Chapter 22 #2
“Yeah.” My shoulders inch closer to my ears. “And I also just…didn’t know what to say. I don’t want to lie to my listeners, either, and I knew they would smell a rat if I stopped talking about Grammercy all of a sudden, so…”
Makena hums beneath her breath. “You did talk about him a lot.”
I wince. “Yeah. I did. An embarrassing amount, looking back, but at the time…” I drain the last of my toddy, needing the liquid courage.
“When I first started the podcast, I was spending so much time at home on my own while Mimi was napping or already in bed for the night. It got lonely sometimes. But hockey was always there to keep my mind off the hard parts of being a single mom, to keep me company. And then…so was Grammercy. ”
I exhale a whiskey-fueled sigh. “From the first time I saw him play, I was hooked, Mack. And yeah, part of it was that he’s an amazing player, but mostly it was just…
him. His smile, his story, the way he seemed like this kind, old-fashioned, stand-up guy in a world full of immature assholes.
He became my secret crush, and then, when I started the podcast, my not -so-secret-crush…
” I shake my head. “And his forearms really did it for me. I might have done an entire twenty-minute episode about them at one point.”
Makena stares at me for a long moment.
Then she starts laughing.
Hard.
“What?” I demand, not understanding what she’s finding so funny. “It’s mortifying, Mack. And awful. When Grammercy finds out, he’s going to think I’m a creep.”
“Sorry, I know you’re stressed,” she wheezes, still giggling. “It’s just so funny to me for some reason. The only thing I’ve ever fangirled myself into was getting blocked by that chef I stalk on Instagram. Meanwhile, you fangirled your way into marrying your crush.”
“Fake marrying,” I correct, even though nothing about what Grammercy and I are building together right now feels fake.
Not the way he leaves me notes on the bathroom mirror in dry erase marker, not the growing collection of Mimi drawings adorning his fridge, and certainly not the way he kissed me goodbye yesterday.
Like he didn’t want to leave.
Like he couldn’t wait to get back.
Like he wants to drop the “fake” part of this and go all-in as much as I do.
“Okay, I’m pulling myself together. Sorry,” Makena says, her voice gentling. “I can see how this feels big and scary from your POV. But really, in the greater scheme of things?—”
Before she can finish, a small, pained voice cuts in from the hallway by the kitchen. “Mama? Are you awake in here?”
My nervous system instantly recalibrates, stress and hot-toddy buzz vanishing as I go on Mama High Alert.
“Yeah, I’m right over here, baby,” I call out, surging to my feet as Mimi emerges into the main room, her expression cramped and one hand pressed to her hip. “What’s wrong?”
“My hips are angry again.” Her bottom lip trembles, and I’m already moving, the urge to sweep my baby into my arms when she’s sad as strong as it was the day I brought her home from the hospital. “The new doctor made them worse, not better.”
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry.” I scoop my much bigger baby up, wishing for the thousandth time that I could take her pain into my own body and suffer it for her. “How angry are they, bug? One to ten?”
“Seven,” she whispers as she wraps her arms around my neck, which means probably an eight.
Mimi learned early to downplay her suffering, this brave little girl who hates to cause anyone pain, even by being honest about her own.
“I’m so sorry. That’s pretty angry,” I agree, rocking her slowly back and forth. “But remember what the new doctor said.”
“It might get worse, but then it probably gets better,” Mimi parrots, the weariness in her voice sending a fresh pang through my chest. No kid should ever have to sound this tired, this “over” the struggle of trying to exist in her body.
I know this is for the best, and the new PT program has a reputation for doing incredible things for kids with JA, long-term. But watching Mimi fight through the adjustment period isn’t going to be easy. For any of us.
“What do you think would help?” I ask. “Hot pack? Medicine? Or I could run you a bath and get your toys from the pool. No school tomorrow, so it’s not a big deal if you’re tired and need to sleep late in the morning.”
“Can we call Gee?” she murmurs, surprising me. “He told me I could if the exercises hurt. He says his exercises hurt sometimes, too. Sometimes he has to get into a tub filled all the way up with ice to make the hurting stop.”
“Of course, baby,” I say. “His game is over, and he’s probably still awake. Let’s see if we can get him on the phone.”
Mimi still in my arms, I cross back to the couch, easing us both down into the cozy cushions.
“Hey, Makena,” Mimi says, blinking pained eyes her way.
“Hey, sweet pea,” Makena says, reaching out to give Mimi’s bare foot a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry you’re hurting, buddy. That’s so rough. Especially at night. It’s so hard to sleep when things hurt.”
Mimi nods seriously as I pull up Grammercy’s contact on FaceTime and hit the button. “It is,” she says, still in that weary tone.
But the second Grammercy appears on the screen, his hair still damp from his shower and the interior of a simple hotel room behind him, she brightens. “Hey, there, guys,” he says, eyes concerned as he glances between us. “I didn’t expect to hear from both of you so late. Is everything okay?”
“Mimi has angry hips and wanted to get some advice,” I explain as Mimi scoots more fully onto my lap, the better to see Grammercy on the screen.
“My hips and legs are being so mean to me, Gee,” she adds. “I was trying to sleep, but I kept rolling around and around, and my pajamas got all tangled, and my side bottom feels like it’s on fire.”
Grammercy’s lips turn down in sympathy. “Oh man, I hate that. Side bottom owies are the worst. You can’t do anything without using those muscles.”
She nods fast, her pain temporarily forgotten in the magic of someone understanding how she feels. “Should I get in the bathtub with ice like you said? Mama and me can use the ice in the fridge.”
Grammercy frowns, giving her the gift of seriously considering that impossible suggestion for a moment.
We’d never be able to get enough ice to fill a bathtub from the relatively small ice maker, but he doesn’t crush her dream.
He helps transform it, instead, explaining how sometimes an icy rub can work just as well.
Then he tells her exactly where he left a special tube of tiger balm with added arnica in her bathroom.
He bought it before he left.
Just for her.
I press my lips together, glancing sharply down as Mimi thanks him, my throat suddenly too tight. This isn’t roommate caring. This is stepdad caring, papa-in-the-making caring, and it’s so beautiful it breaks my heart a little.
“I hope you feel better, bug,” he finishes as Mimi agrees to try the balm and let him know how it went when he gets home tomorrow. “Love you lots.”
“Love you, too,” Mimi says casually, like she’s been saying it forever. Like, this isn’t the first time they’ve crossed this particular threshold. Meanwhile, I’m fighting a fresh wave of emotion as she asks, “Did you score lots of goals tonight? I had to go to sleep before the game was finished.”
“Just one goal,” he says. “But we won, so the Voodoo is still undefeated.”
“Yay,” Mimi says, looking genuinely pleased as she squirms off my lap. “Come on, Mama. Let’s go find the tiger.”
“Be right there, baby. I’ll meet you in your bathroom in just a second.” Holding Grammercy’s gaze through the screen, I add in a softer voice, “Thank you. That was perfect.”
“I’m glad I could help, even just a little. I’m sorry she’s hurting,” he says. “And you, too. I know you hurt when she hurts. I’ll be back soon to help, okay? Plane leaves tomorrow at ten a.m.”
“See you soon,” I whisper. “Sweet dreams.”
“Sweet dreams, chère ,” he murmurs, the warmth in his voice going straight to my bones.
I end the call, exhaling in a rush. “Sorry,” I apologize to Makena. “I need to go get her settled again.”
“No worries, honey,” she says softly. “Go be the great mama you are. I’ll be here when you get back. I won’t leave without saying goodbye.”
Lips curving, I nod. “Thanks.”
Feeling very lucky, and so much less alone than I used to be, I join Mimi, who’s already found the balm and her stuffed tiger from the stuffy storage bin, and brought them both back to her bed.
I open the tube, letting her sniff it before she lies back to let me rub in the cream, starting with the hip that’s hurting the most.
As I smooth the balm over the side of her glute, her quad, then down to her calf, I can feel the knots and inflammation the PT warned us about. But on the other side of this, she promised more stable joints, fewer micro-injuries, and—hopefully—less pain.
In the meantime, however, Mimi’s little body feels like she just stepped off a battlefield, not a playground.
But thankfully, the balm seems to help. Slowly, as I massage one leg, then the other, she melts into the mattress, the icy heat giving her some much-needed relief.
We’ve used creams like this before and arnica creams—we’ve tried just about everything at this point—but never the two together.
The fact that Grammercy went out of his way to find something new, something to at least try to help, is the straw that breaks denial’s back.
That’s it.
I’m in love with him, the forever kind of love.
The kind that takes root in your heart and never lets go.
Even if he decides my alter ego and the lies I’ve told make it impossible for us to move forward together, I will always love him for being the kind of father my little girl needs.
Even if it was just for a little while.
Not ten minutes in, Mimi’s asleep again, one hand curled tight around Miss Sparklehorn’s neck, the other around Texas the Tiger, with the ghost of tiger balm and her cherry shampoo mingling in the air .
Back in the kitchen, Makena’s tidying up the hot toddy ingredients and the saucepan.
“You didn’t have to clean up,” I whisper, not wanting to disturb Mimi so soon after she’s drifted off. “You spend all day cleaning up kitchens. You should have let me do it.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” she says, with a small smile. “I find it soothing.”
After the bottles are tucked away, I walk her to the door, where she hugs me tight, as usual. But she holds on a second longer at the end, whispering into my hair, “I get it. Why you’re so scared to tell him.”
I pull back, gazing down at her. “Yeah?”
She nods seriously. “Yeah. That kind of good? The kind where he’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of come to life? That would be scary as hell to lose.”
There’s a quiver in her voice that makes me wonder if this is about more than me and Grammercy.
I know there was a guy in Makena’s past, before her asshole ex-husband, but I don’t know his name.
She just calls him “Mr. Perfect,” the boy from culinary school, who was her dream guy.
Except the part where he showed up when she was only nineteen and not ready to promise anyone forever, not even Mr. Perfect.
She doesn’t mention him much, but when she does, there’s a grief lingering beneath the words that’s not there when she talks about her ex-husband or former boyfriends.
“Don’t rush it,” she adds, her eyes shining. “Keep loving him and trusting that love is enough. The truth will come out when it’s time, and I, for one, think you two will get through it just fine.”
“Thank you,” I whisper. “Love you, friend. ”
“Love you, too,” she says.
Before I can ask if she needs to talk, she’s slipping through the door, already halfway to the elevator before I can think of something to say.
Making a mental note to follow up with her later, I lock up, turn off the light, and head to bed, where I lie awake for a long time thinking about the man I love.
The man who gives my baby another adult to love.
The man who loves my daughter with an uncomplicated purity that’s a testimony to the rare kind of man he is.
Grammercy Graves isn’t just one in a million.
He’s one in a billion.
And maybe that’s what terrifies me most. If this love slips through my fingers, I can’t imagine ever loving another man with anything close to the devotion that pulses through me every time I see his face.
No other man will ever deserve my love like this. No other man could melt me with a single kiss.
No other man will ever feel like family, not the way he does.
The knowledge sits heavy in my chest, assuring me that following Makena’s logical, practical advice is impossible.
I have to tell him.
Soon.