Chapter 20
twenty
. . .
Grant
"Dad! Check this out! Aunt Sarah helped me make the planet Mars!"
The kitchen island is covered with Styrofoam crumbs, glue, paintbrushes, and what I think is molding clay, but I can't be sure with all the disaster that surrounds my little STEM genius.
"Hey, G. Sorry about the mess. I'll get it cleaned up before I go."
"Don't worry about it. I can pick it up after Hazel goes to bed." I glance at my wrist, noting the time. "Something must be wrong with my watch because it says that it's PJ o'clock, but I don't see any PJs."
Hazel leans on crossed arms resting on the counter, trying not to smile. "Your watch doesn't say that."
"Are you sure?" I hold it up to my ear. "Uh, yep. It's whisper-singing to me right now. PJ time, PJ time, Hazel missed her PJ time."
She climbs up onto the island, crawls over to me, and reaches for my arm, trying to get a listen.
"I don't hear anything."
"Listen really close."
I wait for her to put her ear on my arm and then grab her and throw her over my shoulder. As she releases all the giggles and screams from her little body, I sing really badly, "PJ time, PJ time!" and bring her upstairs to her room.
"Ok, then. I'm heading out!" my sister yells from the bottom of the stairs.
"Thanks, sis!"
"Bye, Aunt Sarah!"
My sister has been a huge help lately, and I don't know how I'd be surviving without her right now.
I love that she moved out to LA for a fresh start.
She's a cybersecurity analyst who contracts with companies to ensure that their data is protected.
She's a genius, and the shit she sees is fucking scary.
Thankfully, it's a job she can do from anywhere so she can accommodate my desperate pleas for help.
Josie's been gone for three weeks, and it looks like she'll be staying at least three more.
I'm happy she's getting this time with her daughter, but some days, we sure do miss her.
I slide my shoes off and slip onto the edge of Hazel's bed, and she darts from the bathroom right after I settle. She pounces on me, fully dressed in PJs.
"We're on Chapter Thirteen," she tells me as she grabs The Martian from the side table.
Yes, I know she's six, but she's smart, and I'm not going to baby her with kid books if she wants to read above her level.
Although, it does mean she's slightly obsessed with Mars now, and I've yet to convince her that she can't really move there when she grows up.
"Alright. Do you want to try and read, or do you want me to take this one?"
"You take it. I'm tired from creating a whole planet."
She scoots over on her bed, making room for me, and I slide on top of her covers and position myself against the headboard as I stretch my socked feet out on the bed.
"Daddy, do you have dates?"
"What do you mean? I have had dates before."
"When are you going to go on one again?"
"Oh, I'm not sure. I guess I don't really have anyone in mind I'd like to go on a date with. Why are you asking?"
"I heard Aunt Sarah telling her friend she has a date. But she said you never go on dates. That you won't go on them because of me."
Hazel curls up against my body and avoids looking up at me.
"Hey, listen to me." I lean down and tilt her chin up so we're eye to eye. "That is not true at all."
I'm going to kill my sister.
"I date. I just haven't lately because I'd rather spend time with you. Sometimes, dates take up too much time, and other times, they aren't very fun."
"Maybe I could help you find a fun date?" She looks up so innocently that I can't help but think the universe is shoving this idea down my throat tonight.
"I think taking you to the space center is a fun date. What do you think about that?"
"I think that would be a fantastic date! When?"
She's got me there. Bamboozled by a six-year-old.
"I'm sure I can find some time this weekend. Now, can I get back to this book?"
"Yeah. But Dad? I know you date so you can fall in love. And you already love me, so maybe you should find someone you want to love and ask them to date you."
Gut-punched by a kid.
When I reach the end of the chapter, Hazel is already asleep.
I guess creating a planet does wear you out.
As I head downstairs, my mind drifts to Sophia as I think about what Hazel said about finding someone to love.
I'm not sure if love is what I'm after, but I'll admit that being around her isn't a burden at all.
"Knock, knock," Sophia says in her softest voice. The kitchen door is open, and she's leaning inside, hesitant to enter.
"Come on in. I just got Hazel to bed. Perfect timing."
"Oh, bummer, I wanted to say hi."
Something about her disappointment pulls at my heart. I sidestep the comment and bring us back to the reason she's here. "Come on back. I brought home some ideas I want to show you."
The house is quiet except for the gentle clink of Sophia's wine glass against the coffee table.
We've been reviewing the script for a few hours, and the bottle between us is nearly empty.
Papers are strewn across the couch cushions, covered in her neat handwriting.
She's curled up at the other end, her feet tucked under her, wearing an oversized UCLA sweatshirt that makes her look younger than her twenty-five years.
"I know if we can shoot this scene on the lot, we can find the money for the shot we want at Honey Pine, but this scene still isn't working." She sighs and runs a hand through her hair. "I get why Maya won't leave the house, but we need the audience to understand, too."
I scan the pages again. The scene is simple on the surface. Maya is arguing with her mother about evacuating as mudslides threaten their neighborhood. But there's something deeper there, something about holding on to the past that feels achingly familiar.
"What if…" I pause, choosing my words carefully. "What if it's not really about the house at all? Maybe it's about what leaving means to her. Every memory of her husband is in those walls. Leaving means accepting that life goes on without him, and she's not ready for that."
Sophia looks up sharply. "You sound like you're speaking from experience."
The wine must be hitting me harder than I thought because I find myself saying things I rarely talk about.
"My mom was like that after my dad died.
Watching her…it was like she died, too, in a way.
She stayed in our old house until it practically fell apart around her.
Wouldn't even paint the walls a different color because Dad had picked the original shade. "
"Grant…" Sophia's voice is soft. She shifts closer, and her knee brushes against mine. "I'm so sorry."
"It was a long time ago." I take a sip of wine, buying time. "But I think that's why this scene matters so much. It's not just about a stubborn woman refusing to evacuate. It's about grief and how, sometimes, we confuse holding on to things with holding on to people."
"Is that why you…" she starts, then stops herself.
"Why I what?"
She bites her lip, considering. "Why you keep everyone at arm's length? I mean, besides your sister and Hazel. And maybe Geneva.”
The question hits closer to home than I'd like. "Maybe," I admit. "It's easier to avoid getting too attached than to risk…" I trail off, suddenly aware of how close she's gotten.
"Risk what?" she whispers.
"Losing yourself," I murmur, "when they leave."
"Not everyone leaves."
Her eyes are a darker shade of blue in the low light and fixed on mine with an intensity that makes my heart race. She breaks the moment when she leans back and stretches her arms over her head. Her sweatshirt rides up slightly, revealing a sliver of skin. I shouldn't be looking. But I am.
I clear my throat, dragging my gaze back to the script in front of me. "I think if we make that change—it's stronger. It hits where it needs to."
Sophia turns her head toward me, studying my profile. "Yeah," she says softly. "It really does."
I can feel her looking at me, and it takes everything in me not to turn, not to meet her eyes. If I do, I'm not sure I'll be able to stop what's coming.
But then she does it for me. She shifts closer, and her knee brushes against mine again. Her voice is quieter now. "Grant."
I finally look at her, and the breath leaves my lungs. The way she's watching me—like she's seeing something she can't ignore anymore—sets every nerve in my body on fire.
"Sophia…" My voice comes out rough, a warning I barely believe myself.
She tilts her head, her lips parting slightly, her breath warm as it fans across my skin. "Yes," she whispers.
Something snaps.
My hand slides into her hair, and suddenly, my mouth is on hers. The kiss is hard, desperate, like I've been starving for it and didn't even realize how badly until now.
She makes a small sound when my fingers tighten in her hair, and it sends something electric through me. I pull her closer, with one hand on her waist, anchoring her to me. She fists my shirt, dragging me against her like she's just as wrecked by this as I am.
Her lips are soft, and her taste is something I already know will haunt me.
I angle her back against the couch, pressing into her, my hands exploring the curve of her waist beneath her sweatshirt.
She arches into me, her breath hitching when my mouth moves to her jaw, then lower, tracing along the delicate line of her throat.
"Grant," she breathes, her voice breaking.
"You're going to be the death of me," I murmur against her skin.
She laughs breathlessly, but it turns into a sharp gasp as I find a sensitive spot just beneath her ear. "What a way to go, though."
I pull back just enough to look at her, and for a moment, neither of us moves. Her hair is a mess from my fingers, her lips swollen, her pupils blown wide. She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
"We should stop," I say, my voice strained.
"We should," she agrees, but her fingers are still in my hair, and I can't bring myself to move away.
Neither of us moves.
It's only when a car alarm blares from somewhere outside that reality slams back into me. I shift, exhaling hard and running a hand through my hair. She pulls her sweatshirt back into place and clears her throat, but neither of us looks at each other right away.
"It's late." I exhale. "We should—"
"Yeah." She straightens, still a little breathless. "We should definitely…"
"Get some sleep."
"Right. Sleep." She laughs shakily. "That's…yeah."
I stand first, extending a hand to help her up. She hesitates for half a second before taking it, her palm warm against mine. As I walk her to the door, every step is thick with something unspoken.
When she reaches for the handle, she pauses, finally looking up at me. My pulse kicks hard in my chest.
"Goodnight, Grant."
I swallow against the ache in my throat. "Goodnight, Sophia."
She steps out, and I stay there, watching her go, knowing nothing between us will be the same after this.