Chapter 3
Chapter three
On a typical Matthews Thanksgiving, we eat dinner, eat pie, then officially start the Christmas season with a movie .
This Thanksgiving, however, is far from typical. Without Dad or Ivy, any inclinations I would’ve had for celebrating are gone.
So, I spend the next three hours cleaning every surface of the kitchen from the windows to the walls. I wipe baseboards, vacuum the living room, fluff couch pillows. Anything to keep my worry for Ivy and the babies at bay.
In the middle of wiping down the wood banister, the Pie Thief comes slinking out of the guestroom. He’s in his jeans from earlier, but he’s discarded his black sweater, leaving only a white undershirt. The way it hugs his shoulders and biceps would be almost scandalous if it weren’t so enticing.
His eyebrows jump when he spots me. “You’re still cleaning? It’s almost nine.”
“Still cleaning,” I answer with a dismissive air.
If I act like he’s not here, or that I’m not still salty over the pie, he might just go back into the room.
No such luck.
Grant has himself a seat on the newly fluffed couch and turns the T.V. on.
I huff out a breath and get to polishing like my name is Cinderella, until a familiar saxophone melody reaches me. I turn back and find Grant has put on a movie.
“Why are you watching this?” I ask, automatically getting annoyed.
“Earlier Ivy told me y’all were planning to watch Best Man Holiday. Figured we could watch it while we wait to hear about the delivery,” he says before propping his big feet on my daddy’s coffee table.
I clutch my dust rag and polish spray and march to the couch.
Grant looks up at me with a growing smile that freezes when he notices my pointed glare. Then, he wisely sets his feet on the ground.
Before I walk away, he tilts his head, nodding at the spot next to him.
I shake my head emphatically. “I can’t sit at a time like this. I’ve got way too much nervous energy.” I search the room for something—anything—else I can clean to keep my hands busy. “Pass me that remote caddy. It needs to be polished.”
“Polish the remote caddy?” He shakes his head. “Would you listen to yourself? Eve, I know you’re worried about your sister, but I think you might be losing it. I’m gonna need you to put the Orange Glo down and relax.”
My nose scrunches up at how Grant's trying to act like he knows how I’m feeling.
Only, anyone who even marginally knows me knows how protective I can get over my sister, and that I’m likely to run myself into exhaustion if I don’t hear from her. Grant, admittedly, is more than aware.
“It’s a movie, Eve,” he cajoles.
It's not just a movie. It's him. Sitting there like he owns the couch, like he doesn't know he sets all my senses on high alert.
Like I'm not one heartbeat away from crawling out of my skin.
He expects me to sit next to him and pretend I'm not worried sick about Ivy, or that my pulse doesn't jump every time he looks at me, or that I'm not two seconds away from polishing the paint right off the banister just to stay busy.
Whew.
Okay, that's dramatic. Maybe I do need to take it easy.
Slowly and deliberately, I set the cleaning spray and rag down on the table. Without looking at Grant, I lower myself onto the far end of the couch.
Grant lets out an amused huff and turns the up volume.
“So, what, is this some kind of sequel?” he asks.
“Sequel? It’s the third in the installment,” I answer, and immediately regret acknowledging him. Now I've opened a door, and instead of enjoying the movie, he peppers me with questions throughout the entire first act.
“You mean he slept with his best friend’s girl in college? And that man still lets him into his home?”
“It was a whole thing, and yes it’s complicated, but as you can see they’re trying to be adults about it. They’re brothers.”
“Brothers? Nahhhh. I’m telling you right now, if my brother ever pulled that kind of shi—”
“Hush! You’re ruining the movie. If you want the why’s and how’s, stream the movies on your own time.”
As unserious as Grant is, his running commentary does serve as a welcome distraction until the events of the day—and likely all of the pie he ate—catches up to him. One minute he’s going off about unnecessary secrets, and the next he’s fast asleep.
I turn the T.V. up loud enough to drown out his snoring so I don’t miss the joke I’ve seen play out at least a dozen times. This time, however, I don’t laugh. It’s not the same without Dad and Ivy here to watch it with me.
I miss Dad’s quips about friendships having run their course or how he would have tried convincing Ivy and me that Morris Chestnut’s attractiveness is overhyped. Like somehow women from different generations, socioeconomic backgrounds, and cultures have all gotten it wrong.
I miss being the last one to succumb to the post-Thanksgiving meal coma as Dad inevitably fell asleep on his recliner, plate of crumbs perched precariously on the armrest, while Ivy tried hiding under the blanket to hide her own drooping eyes.
With Ivy on my mind, I reach for my phone to see if any text messages have snuck in, but there are none. I put it back down and rub a hand over my face.
How long could it possibly take for her to deliver two babies and call to let me know they’re all safe and healthy?
A snore rattles from my left, and I look at Grant again. Grant who’s sleeping like a newborn baby. I consider picking up the pillow separating my side from his and chucking it at his head. Why should he be able to relax when I can’t?
I’ve got the pillow in my hand, ready strike, but hesitate.
I usually only take small glances, but tonight I let my eyes linger as I really take Grant in.
Strong jaw, broad nose, relaxed lips too soft for how much trouble they cause me.
The rising panic fades, replaced with the usual mixed-up cocktail of grief, attraction, and warning settling heavy in my stomach.
This man, I think. Before the thought can go any further, my phone buzzes against the coffee table.
I lurch for it as my heart skyrockets. There’s a text from Linda.
Nia and Amani have entered the world. Nia arrived at 12:32 am. Amani at 12:43.
My heart swells so much it hurts as the names of my sweet nieces are etched onto it. Nia and Amani.
We knew the twins were girls, but Ivy and Braxton had kept their names a surprise.
I love them so much and suddenly, I want to do all the things—order a plethora of giant bows and tiny bonnets, learn to sew and make them monogrammed quilts. Call up Dad and celebrate him being a first-time grandpa, then tease him over still being the only male on our side.
The last thought it enough to wipe the smile off my face as pain blooms in my chest, knowing that's the one thing I can’t do.
Still, I want to share this moment with someone. I guess tonight that someone will have to be Grant.
I let the pillow fly, and it lands right against his face with a satisfying thwunk.
“What the?” He jerks awake, looking around before finding the pillow in his lap and glaring at me. “What was that for? I was just resting my eyes.”
I roll my eyes to avoid staring at handsome he looks all confused and aggravated. “You rested your eyes so well you missed the second half of the movie.” I point to the rolling credits. “Anway, check your phone. We’ve got some good news!”
I sing the last part, and his sleepy annoyance instantly melts away. He digs out his phone and swipes it open. With the light from his screen illuminating his face, I see the exact moment his full lips curve into a smile.
Then, he’s off the couch, pumping his fist like his team just won a championship. “Let’s go!”
I’m not about to be out-celebrated, so I hop up too. “Let's go!” I shout. “I’m an auntie!”
I tip my head back, letting relief and excitement wash over me in an intoxicating rush. Grant must feel the same, because he grabs my free hand. He twirls me in a circle before throwing up a hand for a high-five.
I slap his palm, then we do the same but with our elbows, and finally we turn to the side and bump hips. Only, Grant’s so much taller than me, I have to hop to make contact.
When it’s over, we’re both laughing and breathless.
“Hey, you still go it,” Grant says.
“Of course.”
As if I’d forget our victory dance from game nights at Ivy and Braxton’s. We won so many rounds of Pictionary, I could do the moves in my sleep.
My phone buzzes in my hand, breaking the spell of old, fun memories. I look away from Grant to see another text from Linda.
We’ve just received word that Ivy is all sutured up. We haven’t seen her or the babies yet.
I frown at the message and read it again. “Sutured? Why would she need sutures?”
“Sounds like she had a c-section,” Grant says. “That’s typical for delivering twins.”
I know it’s typical, but that doesn’t stop the panic from creeping back up.
“But why wouldn’t they tell us she was going into major surgery to begin with? How is Ivy doing now? How are the babies? Do you think your mom has more information she isn’t sharing?”
“Eve—”
I begin pacing in front of the coffee table. “I knew I should have been there. I’m her big sister and the only family she has left.”
I should be there to watch over Ivy and make sure the medical team is doing all they can. What if something slips through the cracks and Ivy ends up like the mom she and I never got to know?
As my thoughts spiral, a tug on my arms brings me back to the present.
“Hey,” Grant says, angling his head down to look at me. His hold is firm but not too tight, long fingers wrapped around and grounding me. “It’s all good. I promise. My mom will let us know when there’s more info. She won’t keep you in the dark about anything. Okay?”
He stubbornly waits for my assent, relaxing only once I nod in agreement.
“Good. Now, this is good news. You’re an aunt. We should be celebrating. Break out the wine.” He smirks. “Ya boy could go for some more pie. I’ll even save some for you this time.”
I let out a slow breath. “How can you have an appetite at a time like this?”
His eyes take on a serious edge. “Eve, look. There’s one thing I don’t play about—sweet potato pie. I haven’t met anyone who comes close to making them like Grandma Simmons used to. Until now.”
For as much grief as the pies were to bake, if Grant is to be believed, I did that.
And as his serious expression morphs into a charming grin, I consider saying yes to the pie and more.
Like the ghost of Christmas mischief is whispering in my ear that if I give into the urge to throw myself in his arms, everything will be okay. My sister, my nieces, my heart.
I draw my arm back, blocking out that dangerous voice. I’ve learned from my mistakes. Love isn’t for me, and prolonged time with Grant spells bad news for my control.
I take a small step back so Grant’s hands fall off while shaking my head. “All of the excitement is finally catching up with me. I think I’ll just go lay down and try to get some sleep until we get another update.”
I dare to meet his eyes, pretending like I don’t see the disappointment he tries to hide, and walk away before I can do something I’ll only end up regretting later.