Chapter 17
Jasmine
The door closes behind Mr. Grayson with a soft thud that hits me hard. With Sophie and me staring at each other in the silent study. Everything around me in the room—black leather furniture and dark grey walls and large portraits with his mother, Zayn and Sophie—taunts me.
Within minutes, I can hear the murmur of guests, and the music slowly evaporate and then die.
He arranged a surprise party for me.
He kissed me like I’m air.
And all I did was… hurt him.
Clutching the edges of his desk, I close my eyes, fighting the onslaught of hot tears. All I see is the disappointment in his eyes that cuts like a knife through butter. I would have felt better if he had yelled or demanded answers but that isn’t Nathan.
“Shit, I messed that up really bad, huh?” Sophie says, walking into the room.
I jerk my head up. “You think?” I say. My tone is harsh, but I can’t seem to control it.
“He doesn’t deserve this, Soph. I waited for you to come clean with us.
With him. I hid it from him, even knowing I was wrong to do so.
How could you have not told him after all these months? He loves you and he doesn’t—"
“And you think I don’t love him just as much?
” Sophie cuts me off in a small tone. Her sigh is heavy as she comes to lean by the desk next to me.
“I was six when my mom married him, Jazz. And from day one, he’s been my champion, my hero, my dad.
He’s seen me through every asthma attack, every anxiety spiral, when my own mother couldn’t.
But you know all this, yeah?” She laughs but the sound is kind of sad.
“Please don’t assume for one second that I don’t care about hurting him or that I’m selfish or that I… ”
I wait, my chest aching at the pain I see in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
She shakes her head, shrugging off my apology.
“Talk to me, please.” I grab her hand and lace our fingers like she used to with me whenever someone bullied me or called me names.
When she looks at me, her blue eyes are full to the brim with tears.
“I’m terrified that I won’t get in anywhere, Jazz.
I barely got my high school diploma and that’s because of you.
My GPA is the pits, and I can’t string two words together without sounding like an uneducated idiot.
Do you know how many times I had to review my college essays?
That counselor I hired thinks I’m an idiot. ”
My heart sinks at the frustration in her voice. “Why didn’t you ask me for help?” It’s only after I hear the words that I realize it’s the wrong thing to say.
“Because I want to do this by myself. Without your help and without dad’s millions padding the degree I get.
But I can’t.” She slams her palm to her face so hard that I jerk off table.
“I’m a stupid, silly, incompetent moron who can’t even do basic algebra, or write a simple essay.
Or even get a job at the local boba cafe.
I didn’t tell you or dad because…” she laughs and the sound veers dangerously towards hysteria, “I don’t think I’m getting into a single college I applied to.
Can you just imagine for one second how that makes me feel? ”
“Soph, honey, neither of us—”
“No, you can’t, Jazz,” she answers her own question, pushing away my hand.
Tears draw tracks down her round cheeks.
“You can’t because you’ve always excelled at anything you put your mind to.
And not just stupid math or English. But hard, boring life stuff.
You are competent at everything. Why do you think dad trusts you so much? Respects you so much?”
“He respects you and I do too, Soph. Please—”
Sophie shakes her head and pushes off the table.
Her petite form is shaking with such emotion that my chest tightens.
“No, there’s a difference. Dad loves me unconditionally.
And I know you’ll tell me how fortunate I’m to have that.
I know that deep in my heart.” She taps her chest. “But I want to be more too, Jazz. I want to be more than this… anxious, looping, broken doll loser that you all see when you look at me.”
Shock stuns me as I stare at her. Her pain… I feel it as if it were my own. Pushing up from the desk, I wrap my arms around her and tighten them when she stills. The scent of sweet lavender surrounds me, anchoring me in all the good times we have shared.
My best friend has a heart that is oceans deep and I have to make sure she sees it, even if it’s through my eyes.
“I love you so much, darling,” I say, my throat choking. “And you know I would never lie to you, Soph. You know that.”
Without waiting for her reply, I drag her into the attached bathroom and turn on the lights above the sink.
Our reflections, so much like our personalities, are completely different. She’s short and curvy and petite with baby blue eyes and strawberry blond hair. I’m tall and thin with golden brown skin and stick-straight hair and as always, the birthmark on my cheek stands out.
I wrap an arm around her shoulder and pull her closer.
Meet her eyes in the mirror. “You’re not a loser or a doll or whatever names you’ve been calling yourself.
You fought bullies double your size in middle grade for me.
You made me feel like I belong, for… as long as I can remember.
You were my shelter, my…everything when mom died.
Not once in all these years have you ever made me feel like I was alone in the world.
Do you know what a difference you’ve made in my life, Soph?
Do you know what a strength and blessing your kindness, your generous heart, are to everyone around you? ”
She nods, but the tears fall from her eyes anyway.
“So, okay,” I say, my tone firmer now, “I get it that you want to go to college and accomplish something and be independent. But, sweetheart, those are things on a list to be marked off. Whether you do them this year or the next, whether you stumble on the way or not, doesn’t matter.
You’re already the best daughter and friend that anyone could ask for. ”
She nods and wipes the tears from her cheeks.
I know that my words have boosted her morale for now but not healed the wound she’s carrying. And that she has to make that journey by herself. But no matter what tomorrow brings, I vow to be there by her side, every step of the way.
With a strangled laugh, she turns towards me, her hands on my shoulders, our arms holding parallel, as we used to as kids. “Thank you, as always, for attending to my crisis while in the middle of your own.”
I giggle, but the sound is strange to my own ears. It doesn’t morph into a sob but skates the territory. “Any time,” I say, now sounding a little drunk. “It’s not like Mr. Grayson and I were going to last much longer.”
Sophie’s gasp lingers in the air, sharp and incredulous. “Is that what my dad is to you, you… jezebel? A fun fling?”
The sound that falls from my lips is a cross between a snort and a sob. “You know—or have known for a while, I think—how I feel.”
“So what’s the problem then?” she pushes, her hands tightening on my shoulders. “If I hadn’t interrupted with my ill-timed entry, I think Dad would have given you a good birthday present, no?”
My cheeks burn, heat crawling up my neck, but shame doesn’t come. “He didn’t promise me anything, Soph. And whatever was there, I might have cut it short by hiding so many things from him.”
Her eyes sharpen, her voice turning fierce. “The way he looked at you, Jazz… and you’re not even going to fight for him? You’re just going to hide behind my mistakes? Behind fear? God, and here I thought you were fearless.”
My chest caves in. “I hurt him, Soph,” I whisper, the words tearing out of me. “He trusted me, and I failed him. He gave me everything I asked for, and I still kept something back.”
She squeezes my shoulders, her strawberry-blond hair falling in her face, her blue eyes lit with fire.
“I’ve hurt Dad too, Jazz. More times than I want to admit.
But he always forgives me, because that’s who he is.
He’ll get over me. But you?” She leans in, almost shaking me.
“You’re the one thing he won’t get over.
So don’t you dare walk away. Don’t you dare give up without fighting for him. ”
Her words slam into me harder than any lecture I could give myself. I can still feel Mr. Grayson’s disappointment slicing through me like glass, but beneath it, I remember the way he cradled my face, the way his body folded me into him like I belonged there.
Maybe my mistake isn’t unfixable. Not if I want him, truly want him, as my future.
I nod, breath shaky, heart pounding with the beginnings of fragile hope.
Sophie studies me for a beat, then smirks, watery-eyed but teasing. “Guess that means I’ve got to start calling you Mama soon, huh?”
I laugh, the sound choked and messy, but it breaks the heaviness hanging between us. “Thank you,” I whisper, clutching her hand. “For not being weirded out. For supporting me. For being so... kind about this.”
Her grin softens, turning tender. “You make him happy, Jazz. Anyone can see that. You should see it too. Own it. And then—” she taps my bare finger with mock sternness— “ask him to put a ring on it already.”
The laugh that bursts out of me this time is real.
For the first time since he walked out, my chest feels light. Mr. Grayson’s always given me more than I asked for, more than I deserved. Or so I thought.
But there’s no deserving in love. There’s only speaking it, living it and claiming it.
And if I have to beg on my knees for forgiveness, if I have to earn my way into his good graces, then I will.
After all, I’ve never shied away from hard work and this is the man I love.
The man I want to spend the rest of my life with.