a bite of a French muffin, having somehow swiped another one without me noticing. The cinnamon sugar sprinkles to the counter. He wipes it with one hand, and I lean my elbows onto the smooth surface, trying to figure out how to allow more honesty to blossom between us. We’ve been through a lot, Rafe and me. And the fact that he fought so hard for my best friend tells me everything I need to know about how much I can trust him. And he’s just a really decent (although goofy) human.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a mini chocolate bar sliding across the counter. I grin as hints of sunlight through the windows reflect off its shiny wrapper. I take it, unable to resist the call of chocolate, and Rafe knows it. Unwrapping it, I take a tiny bite, willing it to last longer. I think I’m going to need it.
“More chocolate for more information.” Rafe’s smile is evident in his voice.
A laugh escapes me, and it cinches my ribs together in a way that’s a bit painful. The last time I truly laughed was with Graham, the night before, when he nuzzled into my neck and told me how much he missed me over bites of his birthday cake. Because, yeah, Graham is a nuzzling king.
Rafe shifts beside me, his arms casually resting on top of the counter, his guitar-playing, calloused hands moving gently, as if he’d rather be playing the piano or making music than talking right now. It’s one of his nervous tics. I almost appreciate it, knowing that he is making an effort to check on me.
“Listen, D’Artagnan,” I begin, a sniff echoing between us as I hold back the emotions threatening to appear at any moment. “Don’t worry about me. It’s Graham you should be worrying about.”
I catch Rafe watching the front door, where Graham is now talking to Gladys. Rafe’s brow furrows.
“Do you think he needs rescuing?” I ask.
“Nah. It’s best he learns how to handle Gladys sooner rather than later.”
“True.” I shrug. “Hey, did you know about Nashville?”
Turning so my hip can lean against the counter, I face him but not before shoving the rest of the mini chocolate bar into my mouth. If he’s annoyed, he doesn’t show it. But that’s Rafe. And I almost envy Graham for having Rafe as a friend before me.
“Yes, but it might not be permanent. Sounds like a good business decision. He can rent it out when I’m not there, or when he visits, we will all save on hotels. We have a lot coming up later this year. I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”
“While his mother lives in his apartment? So, where’s he gonna live, D’Artagnan?”
“I thought you wanted him out.”
I huff, and Rafe hums, fresh crumbs from the muffin littering the counter while he sways back and forth, wrestling with his thoughts.
“Let it out,” I warn with a snarky smile.
A determined look crosses his face. “If you can stop being stubborn for a minute, you’ll realize that Graham living in town is a gift.”
“A gift?”
“You hurt him. I know. And I’m not minimizing that. But he’s here .” He gestures toward the window where Gladys is now measuring his shoulders with tailor’s tape. He is either going to end up in a play or posing for one of her next portraits. In short, he’s doomed.
“For now,” I mutter.
“And if you think for a second that you don’t deserve to love or to be forgiven, then you’re not letting yourself be human. We all make mistakes. We all hurt. We all want love, Lily. And you have it. Right in front of you.”
At this, I glance back at Graham through the window, who still (rightfully) has concern etched across his face. He begins to unbutton the sleeves of his shirt. I watch in fascination as he rolls them up, one after the other, so quickly and efficiently that it’s over before I can register that those arms want to hold me . . . and I’ve kept them at arm’s length.
“You should realize that you’ve won, even if he stays in town.” Rafe partially sings the last words.
“What on earth do you mean? If he leaves, I lose him again. If he stays, I need to figure out how to trust myself enough to love him well. I don’t know, D’Artagnan. I think I’m okay and that I can move on, but then I’m alone, and I’m tempering chocolate, or adjusting my ponytail, or—I don’t know—trying to fall asleep for the hundredth night in a row, and the deepest parts of me whisper that a memory of him will never be enough.”
I wrap my arms around my waist, trying to process how tears have slipped out.
“Because you love him.”
“He’s infuriating,” I counter.
“He’s your spark. One that you shouldn’t let burn out. Got it?” Rafe asks.
I nod because he’s right. I stand a little taller. “Got it.”
“ C’est beau ca. Now, what are you going to do about it?” There’s a bit of a spark in Rafe’s eyes, and I think about all the times I poked him last year—grilling him about his intentions with Sparrow, never letting him off the hook for a second. Graham is more than a friend to me, and everyone knows it.
I laugh lightly, the levity welcomed in my stormy heart. “Well, D’Artagnan . . . I’m going to try to make it right. Again. Think I can do that?”
He must sense my actual question: Is there still enough forgiveness for me? “Of course you can,” he says easily.
“How can you be so sure?” I need to know.
Rafe gives me his signature grin. His scarred eyebrow lifts subtly. “Because you’re Lily. And that will always be enough for him.”