Chapter Seventeen #2
She and Grant exchanged a look of mutual understanding.
They were the children of platonic soul mates, which meant none of their secrets growing up had been safe.
It’s not that Sophie or Grace would ever betray one of their kids’ trust—it’s just that they saw no distinction between where one of them ended and the other began.
If Sophie knew something, Grace did, too.
It had been that way for as long as Ivy and Grant had been alive.
“Maybe they want to have all the details before they tell the gossip brigade,” he suggested. Ivy’s frown deepened. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.”
“Yeah,” she said, her mind clearly elsewhere.
He needed to change the subject fast before Ivy decided she wanted to head home and grill her parents instead of going to Curly’s and letting him flirt with her. Not that he was doing a great job of flirting while they were walking through a winter wonderland.
“Tell me about Brad. I need to know what Tony is getting into. Right now, I know all he sees is tall.”
He’d picked the right topic, because Ivy’s frown turned into a soft smile.
“Brad is the best,” she said. “We met during flight attendant training. I don’t know what I’d do without him.
He’s incredibly smart and knows practically everything about geography.
Someone points out the airplane window to ask about a mountain and he knows which one it is.
It’s like flying with Tour Guide Barbie.
He’s generous and loyal… Oh! He’s hilarious, if you haven’t already figured that out…
I could go on, but I might save the hard pitch for Tony. ”
“Where’s he from? What’s his family like?”
“He’s from Mississippi and…he doesn’t speak to his family anymore. They’re not supportive.” She nodded toward Brad and Tony, who were almost half a block ahead of them. “Does Tony still talk to his parents? Do they know?”
“They know,” Grant said. “His dad was…” He searched for the right way to say it. “Well, let’s just say Don isn’t unsupportive, but he’s not hanging a pride flag from his front porch, either. I think his mom is hoping he’ll ‘change his mind’ and come out as bisexual. For grandkids.”
“I don’t know if I should be happy they’re still talking or disappointed that’s all the support Tony gets from his parents. And he can still have kids if he wants them, if that’s her big hang-up. It’ll just look a little different.”
Grant chuckled. “I’m aware.”
Ivy stared at him blankly for a moment before understanding smacked her on the back of the head like a frying pan. Her eyes went huge. “Oh my god. Lorelai. I totally forgot she’s married.”
“With a kid.”
“That’s right! Mom told me when they adopted. It’s…Gemma, right?”
“That’s right.” Grant smiled. “She’s the funniest kid I’ve ever met.”
“How old is she now?”
“Almost seven.”
“What did you get her for Christmas?”
This was somehow a test.
“I can’t tell you,” Grant said, “but I’d be happy to show you.”
“Do you have a picture?” Ivy asked.
He shook his head. “It’s better if you experience it. Trust me.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “It had better live up to this secrecy. There’s nothing worse than someone building up a surprise only to reveal a shitty one.”
“I don’t think you’re going to think it’s a shitty one.”
They finally arrived at Curly’s. The place was, once again, crowded with far-flung college kids home for break with newly acquired IDs.
“I was expecting it to be Three Stooges themed,” Brad said, taking in all the football memorabilia on the walls.
“Hey! Grant!”
Grant barely heard his name shouted over all the noise near the door, but he saw Vince Moore waving him toward the bar.
They’d been classmates since preschool, and while they were friendly, they’d never been good enough friends for Vince to yell his name across a bar.
Normally, a casual head nod was the most he’d get.
Not wanting to lose her in the crowd, he took Ivy’s hand and guided her behind him.
“What’s up, Vince?”
“You need to take your brother home. He’s fucking plastered and none of his friends want to take care of him. Starr can’t babysit him all night.”
Grant’s eyes snapped to the other end of the bar. Austin had his head down on the worn wooden surface, and Starr was rubbing his back. Ivy squeezed Grant’s hand.
“Jesus Christ, what happened?” Grant asked Vince.
“He got drunk,” Vince said simply and without any humor. “Take him home before he pukes on my bar.”
Grant wanted to ask why they hadn’t called someone or at least a cab, but just then Ivy let go of his hand and slipped through the crowd.
He groaned and followed her, not weaving in between bodies as gracefully as she did.
When he caught up to her at the bar, Austin had slumped halfway off his stool and flung his arms over her shoulders. He was using her boobs as a pillow.
Fucker.
“Starr, can you get me a garbage bag and a small bag of ice?” Ivy asked, twisting as much as she could to move Austin’s head to her shoulder. Relief erased the worry in her expression when she found Grant. “He’s in really bad shape.”
“I can see that.” Grant peeled Austin away from Ivy, taking on all of his brother’s dead weight. “Come on, buddy. Let’s get you home.”
Austin’s words were slow and slurred. “I…spin…”
“Oh, goody.” Grant readjusted his position and helped Austin off the stool. It was like trying to move an uncooperative bag of concrete. He gave Ivy an apologetic smile over the top of Austin’s head. “Sorry I have to cut this short.”
“I’m coming with you,” she said. “Brad was going to ditch me for Tony anyway. You were always going to be my ride home.”
“I can come back for you,” Grant offered hopefully. Driving alone with Ivy was a fantastic reward for doing a good deed for his brother.
“I’m ready to go,” she said. “Plus, I can hold the puke bag so he doesn’t throw up all over your truck. Nausea management is something I excel at.”
Austin groaned, and Grant lost the will to argue with Ivy. Starr returned with a comically large black garbage bag and a thankfully much smaller bag of ice.
“I didn’t realize how tall all of our trash cans were until I was looking for a fucking normal-size bag,” she said, handing the bags to Ivy.
Starr rubbed Austin’s back. “Feel better, bud.” She gave Grant an apologetic grimace.
“Sorry. I don’t know what happened. He was definitely feeling himself and then wham. Drunk as a damn skunk.”
“It’s not your fault,” he said automatically.
Austin didn’t have the sense God gave a goose, as their grandma used to say.
And none of the Moores could have known his brother had been on a bird-food diet.
Starr’s infamously strong pours all but guaranteed Austin would be sloshed after one round, and he’d probably managed to swallow at least two.
“Can you tell Tony where we went? I’m going to text him, but you’ll probably see him before he sees his phone. ”
Starr nodded. “Of course. Drive safe.”
Grant looked for Tony—or, more accurately, Brad’s tall form—as they navigated to the door with two hundred pounds of unsteady, uncoordinated man-child between them.
“Shit. Where’s his coat?” Ivy asked the moment they stepped out into the frosty night.
“Probably inside with his asshole friends,” Grant said. “He’s got a pretty great alcohol blanket right now.”
Ivy unwound her scarf and carefully rewrapped it around Austin’s neck. “It’s not a lot, but it’s something.”
“Are you going to be cold?” Grant asked her, ready to let Austin sit in the snow so he could give Ivy his jacket.
“It’s really not that far,” she assured him and put Austin’s other arm over her shoulders to help him manage the weight. “Shall we?”
The two of them struggled because Austin refused to walk a straight line. It was like steering a shopping cart with a bad wheel—even after they straightened him out, he inevitably veered again.
“You know who he reminds me of?” Ivy said after she almost lost her balance when Austin unexpectedly shifted his weight onto her. “The Scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz. Right after Dorothy pulls him off the post.”
“If he only had a brain,” Grant intoned. “Does that make me the Tin Man or the Cowardly Lion?”
“The Tin Man,” she said without a moment of hesitation.
“Are you calling me heartless?”
“And rusty.”
Grant laughed. “If you click your heels together, do you think we’d be home? Or at least to the truck?”
“Are you not having fun?” she teased.
Between them, Austin dry heaved.
“That’s comforting when he’s about to get in my truck.”
“I’ll keep the bag by his head,” Ivy promised.
“You can put it over his head at this point.”
Grant unlocked his truck and was glad he’d let Ivy come along after all, because loading Austin into the back of the cab was not an easy feat. His brother landed face-first on the seat.
“Ow. My nose,” Austin said, strangely void of emotion.
Ivy boosted herself into the back seat behind him. “Let’s sit up…annnd we’re over.”
Austin had the same trajectory as a fly ball. Up and back down, though his landing spot was Ivy’s lap. Grant’s vision clouded green with jealousy.
“You can move him,” he told her.
“He’s fine,” Ivy said, wiggling the bag of ice under the scarf she’d put around Austin’s neck. She rolled the opening of the trash bag until it was a reasonable length, then tucked it between Austin’s cheek and her knee. Small mercies.
Grant shut the back door and muttered to himself the entire way around the truck until he climbed into the driver’s seat.
If Austin’s head hadn’t been in Ivy’s lap, he’d have found every speed bump between where he’d parked and the house.
He glanced into the back seat to find Ivy stroking Austin’s hair like he was a child with an upset tummy, and not an adult who’d drunk himself to the brink of alcohol poisoning.