Chapter 8 #2
As the residents begin lining up outside the dining area, Grams links her arm through mine, and we stroll down the hall, away from the crowd.
When I visit, she prefers to eat in her room, so we’re not interrupted by the usual stream of distractions and unsolicited advice from people I barely know.
She glances over at me, concern flickering in her eyes. “Are you feeling all right, dear?”
I give her hand a squeeze. “I’m good. Just a little tired.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Why?”
Her fingers tighten around mine. “I had a spot by the window facing the front entrance during yoga class, and I spotted you sitting on a bench for over fifteen minutes before you came in. You were checking your phone every few minutes, and we both know what that means.”
“It was only a slight drop in my blood sugar,” I rush to explain. “I had some applesauce and waited for it to level out. I’m fine, I promise.”
It’s a good thing she’s never been interested in getting a cell phone, or she’d obsessively track my numbers in real time. It was bad enough when she reviewed my written log when I was younger and fixated on every minor change she thought might be problematic.
She already has enough to deal with between her high blood pressure and arthritis. My diabetes shouldn’t be another thing she has to worry about.
Grams stops mid-stride, forcing another resident to sidestep around us to pass. “Charlie, is there something you aren’t telling me?”
She’s always been able to read me like a book, and as much as I want to tell her the truth, I can’t—not yet.
If she found out I was pregnant and thinking about doing this alone, she’d move back in with me in a heartbeat, and I can’t let her do that.
Not just because of her health but because she’s finally living for herself again, and I refuse to take that away from her.
I mask my apprehension with a practiced smile. “I’ve just been thinking about how amazing you are. You raised my mom alone, then turned around and raised me too, and somehow made it look easy.”
“Oh, sweetie, bless your heart. It was anything but.” Grams gets a faraway look in her eyes as she fiddles with her cane.
“I cried myself to sleep more nights than I can count, questioning every decision I made, and wondering if things would have been different if your grandfather had stepped up and stayed. Or if I’d had someone else to share the load. ”
I’ve never met my grandpa. According to Grams, he bailed when he found out she was pregnant with my mom, and she never saw him again. Overnight, she was left with the impossible decision of how to raise a baby alone, yet she defied expectations not once but twice.
“I thought you hated him.”
She lets out a bitter laugh. “Hell yes, I do. He was a worthless piece of shit, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t imagine what life might have been like with someone who thought I was worth staying for.
” Her voice catches, and she strokes her thumb over my hand, offering me comfort when it should be the other way around.
“Or if having a doting father around would have changed your mom’s decision to leave. ”
I shake my head. “She made her choice, and we’ve gotten along just fine without her.”
I learned early on that family is made by those who choose to stay, not just by those connected by blood. Grams is my mom in every way that matters. Even though she’s asked me not to call her that out of a misplaced loyalty for her daughter, we both know the truth.
“All I’m saying is there’s a difference between surviving and living.
If given the chance, I would’ve grabbed a man who chose to stay and fought like hell to make it work.
” She reaches over to smooth my hair back, her palm lingering against my cheek.
“Make no mistake. Every decision I made brought me you, and that’s the greatest blessing of all.
I’d go through it all tenfold if it meant I ended up here with you. ”
I place my hand over hers. “I love you, Grams.”
“Love you more, sweet girl,” she says with a warm smile.
“Love you most,” I whisper.
That night, I’m sprawled out on the shop couch after going through inventory, trying to muster the motivation to drag myself upstairs when I hear the unmistakable sound of a cat meowing.
My forehead creases as I push up off the sofa, trying to convince myself I’m imagining things as I head out to the alley behind the building.
I come to an abrupt stop when I spot a cat perched on the dumpster, staring at me with bright, unblinking eyes. It’s the same one I’ve seen over the past month. He’s a pitiful sight, with a wiry coat barely covering his bony frame. His fur is matted with dirt and grime, and he’s missing a hind leg.
He hops off the dumpster, landing far more gracefully than I expect, and starts toward me. Before he can get too close, I scramble backward. Yanking open the screen door, I slip inside, slamming it shut to keep a barrier between us.
He prowls up to the frame, rubbing his body against it, his tail flicking side to side.
“We talked about this, mister,” I scold, wagging a finger at him. “I fed you a few times because Birdie would disown me if I didn’t help an animal in need, but we agreed it was a short-term arrangement, remember?”
I leave out the part where I check in the mornings after I’ve left food to make sure he’s eaten it, my reassurance that he’s all right.
Not because I care. I’m obviously just making sure he doesn’t starve on my property because Birdie will hold me personally responsible if something happens to the little gremlin.
The cat fixes me with a glare, letting out a low hiss.
I scowl back, placing my hands on my hips. “Oh, you think giving me attitude is going to convince me to change my mind? Maybe if you were nice, I’d be willing to risk breaking out in hives to feed you again. But not when you’re being a pain in the ass.”
The first time, I wore gloves and had a scarf pulled up to my eyeballs when I tossed a piece of salmon across the alley. I needed to lure him away long enough to leave the dish by the door without being ambushed.
The cat sits back on his haunches, refusing to budge.
I blow out an exasperated breath. “Fine. Congratulations, you’ve successfully emotionally blackmailed me… again. I’ll be back.”
I hurry upstairs and retrieve the last can of tuna from the cupboard. I should leave it and go to bed, but the idea of that damn cat going hungry gnaws at my conscience. So instead, I dump the food into a paper bowl and go back to the alley.
The cat is still waiting, his nose twitching as he catches the scent of fish. I crack the screen door open just enough to set the bowl down, then shut it quickly to avoid contact.
He prowls toward the tuna like its prey, wasting no time digging in and eating with an urgency that suggests he hasn’t had a proper meal in days. There’s no telling how long he’s been on the streets. Judging by his matted fur and bony frame, I’d hazard a guess it’s been a while.
“All right. That’s another good deed done for you. Now you can find someone else to charm into feeding you. I bet the staff at Prickly Pear would be more than happy to toss you scraps. They even serve fresh salmon and halibut, so you’ll be spoiled over there.”
Better yet, I could tell Birdie that he’s here, and I’m sure she’d find him a good home.
I swallow the twinge of disappointment at the idea of not seeing him again. I remind myself I’m severely allergic to cats, so there’s no other realistic solution unless I let him stay homeless forever.
I’m distracted from my moral dilemma when my phone buzzes in my pocket. A traitorous thrill shoots through me when I see who it is.
Heath: How are you feeling today?
Charlie: I’m exhausted. Your baby has me in permanent nap mode.
Heath: Oh, so I’m responsible for when it misbehaves?
I smirk at the screen.
Charlie: Glad you’re catching on.
Heath: What about when it does something super cute like hiccuping?
Charlie: That’ll be my doing.
Heath: Obviously.
Charlie: Glad we agree.
Heath: Got an early morning, so I’d better call it a night.
Heath: If you need anything, let me know.
Since I turned down his second proposal, he’s made a point of checking in every day without pushing for more. He’s clearly trying to do right by the baby, and I know I’m not making it easy.
Charlie: Thanks.
Heath: Night, hellcat.
I scrub a hand over my face, lowering myself onto the stairs. My conversation with Grams comes to mind—how she’d described how hard it was raising my mom and me alone.
I try to picture life with a baby upstairs, just the two of us: sleepless nights, early mornings, and somehow trying to keep the shop afloat.
My friends would help where they could, but Birdie’s busy with her animal sanctuary and newlywed life, while Briar’s already juggling Jensen, Caleb, and her nonprofit.
The majority of the responsibility would land squarely on my shoulders, and I’d have no one to blame but myself. Is that really what I want?
Heath and I might have our differences, but somewhere along the way our arguing started to feel dangerously close to flirting, and I don’t dislike it as much as I pretend to.
Hence why I fell into bed with him in the first place, landing us in this predicament.
Not to mention, he’s tried stepping up when most men wouldn’t.
No matter how many pros-and-cons lists I make, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m either doing this alone or accepting his proposal with no real certainty about what our future holds.
As the gravity of my situation sinks in, I realize that despite what I’ve been telling myself, there’s really only one choice that’s right for the baby—whether I’m ready to accept it or not.
The question is whether I dare to do what’s best for us, even if it’s one of the hardest things I’ll ever do.