Chapter 31 Gracie #2
His eyes meet mine, more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen them. “I can’t talk to you about this,” he whispers. “Not yet.”
I nod, finding his hands. He twines my fingers with his, and it seems to calm him. He takes a steadying breath, and the thread that connected us at Agatha’s memorial solidifies. It becomes a chain that could hold the weight of the planet.
His lashes cast downward. “I hate keeping secrets from you.”
My eyes spill over. For whatever he endured or had to witness. For my best friend, her family, and every person tattooed on his carefully disciplined body. “I hate that you have to,” I say, my voice choked.
“Shh,” he says, pulling me to him. I collapse forward on his chest, and he just holds me, kissing my hair, like I’m the one who needs comforting. If he could, I think he’d take care of the whole world.
I’m not sure how long we stay that way, but at some point, he lies me back on the couch, before coming down on his side against me.
“What happened here?” he says, taking my hand in his. He lifts it to press a kiss to the small cut on the side of my ring finger.
“Nothing. Just being clumsy.”
He frowns. “How did it happen?” he asks, like it’s his topmost concern.
I shrug, a little embarrassed by the way I was spending my Saturday night before Maya called. “I was curling ribbon for these favor bags for my mom’s sixtieth birthday party.”
“Don’t you have enough on your plate without a birthday party to plan?” he asks.
“Ahh yes, the eternal question. Why am I such a pushover?”
“You, a pushover?” he asks. “Are we discussing an alternate dimension?”
“It’s just the way I am with my family,” I admit, brushing a damp lock of his hair from his forehead. “And pretty much everyone else who means something to me.”
Except for you, I think. For better or for worse, I’ve never felt the need to sugarcoat myself with him.
His gaze softens like he can hear my thoughts. “You don’t seem to have a problem standing up to dastardly divorce attorneys.”
I shrug self-consciously. “Standing up for the people I love is easy. Saying no to them, though…” I grimace. “It’s why I said yes to planning this party.”
His eyebrows pull together. “And does your family understand how much time you’re sacrificing to organize it for them?”
I snort. “Definitely not. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t stopped trying to get them to luh”—I cut the word off just in time—“preciate me.”
He gives me a look that says I’m fooling no one. “We all crave some luh-preciation from our families sometimes. Especially when you’re being so neroic.”
I cover my face with my hands and groan. “Some polite, selective amnesia would be great, thanks.”
“Are you kidding? You had me at grelpful, Gracie.”
“Stop, or tonight’s about to turn into a Nora Ephron film festival,” I threaten.
“Better than zombies,” he mutters.
I gasp in outrage, and he kisses my open mouth to stop the coming diatribe. When he releases me, I’m dizzy and disarmed.
“So, you said yes to planning this party, even though you have zero time for it?” he prompts.
“Yes, and in case you’re preparing to lecture me on drawing healthy boundaries, I’ll have you know that Sofia beat you to it about twenty years ago and hasn’t stopped since.”
“What makes you think I know a goddamn thing about healthy boundaries?” he asks, tugging on the drawstring of the sweatshirt.
“You seem pretty good at them to me.”
He looks at me, and the smile that lifts his lips is heartbreaking. “Sometimes. But when it comes to family, I know all about forgetting your best intentions when you think they might finally change.”
My throat tightens. “And you don’t think that could ever happen?”
His features flinch into something bleak. “From my experience, no. But hope doesn’t really give a shit about the facts, does it?”
I brush his hair back from his forehead. “It’s why we have to keep trying,” I say, unsure if I’m talking about our families, my wishes for Larkwood, or this reckless craving for more with him. “They say miracles do happen.”
He squeezes my hand. “When is your mom’s party?”
Wincing, I say, “Same weekend as the wedding.”
He closes his eyes briefly. “Of course it is.”
“But I’m so close to finishing everything. I just need to drop off the favors this week and—”
“Will you tell them you won’t be going to the party, or doing any other planning?”
I laugh weakly. “I thought we just went over this. The word ‘no’ vanishes from my vocabulary with them.”
“What if I came with you?” he offers.
I blink. “Come with me?”
He shrugs. “I’m pretty good at glaring people into submission.”
“I don’t know… it’s my mom’s sixtieth. If I make sure everything goes perfectly, then maybe—”
“They’ll suddenly sprout new personalities despite thirty years of evidence to the contrary?”
“What happened to folding in the face of hope?”
“I only do that with my family, silly. You should know by now that I have no problem being an asshole to everyone else.”
I snort against my will. “Or charming them into doing whatever you want.”
He lowers his eyes to where our hands are entwined on my borrowed hoodie.
“I know yes can feel like the best shortcut to some overdue respect,” he says, gliding his thumb over mine, “but there’s a lot more power in the word no.
And even if they don’t see it at first, kindness, too.
Saying no allows people to take responsibility for their own lives.
Saying yes just denies them the opportunity to grow. ”
“You make it sound like I’ve been the one holding them back,” I say, feeling a little defensive. “You don’t know how clear they’ve made it that this is how I’m expected to contribute since I don’t—”
I stop, emotion tightening my chest.
“Since you don’t what?”
I take a breath. After sharing so much with him, I feel overexposed. But tonight, he told me about his tattoos and his DV work. His walls are still firmly in place, but he trusted me enough to remove a few bricks. So, I say it.
“Belong.” I’m quiet for a moment. “When my parents separated and suddenly had their new, perfect-fit families, I sort of became that extra IKEA bolt—related, but confusing and unnecessary.”
“So you made yourself useful,” he says quietly.