45. Nick
NICK
“ A re you sure you’re okay here, Gran?” Zinnia asks for the third time, hovering beside her grandmother, settled comfortably in her recliner by the window.
Sylvia sends a pleading glance my way, and I chuckle, sliding an arm around Zinnia’s waist. The place isn’t nearly as dire as I’d imagined.
Sylvia has a small apartment with her own furnishings, a view across the neighborhood, and staff on call at the press of a button.
There’s a dining room and community space down the hall, and Sylvia can come and go as she pleases for now.
If anything, she seems relieved to be here.
“She’s fine, honey,” I assure Zinnia. “Let’s leave her to settle in.”
“But—”
“We’re only two blocks away,” I remind her. “We can pop back tomorrow.”
Zinnia sighs, relenting. “Fine. But if you need anything—”
“Then the staff will assist her,” I cut in gently, and Sylvia shoots me a grateful look, reaching for my hand.
“Thank you, Nicholas.” She tugs me closer, surprisingly strong for a woman in her eighties. “Thank you for being there for my dear Zinnie during this time. It’s not easy for her. I’m glad she has you.”
“You’re welcome, Sylvia. And thank you for everything you’ve given us. I’m incredibly grateful.”
It still blows my mind that Sylvia Sinclair is Zinnia’s grandmother, even more that she’s welcomed me into her world like this.
She’s been a generous donor to the art history department for years, and one of the few highlights at the department fundraisers.
While my colleagues schmoozed their way into donor pockets, Sylvia would pull me aside to effuse about her love of art, particularly the Renaissance.
It turned a dreaded event into a pleasure, and as I reflect on it now, it’s easy to see the resemblance between Zinnia and her grandmother.
Sylvia’s hair might be white compared to Zinnia’s dark locks, but they both have that same fire inside them.
That deep passion for the things—and people—they love.
Her frail hand squeezes mine. “Take care of her. That’s all I want.”
“That’s all I want, too.” I straighten, pushing my glasses up my nose. “We’re both here if you need us,” I add, turning to take Zinnia’s hand in my own. “Ready?”
“Ready,” she says, her tone sounding anything but.
I laugh, pulling her against my side. I was worried it might be awkward being in Sylvia’s presence as the boyfriend of her granddaughter, but she’s been overwhelmingly encouraging and supportive. Zinnia was right—Sylvia wants this for us, almost as much as we do.
“Come on,” I say, motioning to the door. “We’ve still got loads of unpacking to do.”
With a final kiss to her grandmother, Zinnia reluctantly follows me out onto Remsen Street.
I smile to myself as we walk hand in hand through Brooklyn Heights in the early evening light, taking in the blazing fall colors.
Even after a month, I’m still getting used to not having to hide.
To being allowed to be openly affectionate with the woman I love.
Zinnia transferred out of my class immediately after my meeting with Dr. Fuller, and we went to HR together to file the necessary paperwork regarding our relationship.
It was too late for her to enroll in any other fall classes, but she’s continued exploring the course material on her own, and we often lie in bed at night, talking about it.
She’s already picked out two classes she wants to take next semester.
In the meantime, she’s been putting in extra hours at the community arts center.
June decided to partially retire and officially handed over most of the running of the place to Zinnia, which she loves.
And as of this morning, we’ve moved into the brownstone on Fruit Street.
“Home sweet home,” Zinnia says as we let ourselves into the house.
I close the door behind us and pull her close, brushing my lips over hers. “It sure is, honey.”
At first, I wasn’t sure about moving in here.
Not because of Zinnia, but because the house had always been her grandmother’s.
But Sylvia spent the past month packing up her life here, taking what she needed, letting the rest go.
The house feels lighter, full of potential, like it’s waiting for something new.
And that made it clear. This is Zinnia’s now. Ours. For us to build something together .
“Where should we start?” I ask, glancing at the boxes of my belongings piled in the entry hall. “Or should we grab some dinner?”
But Zinnia shakes her head, turning purposefully up the stairs. “Let’s start in your office.”
“My office?” I echo, trailing behind her. Admittedly, I’m excited to set up my home office, given I’ve never had space for one before, but we haven’t even unpacked the bedroom yet. Surely we should prioritize somewhere to sleep tonight?
Zinnia nods, pausing in the doorway to a large room on the second floor. “Yes. Your office.” She glances back at me over her shoulder. “You have assignments to grade, a research paper to write. We should set it up for you.”
I bite back my smile. She might say it’s for practical reasons, but I know what she’s doing. She’s going out of her way to make me feel like I belong here. To carve out space for me.
And it makes me want to forget the unpacking altogether.
“Come here,” I say roughly, reaching for her.
Fire lights in her eyes. She leans in to kiss me, but a sound at the door makes her pause.
“Anybody home?” a familiar female voice calls from downstairs, and a grin breaks across Zinnia’s face.
“Coming!” Her hand slips into mine, tugging me back down the stairs, where we find Daisy, Weston, Iris, and Aidan piling into the cramped entry hall.
“Hey, guys!” Zinnia pulls Daisy in for a hug, followed by Iris.
I shoot Wes and Aidan a smile, shaking hands with each of them.
Over the past month, Zinnia’s group of girlfriends and their partners have welcomed me into their social circle, inviting us for dinner and out for drinks.
Now that they’re our neighbors, I can see us spending even more time with them, and the thought makes me happy.
Especially when I remember the way Marcus said, Nick doesn’t do relationships .
I’d never realized how true that was, and not only with women.
But it’s not true anymore. I’ve got Zinnia, and I’ve also got so much more: a new group of friends, my brother and his wife, Sylvia. I’m no longer closed off to life—I’m open to it all.
“Sorry about the mess,” I say, motioning to the boxes stacked around us, and Aidan shrugs.
“Moving is a pain in the ass.”
I nod in agreement.
“Here.” Iris hands me a bottle of champagne, grinning. “Congrats on the new place.”
“Thank you,” I say, touched.
Daisy holds out a large rectangle wrapped in paper. “I made a little housewarming gift for you two.”
Zinnia’s hand flies to her chest in surprise. “You didn’t have to do that.”
Daisy smiles. “It’s nothing fancy. Just something to make this place feel like yours.”
Zinnia takes the gift from her, unwrapping it carefully.
I watch as she reveals a framed photo of the two of us, taken a week ago at Daisy and Weston’s house when we had a games night.
We’re on their sofa, Zinnia tucked into my side, her eyes closed as I gaze down at her.
I didn’t even realize Daisy had taken the photo, but it makes my breath catch.
She captured us so candidly. So in love.
And unlike the old me who couldn’t stand to see his own reflection, let alone put up a photo of himself, I don’t want to look away. The guy in the photo looks happier than ever, and it’s the best reminder not to take a single moment with Zinnia for granted.
“Wow,” she breathes, her eyes shining.
I nod. “This is…” I shake my head, struggling to find the words. “Thank you so much.”
Daisy beams. “I’m glad you like it. I saw you two together and couldn’t resist capturing it.”
There’s another sound at the door, and Poppy and Wyatt let themselves into the foyer. Wyatt’s wearing baby Rose in a carrier on his chest, tattooed arms wrapped protectively around her.
“Hey, guys,” Poppy says, holding up a stack of dishes covered in foil. “I figured you might not want to cook tonight.”
Zinnia looks like she’s about to cry. “You’re all so thoughtful,” she says, hugging the framed picture to her chest.
I take it from her with a smile, setting it safely on the hall table before she can crush it.
I’d never considered that it might be a big deal for Zinnia to have a group of friends like this, but during the past month, it’s become clear.
By sticking around in New York, she’s not only committing to the city, to me.
She’s getting close to a group of women, in a way I suspect she never has.
Just one of the many ways she’s made me proud lately.
“You hungry, honey?” I ask her, and she nods.
We lead the group into the kitchen, where I locate the box containing the silverware and plates I brought from my apartment.
“Sorry Kyle and Vi couldn’t make it,” Wes says, passing plates out to everyone. He chuckles knowingly. “They’re still in that sleepless phase where they don’t even know what day it is.”
I give a nod of understanding. I met Violet, Kyle, and little Forest a couple weeks ago, and while they were lovely, they were also exhausted.
“Thank God we’re past that,” Wyatt says, dropping a kiss on sleepy Rose’s forehead.
Poppy gives him a wry smile as she dishes up lasagna. “And yet you’re already talking about wanting another one.”
He laughs, stroking his daughter’s hair gently, but he doesn’t argue.
Something unfamiliar stirs in my chest as I watch them. I spent so long worrying about my unconventional relationship with Zinnia, all the lines we crossed, all the ways we had to hide, that I never let myself think about what our lives could look like beyond that.