CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE #2
My eyes start to sting as we walk by, making our way towards the front door. Aunt Carrie is sitting on the chair near the entryway, waiting to say goodbye.
She stands when she sees us, immediately opening her arms for me. I gladly accept the offer. “I love you so much, Evangelina Grace.” She sounds upset as she holds onto me even tighter.
I pull away slightly to ask, “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay? I don’t have to go.”
“No, no. Don’t you dare.” Her voice sounds like a threat as she shoves my purse into my arms. “Worry about yourself. You need this.”
“Are you su?—”
“Evangelina, you’ve been handed some of the most sour lemons in the past year and have been told to make lemonade.
” She grabs my shoulders tightly. “I know it’s not easy for you to be here, surrounded by people who remind you of your mother, which is why I’m telling you to go with Grant. Go with Grant, and make lemonade.”
My eyes are still welling with tears, my whole body so overcome with emotion. All I can do is nod.
“Don’t let me ruin your mood!” Carrie wipes the single fallen tear off my cheek before pushing me further toward the door. “Now go have fun!”
I’m mid-laugh when I accidentally turn into Grant’s chest, about a millimeter away from my face.
I jump in surprise, trying to back away as quickly as possible. And of course, in my attempt to get away from Grant, I trip over the rug behind me.
A screech leaps from my throat as I begin to brace myself for the impact of the hardwood floor. Bracing for my tailbone to hurt and my ass to bruise.
Instead of hitting the floor, though, I feel a large warm hand wrap around my wrist, pulling me back to my feet quickly.
Grant’s hand doesn’t move once I’m standing upright, though. It stays wrapped around my wrist.
God, why does this always happen to me? How do I always end up relying on Grant to catch me when I’m falling?
“You alright?” Grant asks as I try to pull away from his grip.
All I can think about is the possibility that Grant can feel my pulse rapidly increasing by the second—like the blood in my veins is trying to escape.
When I lock eyes with Grant again, he raises his eyebrows in suspicion. I clear my throat. “Y-yeah, fine.”
“She’s fine!” My aunt speaks from behind me. I forgot she was still standing there. “You two need to leave, I’m sure!”
She opens the front door, basically kicking us out by our asses. There’s a black Mercedes in the driveway.
“Is that your car?” I ask.
“Technically, no,” he replies, pulling the Mercedes key out of his pocket. “It’s a rental.”
I give him an inquisitive look. “Why would you spend ten times more money on a car you’re going to be driving around for a day when you could have just gotten a regular car?”
“Once you see where we’re going, you’ll understand,” he answers as he unlocks the car and heads toward the driver's side.
“Aw.” I fake pout as I stand at the hood of the car. Grant gives me a questioning look from where he’s sitting in the driver’s seat. “You aren’t going to let me drive?”
He honks the horn lightly, making me jump. “You’re fucking insane.”
I get in the passenger’s seat, setting my purse on the floorboard by my feet. Grant begins to back out of the driveway but puts the car back into park when he glances over at me momentarily.
I’m confused for a moment before I feel a strong arm reach across my chest, grabbing the seatbelt I had forgotten and pulling it over my front.
A sharp inhale escapes me—not from fear, but from the sudden closeness, the unexpected gentleness. It’s not unlike Grant, and it makes me all the more aware of how easily he disarms me.
Once he buckles me, we continue back down the driveway. “Good thing I showed up an hour early, or else you would have made us late.”
“You could have just told me to put it on,” I mumble, pulling my phone out of my back pocket.
“Lina, you can’t even fucking swallow without starting an argument, let alone do what you’re told.”
I giggle at the sexual innuendo, and Grant quickly realizes why.
“Jesus,” he groans. “Not like that.”
“We are leaving,” I say quickly before sealing my lips.
He hums, continuing to keep his eyes focused on the road while I keep my eyes trained on his muscular hand that rests on the gear shift.
Meanwhile, I find myself focusing on the small design of black ink on his hand, closer to his wrist than his fingers. His sweatshirt sleeve is covering the majority of it, though.
Grant’s right, I am nosy. I reach for his hand, pulling up the sleeve of his sweatshirt to see the multiple tattoos littering his hand and lower arm.
“Do you always touch people without permission?” he asks in a calm, teasing voice that startles me.
I try to keep my cool, not wanting to show the effect that he has on me.
“What is it?” I point to the tattoo I was examining. It’s some type of bird, but I’m really wondering what it means.
I’m also wondering how I’ve never thought to look at his tattoos until now.
“A bird,” he answers simply.
“Well, obviously.” I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “What kind of bird? What does it mean?”
I’ve never heard such a sigh as the one Grant lets out next, long and heavy.
But he explains anyway, “It’s a blue wren. I got it a few weeks after my mom died.”
“I’m sorry. I-I shouldn’t have asked.”
“Listen,” Grant exhales. “I know you’re new to this, but there’s sort of this unspoken rule when you join the dead moms club: you don’t pity other people in the club, and they don’t pity you. We all get enough of that shit from everyone else. We don’t need it from each other.”
“Sounds like a pretty shitty club.”
“It is. Nobody wants to be in it, but it’s sort of the way of the world.”
“Yeah…” I trail off.
Grant says something that shocks me, though: “I’m sorry about your mom, Lina.”
“I thought you said no pitying?” I joke, trying to make light of the brutal situation.
“It’s not pity. I’m being real, pretty girl. You lost someone important to you. Don’t think I don’t recognize that.”
“Does it get better?” That question has been eating away at me, but I never found an appropriate time to ask. “Or easier?”
“Yeah. Before I got this tattoo, I was a wreck every day after my mom died. But then, it was like the storm cleared for a moment, and there was this overwhelming sense of clarity.” He clears his throat.
“It only lasted for a moment, but that’s when I decided to get the tattoo.
I think once you find some type of meaning in the way you cope, that’s when it gets easier. ”
The tears I had been trying so hard to hold back finally breach past the surface. I don’t want to cry. I really don’t.
I see Grant’s hand move off the gear shift and into my lap. He holds my hand for a moment before giving it a gentle squeeze.
“The storm will pass eventually, Lina. You will get your moment of clarity.”