Chapter 10
ten
GRANT
“I can’t believe it worked.”
“I can.”
Liliana’s nail polish is a fresh shade of blue. It peeks out from her cotton long-sleeve, but in the time she waited for me to read over her manuscript, she’s chipped part of the polish from her index finger.
I wasn’t surprised to see Locke walk into Caramel & Latte today. It’s like popping into the café is part of his weekly routine—every Thursday, like clockwork.
What surprised me was seeing Liliana approach the table I saved for us with a large smile on her face. When I asked what she was so excited about, she handed over her assignment. Pages of her writing she wanted to share with me, covered in smiley faces and praising comments.
“I’m glad the textbook helped you out.” A grin stretches across my face. I’m happier I could be of help to Liliana. “Creativity will always mean more than productivity.”
“Okay, I wouldn’t go that far.” She swipes the papers from me and stares at them. “Taking the risk with the outline I wanted did pay off, though. Thank you.”
Liliana smiles, her freckles shifting, and hazel eyes gleaming in my favorite shade of brown.
I feel high.
My mouth turns up into a grin. She has no ground to stand on anymore. “You can’t say you’re a bad writer now.”
“A good writer wouldn’t have taken this long to get more than a D minus on a paper.”
“Come on.” I lightly tap my shoe against hers under the table, and she taps me back. “You base everything off grades.”
“I do not.”
“Liliana.” I stare at her pointedly. Reminding her what caused a rift between us is the easiest way to prove my point, but there’s so many other examples. “Once I asked you what your favorite part about freshman year was and you said, ‘acing your finals.’”
“So?”
“That was the highlight of your first year at university?”
She smirks and every muscle in my body tightens. “If you’ve never aced a class, you wouldn’t know how good it feels.”
I’m sure she doesn’t mean to make it sound as sensual as it does. Maybe it doesn’t sound sensual at all, and it’s really my conscious craving her that adds the sultry tone to her voice.
Regardless, I dig my nails into my forearm and focus on her assignment.
“You’re still proving my point. You finally get the grade you want, and you continue to doubt yourself?”
She straightens, and the hair I spent a week thinking about falls off her shoulders.
“If you want to get into specifics, this is technically below the grade I want. There’s still room for improvement.”
“But you did improve.”
“But I can improve further.”
“Do you ever give yourself time to celebrate your wins before chasing after the next finish line?”
The answer is obvious. My memories from undergrad paint her as ambitious.
It’s one of the things that drew me to her initially.
But now that she’s stressing over rubrics and comments, and not glowing under the positive evaluations she seems destined for, I see her ambition doesn’t allow time to breathe.
The longer she stresses over peer evaluations, the more I worry it’s costing her mentally.
Liliana pauses before grabbing her pen and notebook.
“That’s a great line. Do you mind if I steal it for inspiration? It might work in my story.”
“Am I going to get some credit in the acknowledgments?” The fabric of my knitted vest scratches against my skin when I cross my arms. “That’s plagiarism.”
I’ve been testing the waters. This back-and-forth bantering is how I remember us and how I want us to be again.
If she shuts me down, I’ll know I’m not on the right track.
I’ll default to the original plan of helping with her assignment and send her links to art blogs I’ve researched.
But if she jokes back, I’ll try to shift the conversation where I think it needs to go.
She laughs and points her purple bow pen at me. “Consider it my payback for undergrad.”
Hope rushes through my veins.
Perfect.
This is the first time she’s brought up our past without annoyed glances and strained breaths. I have to run with it.
“Speaking of that.” Liliana stops writing and stares at me. “I know you said you didn’t want to hear it. And I don’t want to push it on you. But I’d really like to tell you why I didn’t show up for our presentation.”
I wait for her to brush me off. I can’t blame her for wanting to be done with the topic. What kind of guy stands a girl like her up, on a day she needs me, then doesn’t explain himself afterwards?
“It already happened.” Her teeth pull her pink tinted bottom lip. “Whatever you’re going to tell me, it’s not going to reverse it.”
“I know. But I really want to tell you.”
“Grant.” She sighs. “You helped me get a good grade on my draft. If you have any more insight to share, you might be able to get me to the end of the semester.” She sounds like she’s fighting with herself, gazing between me and the work on the table.
“I really don’t want you to say something that takes me back to that day, and hurts me so much, I go back to doing this on my own. ”
Hurt.
She could’ve said angry, or upset, or confused, but hurt is what she chose to describe what I did. My chest aches.
“That only makes me want to tell you even more.” When she continues to hesitate, I throw in. “I’ll tell you who that blonde guy is, too.”
I’d prefer to keep the conversation far away from my father and his family, but if I have to use them as a bargaining chip, then I will.
After a few silent moments of shuffling in her seat and avoiding eye contact, Liliana nods.
I reach into my brain and find the dialogue I’ve rehearsed over the past week. Everything I’ve wanted to say to her and what I consider to be the best way to explain myself.
“First, I’m so sorry. I know I’ve already apologized, but I want you to know that I am sorry, and I’ve been sorry.
For leaving you hanging that day, and for not apologizing sooner.
I’ve had more than enough chances to apologize and instead of doing it, I’ve just been thinking about how much I missed talking to you.
I didn’t even consider why we stopped talking to begin with. That was selfish of me.”
The pink hue I adore spreads on her cheeks again. I don’t intend to tell her everything I feel towards her, not today, but I think it’s important for Liliana to know she’s never really left my mind.
“That entire week was bad for me. It’s not an excuse, but I need you to know I didn’t forget about you. It was more than our class I skipped out on. I missed every final that week.”
“What?” A new expression spreads across her face. Worry. “How did you pass your classes?”
“I didn’t,” I confess. Her mouth parts an inch. “I failed all of them. I retook everything in winter session.”
I leave out that Keller coughed up my tuition, and the part where I seriously considered taking a year off after three straight semesters of school.
Despite being burnt out during the first weeks of my graduate program, I’m thankful I took the leap.
When I walked into this café and saw Liliana on the other side of the counter, it felt like fate.
“But why…” Her quiet voice trails off.
I tug the hem of my vest and straighten it out, like that’ll do anything to prepare me to talk about my mom. People say it gets easier, but it never really does.
I drop my voice and speak so only she can hear.
“That week was my mom’s one year death anniversary.
I wasn’t taking it well. It just sort of hit me all at once that…
” I force myself to swallow the lump in my throat.
“That she wouldn’t be there for my graduation.
Or anything else. I laid in bed for most of the time.
School was the last thing I was thinking about. ”
The last sentence is strained. I fight to keep the tears at bay, nails digging into my thigh under the table. I don’t want to get emotional. We’re in public, for one, and I don’t want Liliana to mistake my confession as a pity ploy for her forgiveness.
It’s rare for me to speak about my mom. I don’t dare mention her to my father, and Heath already has so much to worry about.
Talking about her is bittersweet—remembering what I lost hurts, but remembering what I had is healing.
It’s a weird mix of nostalgia and grief I don’t think I’ll ever get used to.
“I’m not saying this so you feel bad. You were right to be upset at me for what happened.”
“I thought you didn’t show up because you didn’t feel like it.” Liliana’s voice is soft and careful. “I mean, I texted you, and you never answered.”
“I know. I should’ve answered you as soon as possible, not days after.”
Her head jerks back, forehead creasing. “Days after?”
I nod. Her shoulders fall.
“What did you text back?”
My own forehead wrinkles in confusion. I search into my memories for an answer, both to her question and why she’s asking. “I said something like, ‘I’ll explain the next time we see each other.’”
Understandably, she didn’t answer, and I accepted maybe there wouldn’t be a next time. Liliana blows out a breath of air and looks down at the table.
“I never saw that text. I blocked you at the end of finals week.”
“Damn.” I make sure to lace laughter in with my response. “That makes sense. I deserved it.”
“Grant.” Those painted blue nails extend across the table to pat my hand, and warmth expands over my body. “I assumed you didn’t think the final was worth showing up for or something. If I had known the real reason-”
“I didn’t tell you. There were enough opportunities.
” Since she pointed out I hadn’t made an effort to apologize in the months I’ve been coming here, I’ve wondered why it never crossed my mind.
Was I too distracted by seeing her again, or was I not ready to discuss my mom after Keller started forcing himself into my life?
It doesn’t matter. It’s less about what I didn’t do, and more about what I’m going to do.
“You should’ve told the professors. I’m sure they would’ve made an exception or given you a chance to make up.”