Audrey
Okay so the Christmas Market isn’t so bad. Grant and I stick together as we pass through the stands. Christmas music plays gently through the aisles of the outdoor market. The smell of candied nuts and hot chocolate carries across the entire venue. The merchandise is mostly China-imported ornaments and gifts, but there are also a few artists and homemade craft booths. Every time he says something that makes me laugh, I feel the eyes of my mother and grandmother on me, and I’m starting to think they suspect something.
Grant buys a pack of sugared almonds while I walk ahead and stop in front of a booth with drawings along the wall. They are mostly landscapes in oil, but there are some impressive portrait sketches too—my favorite.
“These are beautiful,” I say to the woman drawing in her book, passing the time while people browse her artwork. For a moment, I’m envious of her, to have so much confidence in her art and able to sell it in public like this.
“Thank you,” she says with a smile.
I feel Grant approach behind me, looking over the artwork too. “Are you local?” he asks.
“No. My husband and I travel around to these festivals all year,” she says. She’s young, probably not much older than me, and my envy turns into palpable jealousy. I want this. I don’t want to go back to college and pretend to be someone I’m not.
Grant is watching me for a moment before I finally thank the girl and walk away. I catch up to my brothers and try to act natural as we stroll.
We haven’t spoken much about what happened last night. It almost feels like a dream. The kiss under the mistletoe was easily the best kiss of my life. Then, he made me come on the couch, and no guy has ever been able to do that. Grant had me climaxing faster than I can get myself to climax, and regardless of how well we get along and how much I like him as a person, I have to admit that it will be hard to let him go based on that skill alone.
But I do like him. A lot.
Yes, he’s twenty years older than me. Yes, he’s technically my step-uncle. But Grant doesn’t talk down to me or treat me like a kid. He actually lets me be me and gives me more confidence than I’ve ever had in my life. In just one day, he made me feel that. How could he make me feel in a month or a year? Or a lifetime?
What am I thinking? I’m not the romantic type. I’m not one of those girls who writes her name in cursive with her crush’s last name. I don’t dream up fantasy futures with guys I just met. But here I am...imagining a life with Grant. Living on the road in the winter and at the lake resort in the summer. Painting and drawing and putting my art first. Putting myself first.
Grant comes up behind me, touching my back so slightly, giving me a concerned expression, and I know he’s silently asking if I’m okay.
“I’m fine,” I mouth, but I don’t even know if that’s true.
There’s a sense of calmness all day, and I know it’s from having Grant around. I notice my mom’s attention constantly peeking over to see if I’m behaving, being polite enough, not pouting and making everything about me.
But every time she says something to me, he’s there. When she tries to remind me that I wouldn’t have time for painting when my program at school becomes more intense, he jumps in to remind her that taking time off from studying is a form of self-care. When she tries to talk me out of ordering an appetizer at lunch, he orders one instead. It’s over our plate of fried pickles that I know I’m in trouble.
I am growing too fond of having him around. Tomorrow is Christmas, his last day at the house.
“Where are you going when you leave?” I ask him while we sneak outside to a gazebo in the parking lot for a smoke break, trying to act nonchalant about it. Like it doesn’t matter much to me...when really, it does. It matters more than I want to admit.
He seems to think for a moment. “I was planning on heading south, to find something warmer for a few weeks.”
“Go find yourself a hot girlfriend in Florida,” I say, but he doesn’t laugh. His eyes narrow at me.
“You’re not going to keep in touch with me?”
He’s acting like I’m already letting him go because he’s afraid I will. I probably should.
“Do you want me to?”
He steps toward me, glancing around to make sure there’s no one around when he takes the cigarette from my fingers and tosses it in the ashtray. Then puts his hands on my hips and pulls me close. His mouth hovers just an inch from mine as he stares into my eyes.
“Maybe I’ll head north instead. I heard Chicago is lovely this time of year.”
I swallow. He’s talking about Northwestern, my school. Where I will be living for the foreseeable future. My heart starts to hammer in my chest.
“It is. You should definitely do that instead of going to Florida.” A wry smile spreads across my cheeks.
“I just might then.”
He closes the distance, kissing me for the first time since last night, and my body floods with heat when his tongue invades my mouth. I’m so consumed by him that it’s like he’s in my head. Our heads tilt, bringing us even closer as his arms wrap around my body.
This is risky. Our family could come out of the restaurant at any moment and see us. So we keep our kiss short but not because we want to.
As we walk back, all I can think is that tomorrow might not be it for us. He could come to Illinois, be there for the rest of the semester, and then maybe school won’t be so bad. Maybe I wouldn’t hate it.
But it feels futile. It feels like a fake promise to myself that I know I won’t keep. Having Grant there will still be difficult, but least of all, it won’t fix the fact that I hate my major, and I want to quit.
And as much as I want to, I know it would involve standing up to my mother, and that’s something I know I won't do.