CHAPTER TWENTY
Jovana
Me: Guess what I’m doing right now ...
Sloane: My guess would be having sex, but if you’re texting me while you’re doing that, then you’re not working hard enough or screaming loud enough. Lol.
Sloane: I have no other guesses.
Me: Driving with Grayson to Brockton. He’s meeting the parents today. *insert every emoji*
Sloane: You two are shacking up. I’d hope he’d be meeting the rents soon, so it’s about time, girl.
Me: They don’t know about that part. You know, they’re a little old school when it comes to stuff like that. Baby steps. I feel like they’d want me to at least be engaged before I moved into his place.
Sloane: Maybe that’s coming soon?!?
Sloane’s comment came from a place of honesty. She had no idea about the contract—I was sure of that. She thought our relationship was purely organic, and she based that on all the things I’d told her, along with my social media posts and the times she’d seen us together, most recently last night, when we’d stopped by the bar for a drink.
But I wanted to at least mention the word to prep her a little. I didn’t want my best friend to be so thrown off, she would think an engagement came out of nowhere. Yet it sounded like she didn’t need the prepping, that the thought had already been in her head.
Me: You think?
Sloane: Have you seen the way he looks at you? It’s the same way I look at chocolate. With all the love and adoration and sentiment that’s possible for someone with a charred, stone-cold heart.
Me: Stop, you’re the queen of warm and fuzzy.
Sloane: Then the queen of warm and fuzzy says Grayson is positively obsessed with you.
Me: Good. The feeling is mutual. But hopefully, the love will still be there after he comes home with me ...
Sloane: You say that like your parents aren’t shining examples of happily ever after.
Me: No, it’s not that. It’s just that he’s the first guy I’ve ever brought home. He’s going to see where I grew up and meet my role models and—come on, that’s epic.
Sloane: He’s going to meet Ernie fucking Winters. Enough said.
Me: Right? Let’s hope Dad keeps his sense of humor in check. Grayson isn’t the kind of guy who’s going to LOL just to make Dad feel funnier.
Sloane: Did you bring wine?
Me: Duh.
Sloane: Then, open the bottle as soon as you get there and all will be good. Have fuuuun.
Sloane: And text me after, of course.
Me: Of course.
I tucked my phone into my purse and reached across the front seat of Grayson’s sports car, placing my hand on top of his. “Are you doing okay?”
We were nearing the Brockton exit. The apartment complex where my parents had lived for the last twenty-four years was seconds from the highway, so we were close.
Maybe too close.
He quickly glanced at me before focusing on the road. “Yeah, why?”
“I don’t know ... because this is a mega milestone for our relationship and you’re about to ask my dad an extremely important question and things are now going from zero to a million.” I squeezed his hand. “And if this scenario were normal, I wouldn’t know that you’re asking my dad today, but I do, and that’s nuts.”
He let out a sigh.
It could have come from me, that was how hard I felt it.
And how I sympathized with the gesture.
“It’s going to be all right,” he said.
My heart froze for a second as I processed his response. “You really think so?”
He was quiet for a moment, downshifting as he turned at the exit. “We have no other choice. This is the process, whether it feels fucked up or not.”
I pointed right, so he knew which way to turn.
“Most fathers, I assume, want to know that their daughters are going to be taken care of—even if they can take care of themselves.” He gazed at me. “Which you can, we all know that. But it’s what I’m going to promise him, and that as long as you’re with me, nothing is ever going to happen to you. And that I’m going to care about you—always.” He’d moved our hands to the gearshift, his thumb rubbing over my knuckle. “Those aren’t lies, Jovana.”
“I want to say buuut, but I’m melting so hard, I can’t.”
He came to the first light and left my hand to graze my cheek. “I’ve thought a lot about this. Shit, it’s kept me awake almost every night this week. I’ve even talked to the guys about it.”
“I didn’t know ...” I pointed to the left, having him turn into the complex.
“Fucked up is the only way I know how to describe it, but we can’t tear up the contract—I tried suggesting that to the fellas, and it got shot down. So as strange as this all feels, we’ve just got to move forward.”
The last thing I pointed to was the building just past the dumpster, the one directly before the pool, which no one ever used since the water was green more than it was blue.
He parked and turned the car off.
That was when I turned to him, a smile tugging across my mouth. “Look at you being Mr. Positive. I like this side of you. It needs to stick around.”
He chuckled. “You wouldn’t have said that if you were in my office the day I brought it up to the guys. I wasn’t exactly soft and gentle about it.”
“Mr. Wicked is allowed to rear his roaring head when he needs to.” I slipped my hand around the back of his neck. “In all seriousness, you’re right about moving forward. I’d rather do that than move apart.”
Forward was the direction he’d been taking me since our late-night walk, but it was still a relief to hear him suggest that.
To know that, finally, this was what he wanted.
His gaze narrowed while he studied my lips. “I want to kiss you so fucking bad right now, but I’m about to ask your dad to marry you, and I can’t walk into your parents’ place with red lipstick all over my mouth.”
I laughed. “No. You can’t.” I grabbed the cloth bags off the floor in front of the passenger seat. “Come on. We have three flights of stairs to climb.”
Grayson took the bags from my hand as I met him on the sidewalk, and I used my key to open the front door, leading him to the stairs and up the three long flights. The final one ended directly in front of their door, and I gave it a quick knock, letting them know we’d arrived, before I opened it with another key.
“We’re here,” I sang.
Since the door opened into the tiny dining room, where the kitchen was on one side and the living room was on the other, a hallway in between that led to the bathroom and two bedrooms, it was easy to see where everyone was located.
Mom came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her pants, opening her arms to hug me. Dad rose from the couch, making his way over.
“Oh honey, I told you not to bring anything and it looks like poor Grayson has his hands full.” Her hug was hard, but her voice was as soft as a cloud.
It didn’t matter what time of day it was, she always smelled like cinnamon.
“I just threw together an appetizer. Nothing major. And wine—of course, I brought all the wine.”
She kept her hands on my shoulders as she pulled away, taking an inventory of my face. When I was little, she used to tell me she was counting my freckles, checking to see if there were any new ones. Now that I was older, I knew better.
She was looking through me.
Seeing the secrets that I held inside.
“You look happy, baby.”
I nodded, smiling. “I am.” I turned just as Dad took the final steps to reach us. “Mom, Dad, meet Grayson.”
“I’m a hugger, I hope you don’t mind,” Mom said to him, first taking the bags from his hands, and then wrapping her arms around him.
While they embraced, Dad gave me a look.
His brows were up, stretching beyond his forehead and into his semi-bald head, which was nodding.
He seemed impressed so far.
But that was just with Grayson’s physical appearance. Once my father dug into Grayson’s personality, that was another approval process.
Once Mom released him, Dad said, “I’m not a hugger,” and he shook Grayson’s hand. “Nice to meet you, son.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Winters.”
“Ernie, but I like effort.” As their hands disconnected, Dad wrapped his arm around me and kissed the top of my head, my arm resting across his Santa belly. “Missed you, baby girl. You’re so busy now, you don’t come around as much as you used to.” He nodded toward Grayson. “Looks to me like that’s your reason why.”
I grinned. “He’s a lot of my reasons, Dad.” I took the bag of wine from Mom’s hand. “How about I open a bottle? What’s everyone in the mood for, red or white?”
“Red for me,” Grayson said.
“You know I don’t drink that shit. Babe, grab me a Sam Adams, will ya? I need something cold going down my throat while I get to know this boy. Why don’t you join me on the couch, Gray.”
I was laughing on the inside at Dad making up his own nickname for him.
I squeezed Grayson’s arm. “Have fun. I’ll be there in a minute to save you.”
“You act like I’m going to whip the boy,” my father joked.
“Well, aren’t you, honey?” Mom teased.
Dad’s hand was already gripping Grayson’s shoulder, bringing him over to the small couch, where I knew both men would be so crammed, their knees would be touching.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t see them take a seat; there wasn’t a peek-through in the kitchen.
So I hurried, grabbing the bottle opener from the drawer and pressing the metal spiral into the cork of the red.
Mom brought a beer to Dad and returned to the kitchen, taking out three wineglasses, whispering, “My goodness, he’s handsome.”
“Isn’t he?”
“And so well dressed and put together. Every bit of the city boy I imagined you’d one day be with.”
Brockton was less than thirty miles from Boston.
But aside from the accents people spoke with and the seafood served in the restaurants and the weather, it felt like continents apart.
“That’s what you envisioned?” I poured some into two of the glasses and went to work on the bottle of white. “I didn’t know that.”
“Honey, we never expected you to marry a townie and stay here like your father and I did. We dreamed of big things for you, and you’re doing better than we could have ever imagined.” She pushed a piece of hair off my cheek. “And I don’t just mean by dating Grayson.” When I looked at her, there were tears just starting to fill her eyes. “You’re almost at a million followers, and you’ve been able to quit the bar and focus on your passion full-time. Do you know what an accomplishment that is?” Her voice softened when she added, “We’re so, so proud of you.”
As soon as I pulled the cork out of the bottle of white, I threw my arms around her neck.
But this time, when I pulled away, her hands went to my cheeks. “When I called in to pay the rent yesterday, the property manager told me it had already been taken care of. I knew I was going to see you today, so that’s why I didn’t call and say this over the phone.” The first tear fell past her eyelid, a reaction I knew she didn’t want because she was so prideful. “Jovana, baby, you don’t have to do that. Your father and I have always found a way to manage.”
The reason my mom called in the rent was so that she could put it on her credit card. My parents never had enough in their checking account to cover all their bills.
It had been that way since I was born.
Paycheck to paycheck.
Another reason why they’d never moved from this apartment was because they couldn’t come up with the first and last months’ rent, along with the security deposit, for a new place.
But within the next few months, they were going to move to an apartment where they wouldn’t have to walk up three flights of stairs. Where there was a pool that was more blue than green. Where their carpet wasn’t torn. Where their windows actually opened. Where Mom didn’t have to go to the basement to do the laundry or to a Laundromat since the machines hardly ever worked. Where their view wasn’t of raccoons eating the trash that didn’t make it into the dumpster.
They’d lived here for so long, they no longer had a lease and went month to month, but I’d still let the property manager know that within ninety days, they were leaving.
And if my parents didn’t want to pick out a new apartment, then I would do it for them, making sure that there was an option to buy the property if they decided they loved it.
Because, long term, that was my goal too.
But no matter what, they were moving.
They were finally going to experience the freedom of not being weighed down by a monthly rent and being able to indulge a little. That was something I’d wanted to give them for as long as I could remember.
“I can afford it, Mom. I’m doing really well. And I want to help.”
She shook her head. “I can’t accept it—”
“You can.” I squeezed her fingers. “I’m taking care of me, don’t you worry. My student loans are almost paid off. Aside from that, I have zero debt. I’m saving and investing. I’ve built quite a little nest egg.” Most of that had to do with Grayson’s massive contract, but things were also starting to really pick up business-wise. And within a year, I estimated that I’d be earning close to what Grayson had paid me. “What I’m saying is, there’s plenty of extra, and if this is something I want to do, let me.”
“Baby girl . . .”
“Come on, you need to go spend time with my man before Dad gobbles him up and leaves just a bunch of bones in the living room.” I laughed, quickly pouring her a glass of wine, which I handed to her, and then I lifted the other two glasses of red.
“Thank you.”
I looked over my shoulder.
Mom was wiping her eyes, making sure my father didn’t see that she’d cried.
“I love you,” I said softly.
“I love you far more.”
I rounded the corner of the kitchen, and the two men were facing each other, lost in a conversation about the Red Sox.
Or the Pats.
I couldn’t keep up, as they seemed to be switching between the two.
I handed Grayson his wine, staying at his side of the couch, smiling as I listened to them, my eyes bouncing back and forth like a tennis match.
Mom had returned to the kitchen and brought out the charcuterie board I’d thrown together before we’d come, keeping it simple with a few of my dad’s favorite meats and cheeses, fruits, and crackers. My mom placed it on the coffee table in front of the couch.
Dad made a sandwich with some roast beef and crackers, spitting a few crumbs in my direction when he said, “I like him.” He even pointed his thumb in Grayson’s direction to add emphasis.
“Have I mentioned that Dad is known for his bluntness?” I said to Grayson.
“I am, too, so I appreciate that,” Grayson replied. “I also appreciate his knowledge of Boston sports.”
“A topic he could talk about endlessly,” I said. “As you just experienced.”
“First boy you’ve ever brought home, baby girl. I had to give Gray the once-over, make sure his knowledge of sports met my approval.”
I laughed. “I’m glad to hear that it does.”
“Ernie, honey, take a napkin”—Mom handed him the one she was holding—“before poor Grayson is wearing your next bite.”
My father wiped his mouth with the paper towel and took a slice of pepperoni, chewing it while he said, “You want to know something, young man. I was nineteen years old, working at the 7-Eleven down on Commercial Street not more than ten minutes from here, when the prettiest girl I’d ever seen came in for a Coke. I asked her if she wanted a can instead of the bottle she’d set on the counter for me to ring up. Cans were cheaper, and I was trying to save her money, or if she wanted to pour a drink from the fountain, which was also a little less than a bottle. She told me she treated herself to a bottle of soda every day, even if that meant it was a couple of cents more. She said she liked to hear the fizz when she twisted off the cap, knowing the treat waiting for her would be fresh and sweet. The cans, she said, tasted like metal, and the fountain sodas sometimes came out stale.” Dad looked at Mom as he spoke.
I looked at Grayson, wondering if he was connecting the story from the first night we’d met.
His eyes told me he had.
“That was when I knew she was going to be my wife,” my dad continued. “She didn’t wear makeup. She didn’t have on fancy clothes or purses or any of that shit. She didn’t need it. She was gorgeous just the way she was. But she knew what she liked, and it was that small, little indulgence that made her different than all the other girls.” Dad smiled. “I asked her out right then and there. After three dates, we were married.” He made another sandwich, this time adding cheese and a piece of apple, folding the salami in fourths before placing the cracker on top. He gave it to my mother, and while she took it from his hand, he said, “Best decision of my life.” He looked at Grayson. “When you know, you know. Am I right, son?”
Grayson nodded, slowly moving his gaze over to me. “You’re right about that.”