14. #3
"That probably means you did your job right."
"That's what I tell myself."
I smile, staring at the ceiling.
There's a small pause.
"So," he says, "how was your day really?"
I think about it.
"Strange," I admit. "Rodney called. He didn't yell. Didn't accuse me of anything. He was just... normal. Of course as normal as he can be not a typical normal, but very tame for him."
He hums softly. "I don't know the guy well enough to say if you should be alarmed or not."
"Yeah I know," I say. "But it makes me feel like I'm waiting for something bad to happen."
I haven't told Grant about the worst parts yet.
Not about the yelling that turns into threats.
Not about the one time his hand came across my face so fast I didn't even realize what happened until my cheek started burning.
Every time I think about saying it out loud, the words feel too heavy. Too real. Like once I admit it, I can't pretend it's just a rough patch or a stressful phase or politics getting to him.
And if I say it to Grant—it stops being something I can quietly manage on my own. It becomes something else. Something bigger.
"Did you eat?" he asks.
"Not yet. I have some formal dinner thing in an hour."
"You haven't eaten at all today?"
I look at the time to see it's only after four. "It's only four thirty. Plus I had a lot of lying about my whereabouts to distract me."
"I actually wanted to talk to you about that," he says eventually. "About last night"
My stomach tightens just a little.
"Last night?" I repeat, even though I know exactly what he means. A small, hopeful part of me was pretending we'd never actually have to talk about it.
"Yeah," he says. "Last night. When you were at my house."
I press my lips together.
He pauses, then adds, a little lighter, "I feel like if I try to refresh your memory you're going to get all squirmy."
My face heats instantly. "Grant."
He laughs softly. "I didn't even say anything yet."
"Yeah," I say, laughing too, even though I'm covering my face with one hand. "Just a bit."
"Noted," he says. "My apologies."
The warmth in his voice makes my chest feel lighter.
"But," he continues, a little more serious now, "I would like to talk about last night. Is that okay with you, Naomi?"
The way he says my name—slow, careful, like it matters—does something quiet inside me.
"Yeah," I say. "That's okay."
Another small pause.
"How are you feeling about it?" he asks.
I hesitate. Then I answer honestly.
"I liked it," I say. "Being there. With you. I don't regret kissing you."
"I just don't know what that means," I add. "Or what I'm supposed to do with it."
Grant exhales slowly on the other end of the line.
"Naomi... you're married."
There it is.
"I know," I say quietly.
Silence stretches between us. Not tense. Just aware.
I swallow.
"I don't want to stop seeing you," I say before I can talk myself out of it. "Not as Dr. Lennox, but like last night."
The words feel like they jump off a cliff without me.
There's a pause on his end.
"Even if it has to stay quiet for now," I continue. "Even if I don't have all the answers yet."
My chest feels tight. Exposed.
"Would you be okay with that? With still seeing me... knowing everything?"
Another beat.
Then he exhales slowly.
"You're married," he says again.
"I know."
Silence.
"I don't want us to pretend that doesn't matter," he adds.
"I'm not pretending."
Another pause.
"I don't know what this is supposed to be," he admits. "And I don't want to act like it's simple."
"It's not," I say.
"It's not," he repeats. "But I also know I didn't ask you to come over last night just to send you away," he says quietly.
I swallow.
"I'm not trying to replace him," he says. "And I'm not trying to rescue you either."
"So what does that mean?" I ask.
"It means I'm not walking away just because it's complicated," he says. "But I need you to know what you're doing."
Do I know what I'm doing?
"I don't," I admit.
He's quiet for a second.
"Okay," he says.
Just that.
Okay.
"I don't know either," he adds.
"I just know I wanted you here last night," he continues. "And I didn't ask you to come over so I could pretend I don't feel something."
There's no moral weight in it.
Just honesty.
"I don't want to be the reason you implode your life," he says. "But I also don't want to lie and say I don't want you."
"I'm not running," I say. "And I'm not using you."
A beat.
I run a hand through my hair. "I just... don't want to keep living like I'm not allowed to want things."
He exhales.
"I liked last night," I admit. "I liked being there. I liked kissing you. I liked not thinking about anything else for a minute."
His voice lowers just slightly.
"Me too."
"I don't regret it," I say.
"Good," he replies. "Neither do I."
I glance at the clock.
"I should probably start getting ready."
Another small pause.
"Text me when you get back," he says.
"I will."
"Have a good night, Naomi."
The way he says my name again makes something warm move through my chest.
"You too, Grant."
The call ends.