Chapter 33 Gracie
Two Weeks Before the Wedding
If someone had told me six weeks ago that Jude Larkwood—the one-man welcome committee to my own personal misery spiral—would be supporting me as I stood up to my family, I’d have asked if the zombie apocalypse was truly upon us.
But as we pull up to the small, gray-brown house livened up with yard inflatables of every conceivable New England sports team, there’s no denying that he’s by my side—and letting me hold his hand in a death grip.
“I’m glad you’re relaxed,” he says as he turns the car off. “Family confrontations are so much easier when your extremities aren’t throbbing with adrenaline.”
I look down at my hand wrapped hard around his and try letting go. He pulls it back with a tut and kisses my knuckles.
I sigh. “Can you remind me one more time why leaving everything on the doorstep isn’t a better plan?”
The other night, after watching Corpse Bride, he convinced me to bring not only the DIY favors today, but everything else I’ve been storing for my mom’s party.
In theory, dropping it all off will clearly communicate to my family that I’m done doing this thankless job, and allow me to get rid of the life-size Tom Brady cutout whose eyes seem to follow me around my cottage.
Now, however, I’m convinced a Molotov cocktail through my mom’s window might feel less aggressive.
Jude turns in his seat to look at me. “You’re going to be fine. Everyone in that house is an adult capable of respecting your boundaries.”
“That’s highly questionable.”
“Let me rephrase: Everyone in that house is technically an adult who should be capable of respecting your boundaries. And if they can’t…” He shrugs. “It’s not your fault that their emotional intelligence peaked in middle school.”
I stare at him. “You know, if the lawyering thing doesn’t work out, you could always be one of those hot self-help influencers.”
“ ‘Hot’ as in popular, or ‘hot’ as in good-looking?”
I cup a hand to my ear. “Did I just hear the zzz of a fishing rod?”
“Just trying to figure out the job qualifications for my new career.”
“And if I think you’re hot, apparently.”
“Pretty sure I got the answer to that question when you licked my armpit last night.”
“I did not lick your armpit!” I say in outrage, snatching my hand from his. “That ice-cream cone is on your ribs.”
“You of all people should know I don’t mind a kink. My armpits are all yours, Gracie.”
“Oh my god, are you stalling?” I ask when it occurs to me how long we’ve just been sitting here. “Because if you’re suddenly rethinking this whole plan, you should know I’d much rather lick your armpit than go in there.”
“Absolutely not. Just trying to restore feeling in my nerve endings,” he says, flexing his hand. “Wouldn’t want to fumble a teenie-weenie.”
I laugh, despite my nervousness. “That’s a good start. Any sports jargon you can slip into the conversation will win you points.”
He bats his lashes. “The only points I’m here to win are for you, Gracie.”
I roll my eyes, trying not to let my heart melt down to my toes, when the front door opens.
My stepsister Brianna stomps out in flip-flops, staring at Jude’s SUV.
She’s wearing her signature outfit of shiny basketball shorts, a championship-something T-shirt, and a frown.
Jude gives me one last reassuring smile before opening his car door.
“Come on. Time to knock it out of the park, slugger.”
“Oh my God,” I say, half in exasperation, half in actual prayer.
As I get out, I wave to Brianna on the porch, hoping my smile doesn’t read too much like a rictus of terror. Meanwhile, Jude opens the back hatch to start unloading.
“I think I can grab Tom,” he says, shifting a box in his arms to grab the cutout.
“And deny me my shield?” I whisper back, shooting an arm out to pull the cardboard man toward me. “I don’t think so.”
“What is she going to do, tackle you?”
“Not if it might damage Tom,” I say, carefully maneuvering him out of the backseat.
I’ve just gotten him out, along with a five-gallon helium tank, when I turn to see Brianna standing directly behind me. I yelp, and the next few seconds are a nightmarish blur.
I fumble the tank, and in my desperation to catch it, smack her hard in the face with Tom, whose cardboard head bends all the way backward. She gasps, which turns into a scream when the tank, which I do not catch, lands directly on her nearly bare foot, before bouncing loudly down the driveway.
“Goddamnit,” she roars, slapping Jude’s car right beside me.
I gasp and hide behind Tom’s flapping head while Brianna grabs her injured foot, cursing loud enough to wake the dead.
Jude appears, physically putting himself between me and Brianna, and while he doesn’t stop a careening van with his palm, I still feel like I’m suddenly living out all my teen Twilight fantasies.
“Please back away from Gracie,” he says in a voice so calm and at odds with Brianna’s that it catches her attention.
“And who are you?” she snaps, giving him a once-over.
“The person helping Gracie transport all the supplies she’s been kindly buying and storing for you. Now would you mind helping us carry some of this inside?”
Brianna’s frown deepens, but surprisingly, she stalks off to retrieve the helium tank before heading back inside.
“So, was that Brianna or Josie?” Jude asks pleasantly, as though my stepsister greeted him with a plate of warm brownies and a hug.
“Brianna,” I say, taking a calming breath. “Jude, listen—”
“No, I’m not having second thoughts,” he says, brushing a stray piece of my hair into place. “In fact, I’m only more convinced that you should go in there and say your piece. And then maybe set Tom Brady on fire.”
“He did make a pretty good shield,” I point out.
“Here’s a thought: maybe you shouldn’t need a shield from your family.”
I sigh. “Okay, let’s do this.”
When we’ve finished loading everything onto the kitchen counter, Jude is properly introduced to my mom and stepsisters.
Standing shoulder to shoulder, they’re stiff and uncomfortable as he shakes each of their hands in turn.
But it’s no problem for Jude. Apparently, awkward silences are his comfort zone.
“I hear your teenie-weenies are a slam dunk, Mrs. Bowen,” he says, purposefully not meeting my gaze while my mom makes a halfhearted offer to whip some up.
“If only,” he responds regretfully. “But I’m on a strict diet—I’m sure Brianna and Josie know how it goes. Is it true you both played Division One volleyball? I swam a little in college.”
I try not to gawk as, somehow, with sheer civility, he turns my loud and demanding family into paragons of politeness. My jaw may as well be on the floor when Brianna asks us if we’d like some water or coffee.
“Water would be great, thanks, Brianna,” Jude says. “Gracie?”
He looks at me, and I realize that up until now, I haven’t uttered a single word to anyone.
With every nicety he’s delivered, Jude has created the best possible baseline for laying my boundaries.
And yet, my brain is the Wheel of Fortune on fire, spinning every possible lie I could give instead.
Sorry, my cottage flooded! Sorry, I’m getting a nose job the day of your party!
Sorry, I’ve decided to sell all my earthly possessions and flee into the woods!
“Honey, what can we get you?” my mom asks. “I’ve got some coffee milk if you want that instead.”
It’s the “honey” that jolts me out of my freeze state. It’s the first time she has ever called me that, and I have the unnerving feeling of having accidentally walked onto a studio set with actors playing my family. “I’m okay, thanks,” I say as Brianna hands Jude a water glass.
“Let me know if you change your mind,” Mom says. After a moment, she glances at the pile of boxes and slowly thawing shrimp. “This is more than the favors we thought you were bringing,” she comments.
This is it. But I’m a kid frozen on the high dive for the first time, looking down into what I’m sure are shark-infested waters.
Jude and I rehearsed what I want to say and even anticipated their reactions.
I’m not unprepared, I’m just… scared. Terrified of taking away the one thing my family values me for.
Without it, I’m that superfluous little girl again, replaced by her new siblings.
The college student who clung too hard to the first man who showed any interest in her and later couldn’t let him go when it was time.
I’m the woman doing the same thing now with Larkwood and who, at this rate, will probably end up completely alo—
My inner thoughts stop circling the drain when Jude’s hand reaches for mine. I grab on tight. When I glance at him, he gives me a small nod filled with confidence and the assurance that I’m not alone. Not today.
I look at my mom as I take a deep breath and say, “I’m dropping everything off because I can’t do any more planning. I also can’t come to the party because I have a wedding to coordinate that weekend.”
For a moment, the only sound in the room is my pounding heart, which I’m sure can be heard by every dog in Rhode Island.
Then Josie says, “What do you mean you can’t do any more planning?
The party’s next weekend! You can’t hit us with a curveball like this—who’s going to decorate, and pick up the grill, and make the balloon arch and—”
“I’m leaving you my planning binder,” I cut her off, pointing to where I left it on the kitchen table. “It’s got the contacts of all the vendors I’ve used, and my master checklist. As long as you stick to the schedule, you should have no problem getting everything done on time.”
“But I’m coaching all week, and Josie has back-to-back clinic clients,” Brianna says. “We don’t have time to sit around making balloon animals!”
The anger that my fear has kept at bay flares to life. “Trust me, neither do I.”
“Then what? Are you expecting Mom to plan her own party? You’re an event planner,” Josie says, enunciating those last two words like I’m not fluent in English. “This is what you do.”
“And would you be willing to use your clinic hours to give me PT, whenever I asked, free of charge?” I shoot back, starting to see red. Jude gives my hand an encouraging squeeze.
Josie’s face flushes. “It’s not the same thing. This is just a party.”
“If it’s ‘just a party,’ then it shouldn’t be a big deal to tie up the last details.” I look at my mom while Josie and Brianna exchange dumbfounded looks. “Mom, I’m sorry I can’t make it to your party this year. If you want to go out to lunch to celebrate sometime in August, I’d love that.”
My mom puts a hand on Brianna’s shoulder, stopping whatever she’s on the verge of saying to me. She looks at me like she’s seeing me fully for the first time in years. “Of course I understand. Thank you for everything you’ve done so far, Gracie. We’ll take it to the finish line.”
Surprise, gratitude, and some other hard-to-name emotion pile up in my throat like a three-car collision. I think it might be pride.
“Well, it was lovely to meet one of you,” Jude says, pulling me against his side, “but we should get going. Happy early birthday, Mrs. Bowen.”
And before my stepsisters can protest, he guides me out of the kitchen and out the front door.
With each step closer to his car, I have to repress the urge to either punch the air in victory or throw up. By the time he’s opening my door for me, I’m not sure my feet are even touching the asphalt. When Jude gets in, I turn to him and shout, “Did I really just do that?!”
“Yes, you fucking did!” he yells back, and then he’s pulling me into a hug across the center console, kissing my temple repeatedly.
I pull back a little to look at him and realize I’m shaking with excitement, nerves, and the feeling of unadulterated freedom. “Thank you,” I tell him. “Thank you for helping me get rid of all that goddamn shrimp.”
He laughs, grinning so widely that I see his elusive nose-scrunch. “Your real motivation, revealed at last.”
“I can think of far worse motivations than an oversupply of discount shellfish.”
He lifts a hand to the side of my face, and I can’t stop myself from leaning my cheek into his palm. “I’m so fucking proud of you,” he says. “I wish I were half as brave.”
His eyes are so sincere and breathtaking in the sunlight, that for a moment, I wish I could let myself fully acknowledge the truth: I’m falling in love with this man.
Even if he can’t share his whole story with me.
Even though I know he’s keeping secrets.
Even if time is running out for our arrangement, and the fate of Larkwood and my future hang in the balance.
The simple fact is, being with him feels like stepping into the warmth after shivering for years.
And when he smiles, saying, “Come on. I know a place with great shrimp cocktail,” my heart tries to leap from me, completely certain he’ll catch it.