Chapter Sixteen
Seth
The Melbourne sun beats down like it’s got a vendetta, turning the warehouse parking lot into a furnace and my patience into kindling.
I toured five properties in Sydney. Two are solid contenders, both waterfront, both overpriced.
Melbourne is slightly more affordable, and the area is more appealing to me.
It’s less flashy, more artsy and lifestyle focused.
This should be the more enjoyable leg of the trip, if my broker, Gus Wilson, ever shows.
I roll my shoulders back, trying to shake off the restlessness that’s been riding me since I found out Ellie is Taylor. If that isn’t a mindfuck, I don’t know what is.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see my grandfather’s picture on the screen.
He’s halfway around the world in Alaska, probably standing on his porch, wrapped in a parka, enduring the kind of cold that bites to the bone, while I’m melting into the pavement.
Funny how the world can hold fire and ice at the same time. Like my emotions.
I put in my earbuds and answer. “Hey, Gramps,” I say, immediately chiding myself for sounding as agitated as I feel.
“Don’t hey me, boy.” His gravelly voice fills the line. “You sound like you’re ready to wring someone’s neck.”
“It’s been a long day.”
“Uh-huh.” He has a way of making two syllables pack a disbelieving punch. “Either your deal fell apart, or someone stole your calculator.”
A breath of amusement escapes me. “The deal is still in the works, and the calculator’s safe.”
“Good. How’s it going in the land down under? You find anyone who understands the word expedite yet?”
“Barely.” I smile at how well he knows me. “How’s Gram?”
“As beautiful as ever. Still trying to feed the research team like they’re her grandbabies. If she could knit soup, she would.”
I chuckle. “Glad to hear it. And the expedition?”
“Cold, but good. I’ve got my eyes on something else. Something big.”
“What kind of something?”
“I can’t be talking about it yet. Don’t want your grandmother to hear me.”
My grandmother says something in the background, but I can’t make out what it is.
“Damn it,” my grandfather whispers. Then he shouts to my grandmother, endearingly but loud, “I’m not talking about another expedition! Stop eavesdropping.”
“I’m not buying your malarky, Bradshaw,” my grandmother hollers back. “Tell my grandson I can’t wait to see him.”
“Tell her I said I’m looking forward to it, too, and to feel free to leave you at home,” I tease.
My grandfather chuckles, then shouts to my grandmother, “He says he’s excited to see me.”
I hear her laugh. Their loving banter hasn’t changed since I was a kid. It’s comfortingly familiar.
“Get yourself someone like that,” my grandfather says quietly, “and you’ll be doing all right.”
As crazy as it is, I thought I found that person, and I wasn’t even looking. Biting that back, I say, “So, what’s the big secret you can’t talk about yet?”
“You’ll find out when I’m good and ready to tell you.”
Typical.
“I talked to Flynn yesterday,” he says. “That’s a hell of a nice thing you’re pulling together for your mother.”
“Hopefully we can keep it under wraps.”
“That’s why I’m calling. I want to run an idea by you.
Your grandmother and I thought we could add a conservation spotlight, something that shows how her photography has helped fund field projects over the years.
I’ve got contacts at the Ridgeport Society of Natural History.
They’d love to write a piece. I figured if we time it right, that could bring even more people to the opening. ”
“That’s a great idea.” I rub the back of my neck, feeling like I want to crawl out of my skin.
Normally I’d tell him to contact Taylor, but I can’t even think about him—her.
Fuck—that situation right now. “Why don’t you talk to them, make sure they’re all in, and then I’ll coordinate with Leni Steele. She’s handling the PR.”
“She’s a good egg, that Leni. I’ll take care of it and circle back.” He clears his throat and lowers his voice. “You want to tell me why you sound like somebody stole your ledgers?”
“I told you, it’s been a long day.”
“Boy, I’ve talked with you at midnight after you worked several eighteen-hour days. This ain’t that. You sound like you lost something important.”
Grinding my teeth against that truth, I say, “It’s complicated.”
“It always is.”
He waits in silence as I pace, considering my response. He’s got the patience of a saint, which I have always admired, and I proudly learned it from him. Though my patience has been fucked all week.
My grandfather clears his throat, a not-so-gentle reminder that he’s waiting.
I know he’s not going to let this go until I give him something, so I relent. “I found out Taylor isn’t who I thought he was.”
“Your man, T?” His voice rings with surprise. “What do you mean?”
“It turns out, Taylor is a woman.” It doesn’t feel right to call her Taylor. She’s Ellie to me. My sweet Ellie…who lied to me. I can’t even reconcile that in my head.
“Well, there’s nothing wrong with that. Sometimes it takes people a little time to accept who they really are. You’ve never been against that sort of thing. What’s the big deal?”
“It’s not like that. She wasn’t born male.”
“Don’t bite my head off, son. If it’s not that, then what’s the problem?”
“She lied. She let me believe she was a guy this whole time.” If only it were that simple. I could’ve handled finding out Taylor was a woman, but finding out the one woman who got under my skin was lying to me? That’s what’s killing me.
“I can see how that would bug ya,” my grandfather says. “Why’d she do it?”
“I don’t know.” Protecting her business was her excuse, but what the hell does that even mean?
“You always know,” my grandfather tosses out like he knows me better than I know myself. “You just don’t like the answer.”
I don’t bother responding.
“You know, Seth, outside of family, you’ve only let two people into your life. Missick, and your man—woman—T. That tells me she matters, regardless of whether she’s a woman or a man.”
“I let people in,” I argue.
He scoffs. “Son, you’ve had a moat around you the width of the Grand Canyon since you were old enough to realize making friends meant leaving them. Don’t think I didn’t see it. You let people skim the surface.”
Biting back a curse, I say, “At least it kept me from having to deal with this.”
“That’s your privilege talking, kiddo.”
“Why does shit always come down to what I have and who I am? What the hell does my privilege have to do with lying?”
“That’s your privilege talking, too,” he says. “I’m not talking about having more shit than you can carry in your backpack or the magazine covers you’ve graced or the money in your bank. I’m talking about what you’ve had in your life. How you grew up.”
“You mean living without running water half the time?” I scoff. “Yeah, that was a real privilege.”
“Who needs running water when you’ve got parents and grandparents who love you and siblings who’ll use their own bodies to form bridges over rivers for you?”
I smile with that memory. “That was me and Flynn being a human bridge for the others and coming out with leeches sucking our blood.”
“You know what I mean,” he barks. “You were lucky. You never had reasons to lie when you were growing up, or as an adult. But other people aren’t that lucky.
You of all people know that. You can’t judge T till you’ve walked a dozen miles in her shoes.
People lie for all sorts of reasons, Seth, and for some, it’s about survival, not maliciousness.
” He clears his throat again and lowers his voice.
“Hell, I’ve lied to your grandmother about liking her kale soup for fifty years.
And I lie to her every time she asks if whatever expedition we’re on at the time is the last, but that doesn’t mean I don’t respect her. ”
“I have no idea how she trusts a word you say, old man.”
“Because she knows she can. I’ve shown her through my actions and the million other words I say to her each and every day.”
“Then why lie?” I ask. “I never do.”
“Sounds like you’re lying to yourself right now,” he says carefully.
“Why do I lie to your grandmother? To protect our relationship. If I don’t lie, we’ll fight for months while I concoct my plans.
Lying saves that headache and gives us the space to pretend I’m not a neurotic old fool who can’t stop chasing answers. ”
“Gramps—”
“Nah, you listen to me, son. All I’m saying is that letting two people into your inner circle over thirty-plus years isn’t many.
I’m not telling you what to do. Deal with it or don’t.
But don’t pretend it’s nothing, because T’s been one of your closest friends, even if you never met her, and that kind of trust doesn’t grow on trees. Especially where you’re concerned.”
Fuck. A notification appears on my screen. An email from Taylor Mitchell. Everything inside me goes still. Our exchanges have been clipped, cautious, and courteous. I don’t trust myself not to say something I’ll regret. Or worse, something so honest it bleeds all over the page.
“Whatever you’re not telling me,” my grandfather says, drawing me back to our conversation, “don’t let pride make the choice for you. You’re too smart for that, and if I know you, you’ll regret it. Problem is, you’re too damn good at walking away.”
I don’t even know how to respond to that. I’m proud of being good at walking away.
Or at least I always have been.
Now I’m just fucking confused. Nothing makes sense.
“Listen, son, I’ve got to run. Your grandmother is calling me to dinner. If you let on that I don’t like her kale soup, I will steal your spreadsheets, your calculator, and every damn computer you own.”
“I won’t,” I say absently.
“You gonna be okay? I can tell her you’re waving the SOS flag and be late for dinner.”
“No, thanks, Gramps. I’m good.”
“Keep lying to yourself, and one day you’re not gonna know what the truth sounds like anymore. Love you, Seth. I’m here if you need me.”
I smile at his ability to tell it like it is, no matter how hard it lands, then soften it with endless support I never asked for. “Love you, too.”
The line goes dead.
I take out my earbuds and, as I pocket them, Gus’s SUV pulls into the lot. I wave and quickly open and scan Taylor’s email as he parks.
Dear Seth.
Dear? What the…?
My attention snags on the word resignation, and my blood runs cold.
“Hey, mate,” Gus says as he climbs out of his vehicle. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
My grandfather was right. I’m a fucking pro at walking away, and I draw upon those skills now as I pocket my phone, square my shoulders, and try to act like my legs weren’t just kicked out from under me.