Chapter 20
20
My mom and Sarah are sitting side by side on plastic chairs in the waiting room. My dad is stretched on a chair across from them, staring intently at his cell phone. When she spots me, my mom leaps from her chair and throws her arms around me. She presses her face into my hair, and I tighten my grip around her. After a minute, she pulls back, and her gaze travels over my shoulder to Graham. Her expression instantly brightens.
“Oh, hello again, Mr. Wyler,” she says with barely contained glee. Nothing soothes the ache of a family emergency faster than a vague potential for grandchildren.
“Please, call me Graham,” he corrects her politely.
“Graham,” she says. “Thank you so much for bringing Ali. What are the odds that you would be available so early in the morning!” She raises her eyebrows meaningfully, and I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. There’s no chance I’m indulging her poorly veiled attempts at fishing right now.
Graham leans toward me, the tickle of his breath against my ear sending a pleasurable tingle down my spine. “I’ll be back,” he whispers. I turn to tell him that he doesn’t need to pick me up since I can go home with my family, but he’s already disappeared down the corridor. A tight ball forms in the center of my chest as I watch him walk away. Something that feels suspiciously like loss. A ridiculous feeling, really, since Graham is the furthest thing from being mine to lose. I turn back to my mom, who has the audacity to be giving me a shit-eating grin.
“That man is so handsome,” she says dreamily. “And the accent!”
“Seriously?” I say. “We’re at the hospital. For Bubbie? Have you gotten any updates from the doctors?” My mom’s face falls at the reminder.
“Not yet,” she says, casting her eyes downward. “They’re still running tests, but we came in during the change of shift. We should hear something soon.”
My sister rises and places a hand on my mom’s elbow. “Do you need anything, Mom? Want me to get you a coffee?”
My mom shakes her head. “No thanks, baby. If I drink any more caffeine right now, I’ll jump right out of my skin.” She gives me a tiny smile. “Have you eaten? I didn’t know if you had time to eat before you left this morning.”
“We didn’t have time to grab anything, but I’m fine,” I say.
Sarah’s mouth curls upward at my use of the “we” pronoun, and I know exactly what comment she’s repressing. Thankfully, she has the decency not to draw out this conversation in front of Yenta the Matchmaker. The last thing I need is for the two of them to get attached to Graham. It will only make things worse when I have to explain his disappearance.
“I’m going to check in on the kids,” she says, holding up her phone. When she disappears around the corner, my mom collapses back against the back of her chair. It’s then that I notice how frail she looks, how the lines in her forehead became more prominent overnight.
“How about a bottle of water?” I ask her. “You should really hydrate.”
My mom shoots me a grateful smile. “That would be great,” she says.
I give her hand a squeeze, pleased to finally be the one who can offer her something. Then I start walking down the corridor, in search of any signage directing me toward the cafeteria.
But five minutes later, I’m no closer to locating it than I was when I started, the mazelike hallways continuously directing me in circles. Frustrated, I collapse onto a bench, drawing my knees to my chest and pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes.
“Fuck,” I whisper into my hands.
“Hey, are you okay?”
Dragging my hands off my face, I squint, blurry-eyed, at the figure approaching me.
“Graham?” I ask. “What are you still doing here?”
He sets down a half-empty cardboard drink carrier on the bench beside me. “You think I was going to abandon you?” he asks. “I just went to get you something to eat.”
Heat spreads across my chest. “Oh,” I say. “I went to get some water for my mom but, um… I got lost on my way.”
He smiles reassuringly. “Not to worry. I got a few coffees and bottles of water from the marketplace. I went back to the lounge where I left you and your parents took some of it off my hands. They said you’d gone for water, so I came to look for you.”
He lifts a foil-wrapped package out of the drink carrier and hands it to me. “I got you an egg and cheese on a bagel. Not exactly NYC quality but the best I could do under the circumstances.”
I stare at him, open-mouthed, my eyes tracing over every detail of him—the fathomless blue of his eyes, the soft petulance of his bottom lip—and it occurs to me that everything I thought I knew about romance was wrong. Up until now, I thought romance was about grand gestures and heartfelt confessions. I thought the most romantic thing that had ever happened was when Jake performed “Till There Was You” for Lexi during New Year’s Rockin’ Eve, or any time Shawn Mendes and Camila Cabello took a walk together on a beach. But it turns out the true definition of romance is sticking around to bring someone an egg and cheese sandwich while they’re waiting in a hospital lounge. And just like that, I burst into tears.
Graham’s eyes go wide with panic, and he leans forward, clasping my elbow.
“Oh God, I’m sorry. I tried to tell the man behind the counter that New Yorkers don’t toast their bagels, but he was rather insistent.”
I let out a watery sob. I’ve done everything in my power to make this just about sex, to tell myself that what Graham and I have is nothing more than a physical attraction. But despite my best intentions, I’ve cracked the doorway to my heart and allowed Graham to slip inside. Despite knowing that he is not mine, and that he never can be, I have let myself fall for him. And that terrifies me. Because there is nothing scarier than falling when you aren’t sure that you’ll be caught.
Grabbing Graham by the front of his sweater, I pull him toward me, pressing his lips to mine. He slides one hand up to my cheek, cupping my face, and lifting it toward his. I let out a full body sigh when his mouth starts to move against mine. The comfort it evokes spreads over me like a warm blanket.
“Fuck,” I say when we finally break apart. “I really like you.”
Graham’s lips curl into a smile. “I really like you too, Ali.”
I sniffle as I take a bite of my bagel. The combination of everything spice, warm egg, and melty cheese is the perfect elixir. Graham offers me the paper coffee cup and I take a long, fortifying sip. I feel better already. When I finish, Graham gathers my trash, tossing it in a nearby can.
“Should we head back to your family?” he asks when he returns. “See if there’s any news?” I nod, and we walk side by side back to the family lounge.
“There you are.” My mom jumps to her feet when she sees us. “We just spoke to the doctor.”
My heart hammers against my rib cage. “What did they say?”
From his spot on the sofa, my father harrumphs. “They said there’s nothing wrong with her. It’s just heartburn.”
“Oh,” I bark out a relieved laugh. “Alright, then.”
“The doctor said we can see her now,” my mom says. “I was just waiting for you to come back.”
“I’ll wait for you here,” Graham says softly, taking a seat on the lounge chair across from my dad. But my mom shakes her head.
“Please, come in. She’ll be thrilled to see you,” she insists. Graham’s face turns bashful, but nevertheless, he follows us into my grandmother’s room.
“Hey, Mom,” my mom says when we walk through her doorway. “How are you feeling?”
“Eh, I’m fine,” Bubbie says. She straightens up in her bed, peering at us through her fogged-over glasses. Despite the circumstances, her hair hasn’t deflated an inch.
“The doctor tells me it’s just heartburn. Which makes sense since I had Edna’s latkes during our canasta game last night. That old bat can’t cook for shit.”
“Bubbie!” Sarah protests.
Bubbie shrugs, nonplussed. “I’m telling you, she reuses her frying oil. It’s a miracle I’m not dead.” Her eyes travel over my shoulder to Graham.
“Well, hello!” she says gleefully. “I sure am glad to see you again.”
Graham blushes.
“Here I thought I was going to die before I saw our little Ali walk down the aisle. But maybe there’s hope for her after all!” I roll my eyes.
“Good lord, I’m not even thirty yet,” I grumble. Bubbie ignores me, her eyes still fixed on Graham’s.
“Anyway, I couldn’t die before tomorrow night’s Hanukkah party. Ali’s latkes are to die for. You’ll be there, right?”
I open my mouth to protest, but before I can say anything, my mom turns to Graham.
“We’d love to have you, if you can make it,” she says.
Graham presses a hand into my shoulder, giving it a light squeeze.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” he says.
The atmosphere has shifted during the drive to pick up my car from Trudy’s house. There’s been a seismic shift between us over the past twenty-four hours, and I know I’m not the only one who feels it. Graham and I are playing a dangerous game, one that has the potential to hurt the people we care about. Not to mention how much we stand to hurt each other. A knot of guilt forms in the pit of my stomach.
“Graham,” I hedge. “I think we should talk.”
Graham releases a low sigh. “I know,” he says. “What we’re doing right now isn’t fair to anyone, and it isn’t sustainable. I want to be with you, Ali. I want to come to your parents’ house for dinner as your real boyfriend. No more sneaking around.”
I bite down on my lip. “What about Claire? We can’t keep going behind her back.”
Graham’s features tighten. “I know. I will talk to her when she’s back from New York. We will figure something out. But I need to talk to her in person. It’s only right.”
A long-dormant sense of hope flutters in my chest. A few weeks ago, a future with Graham seemed impossible. But everything is different now, and I’m ready to take the next step forward.
But when we pull up to the house, there’s a familiar figure standing in the front yard, wrapped in a quilted navy coat, and clutching a dog leash.
Graham’s brows knit together. “My grandmother is home,” he says slowly. “She wasn’t supposed to be home until tomorrow.”
My stomach bottoms out. Shit. The idea of coming clean to Trudy about our relationship is one thing. Actually doing it is another.
“Maybe she didn’t see me,” I offer. “I can hide in the car until you’re both inside the house. I can easily fit under the glove box.”
Too late. Trudy’s brows knit quizzically as she stares at us. Then she raises a hand to wave.
Graham presses his lips together as he waves back. Then he turns to me.
“Look, I will have to tell her the truth at some point. But not until I speak to Claire. It wouldn’t be fair not to tell her first.”
I know he’s right. And yet.
Hesitantly, I follow him out of the car and up the paved walkway.
Trudy’s eyes light up as Graham makes his way toward her. Then she turns to me and a look of confusion flits across her features.
“Ali,” she says. Her voice is pleasant but questioning. “What are you doing here?”
I paste on a smile, trying my best to ignore the hollow, fluttery feeling in my stomach that comes from being put on the spot. Think, Ali.
“I, uh… had a meeting with Graham and he mentioned you have a cake server that you’d like to use for the reception. I hear it’s a family heirloom.” It’s not quite a lie—Graham did mention that his grandmother wanted him and Claire to cut the cake with the same knife she and her late husband used at their wedding.
Trudy’s expression softens. “Oh, dear. That would be lovely. Why don’t you come in? I’ll fetch the cake server and then you can update me on all the wedding plans over a cup of coffee.”
“Oh, that’s so kind of you, but I really don’t want to impose.”
Trudy waves a hand. “Nonsense. It’s freezing outside. The least I can do is offer you a warm beverage.”
Wordlessly, I follow Graham into the kitchen, taking a seat at the now-familiar wooden table. Already, my throat feels tight, my heart beating too quickly in my chest. As much as I want to be with Graham, the less-than-ideal circumstances of this situation are triggering a stress response. A decision to call off the wedding comes with collateral damage, and the thought of hurting anyone makes me feel sick to my stomach.
“Ali, I haven’t had a chance to thank you for all you’re doing to make this a special day for Claire and Graham,” Trudy says, as she pours coffee into a mug. “I know how hard you’ve been working. I mean, you’re even making trips here on the weekends. I am so thrilled that my grandson and future granddaughter found you.”
My stomach dips like I’m on a roller coaster. I wonder if Trudy can read the guilt on my face, if it’s etched into my features. But when she hands me a steaming cup of coffee with a placid smile, I know I must be doing a sufficient job of masking my anxiety.
“Graham, darling?” she says sweetly. “Why don’t you go fetch the cake knife? It’s in the dining room breakfront. Third drawer on the left.”
Graham disappears through the doorway and Trudy turns back to me. When her eyes lock on mine, there’s a mischievous twinkle behind them.
“You know, just between you and me, dear, I was a bit surprised when Graham told me that he had proposed to Claire. They’ve known each other for years, and they’ve always just been friends. But I guess sometimes friendship blossoms into something more.”
She’s eyeing me carefully, like she’s trying to gauge my reaction to her observation, and my breath catches. Has she guessed that this is a sham wedding? And if so, is she going to suggest pulling the plug?
I clear my throat, choosing my next words carefully. “It’s not uncommon for couples to start off as friends first. They say friendship is the basis of any strong relationship.”
“Hmm.” Trudy purses her lips, and I get the sense she’s disappointed with my answer. But when she slides into the seat across from me, her shoulders deflate, and I sense an immediate shift in her mood.
“It hasn’t been that long since I lost my Bernard. He’d been my sweetheart since we were children. We spent our whole lives together. We built a business together, raised a family. I suppose in a way, he was my best friend.” Her eyes grow damp, and she dabs at them with a napkin.
“Lately, I’ve felt like I had nothing to smile about. But this wedding is bringing me a sense of joy I haven’t felt in months. On the days when I’m struggling, the idea of my grandson getting married at the hotel Bernard and I built together fills the hole in my heart. It gives me a reason to get out of bed in the morning. You know, my late husband and I were married there almost sixty years ago.”
I give her a small smile. “Graham told me. He just made a reel for the hotel’s Instagram account, showcasing your framed wedding portrait in the hotel lobby next to an invitation for his own wedding. People are loving the connection between past and present.”
And just like that, inspiration strikes. I’m about to go way off script. But it wouldn’t be the first time and it certainly won’t be the last.
“Mrs. Dyson, I don’t mean to overstep—”
“And yet I sense you’re about to.”
But the twinkle of amusement in her eyes belies the harsh tone of her words, giving me the confidence to continue.
“I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation about selling the hotel. And I wonder if you’d consider waiting to decide until after the wedding. Graham’s been working so hard, and I think there’s a real possibility that the buzz surrounding the nuptials will reinvigorate interest in the hotel.”
Trudy tilts her head to the side and gives me an appraising look.
“You care about him,” she says. It’s a statement, not a question.
“Yes,” I manage. “I mean, I care about them both. Him and Claire. It’s my job, after all, to assist with making their day perfect.”
A sound from the doorway steals the air from my lungs. Graham is lingering there, the color draining from his face.
“I found the cake server,” he says hoarsely. Shit. How long has he been standing there?
Trudy shifts her attention to her grandson. “Darling, I’ve been thinking a lot about our earlier discussion about the hotel. And you are right. Perhaps I have been hasty.”
Graham’s mouth drops open, but it takes a full beat before he says anything.
“What do you mean?”
“You were right. You’ve worked so hard to rehabilitate the hotel, and I would hate to make you feel like your efforts are not valued. Check-in rates are not where I’d like them to be, but they are higher than they were a few months ago, and our financial troubles seem to have plateaued, at least for now. So how about this: I will wait until after the wedding to see if things have changed. If your social media efforts are successful and things have turned around after the wedding, then… I will consider staying on for a few more years. See where things take us.”
Graham’s eyes go wide.
“Are you sure?” he asks softly, and for a second, I can see the little boy he once was. My heart turns to Jell-O.
Trudy’s smile is the most genuine I’ve seen yet. “I believe in you. I always have.”
As much as the moment warms me, I can’t help but feel like I’m once again intruding.
“Well, thank you so much for the coffee,” I say quickly. “But I really should head out. I have a few more errands to run.”
“Of course,” Trudy says warmly. “Thanks so much for stopping by.”
I don’t look at Graham as I stand, and he makes his way over to where his grandmother is standing.
“I’ll walk Ali to her car,” he mumbles, pressing his lips to his grandmother’s cheek.
He doesn’t look at me as we walk side by side through the corridor, my hand wrapped tightly around the cake server’s intricate handle. The cold air whips across my face as I step outside, instantly drawing tears. I swipe them away angrily. God, why do I always do this? Once again, I’ve been impulsive and overstepped, offered my feedback where it wasn’t sought. And now Graham is angry. As he should be.
Once we reach the sidewalk, Graham grabs me by the hand, spinning me around to face him. He frowns as he takes in my tear-streaked face. He cups my face with both hands, using his thumbs to brush the moisture away from my eyes.
“Why are you crying?” he murmurs.
“It’s nothing,” I say, shrugging him off. “It’s just the wind.”
Graham shakes his head slowly. “God,” he whispers. “You really are something else.”
Shame snakes its way up my spine. When am I going to learn to stop being so reckless?
But before I can say another word, his mouth is on mine, capturing it with a searing kiss that sets every limb on fire. He slides his hands from my cheeks to the base of my neck, adjusting the angle for a deeper kiss. Every fiber of self-doubt evaporates as I fist the fabric of his sweater, pulling him closer.
I’m breathless when he finally pulls away and presses his forehead to mine. From the corner of my eye, I think I see movement in Trudy’s window, but I’m too consumed by the heat of Graham’s ragged breath against my cheek to be certain.
“You’re not angry?” I ask wearily.
A wrinkle forms between Graham’s brows.
“Angry?” he asks. “For convincing my grandmother to give the hotel one more chance? Ali, no one has ever done anything like that for me. I don’t know how to thank you.”
I weave a hand through the soft strands of his hair. “She believes in you. We both do.”
Graham lets out a contented sigh as he covers his hand with mine.
“I think I can do it,” he says softly. “I think I can pull it off. All of it.”
I smile as I trace the stubble on his jawline and try my hardest to ignore the growing bubble of dread in the pit of my stomach. Things will be okay. They have to be.