Chapter Thirty-Six #2
I nodded and left the bedroom for Nori’s office.
Despite her cold demeanor, Nori’s office was surprisingly warm and inviting.
Upon entering, you were greeted by a fluffy cream rug that nearly covered the entire room.
A plush velvet emerald couch butted against one wall, and a massive photo collage of the family and her and Daisy spanned the opposite wall.
I took a moment to travel down memory lane and chuckled when I came across a photo of Nori and Daisy on Easter.
They were six and five, dressed in their frilliest pastel Easter attire—Nori in pink and Daisy in lilac.
Our parents had hidden two coveted golden eggs filled with chocolate treats on our grandparents’ estate.
They’d always gotten a kick from watching us scour the property like bloodhounds on the hunt for wild game.
I’d found the first egg in the bushes behind the gazebo, and Daisy had located the second egg in the pool house.
The picture had caught Nori on the verge of tears while Daisy held the golden egg in the air like it was the Harley J. Earl Trophy.
“I remember that day,” Kiyah said from beside me. “It was a month after Nori lost her hearing, and I guess Daisy was feeling hospitable and gifted her the egg.”
“Hm, it was only a temporary ceasefire on their shenanigans.”
“Things were peaceful for a little while until Nori’s birthday rolled around, and Daisy blew out her candles.”
I chuckled as I searched the wall for the photo. I found it and pointed it out.
“The look on Nori’s face was amusing.”
“Her face said, ‘Bitch, I know you’re lyin’.”
We shared a brief laugh before awkwardness settled in.
I guess it’s now or never.
“Kiyah… would you be open to going to therapy with me?”
Her brows shot to the top of her head.
“Are you serious?” she asked incredulously.
“I am. I’m trying to accept that we may never be romantic partners again; however, we are still family, and that will never change.
You plan on sticking around, and we have to learn how to get along without making it awkward for everyone.
” She snorted and returned her gaze to the photos on the wall.
She knows I’m full of shit.
“Do you have a problem with my suggestion?”
She shrugged and said, “I don’t have a problem, but I feel you’re full of shit and not being honest.”
“I—”
“Grant, if by some miracle we forgive each other and put all our shit behind us, you’d want to give us another go.”
“You’re projecting, Kiyah.”
She’s not, but fuck her for being right.
“I’m not going to therapy with you if you can’t be truthful. It’d be a waste of time and money.”
My shoulders sagged in defeat as I stared at a photo of the entire family on a ski trip we took to Colorado.
“Fine. I didn’t mean the things I said—”
“You did. You wanted to hurt me,” she insisted. “As a matter of fact, you went out of your way to hurt me and disrespect our mother in the process. Mission accomplished, Grant.”
Fuck. We’re not getting anywhere.
“No bullshit?”
“No bullshit,” she affirmed.
“Eventually, I’d move on.” Her mouth made a popping sound when it fell open from my admission. “I’d find a nice enough woman, maybe the woman with the corgi, Lilah—”
“Layla,” she reminded me gently.
“Thank you, dear. As I was saying, I’d move on with Layla.
We’d have a few corgis that we’d dress in ridiculous Halloween costumes because I feel like she’s that type of person.
I’d propose to her with a moderate diamond ring that would pale in comparison to yours.
We’d have a lavish wedding because she’d been dreaming of the perfect wedding since she was a little girl, and we’d pop out a few spoiled rotten kids.
No doubt you’ll move on, probably with that finance fucker. ”
“His name is Maverick. I can see it. We do look good together, and he rides motorcycles, too. He’d make a decent replacement for you.”
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and counted back from ten.
She knows just what buttons to press to piss me off.
I opened my eyes and scowled at the playful smirk that briefly ghosted her lips.
“The problem we’d run into is that we’d just be using our spouses to fill a void.
We’d lie to their faces and tell them we loved them when, in reality, we tolerated them because it was better than being alone.
I fucked up, Ki. I, too, should’ve taken accountability and gotten the help I needed sooner.
While in therapy, I realized that I didn’t opt for sobriety because, deep down, I enjoyed being a fucking train wreck because I knew in the back of your mind that you’d always be worried about me, and if you worried about me, then you loved me. ”
“Grant—”
“It’s fucked up; I know, but it’s the truth, and I’m owning up to it.
I’m done with the alcohol and excuses, and I’m done pretending that we can be with other people.
It would never work—we’d always come back to each other.
” I pointed at her and said, “If you think that we’re hurting people now by being together, then you don’t realize the magnitude of pain and chaos we’d cause if we ‘moved on’. ”
“You’re unwell, Grant,” she professed as if she wasn’t on the crazy train with me. I cupped her cheek, and the self-doubt I felt dissipated like a slow-moving fog when she leaned into my touch.
“At least I’m not alone in this sickness, but you have some options, Kiyah.”
“What are my options?”
“You could move on with a man you wouldn’t love nearly as much as me and settle on having clandestine meetings.”
She raised a brow and asked, “Are you seriously suggesting you’d be my sneaky link?”
“What other option would I have?”
“Intense psychotherapy,” she quipped, forcing my eyes to roll to the back of my head.
“Will you attend therapy with me? I said some unforgivable shit to you, and it all needs to be unpacked with a professional in a safe space.”
She chewed on the inside of her cheek for several seconds as she considered my offer. Eventually, she relented.
“I’ll go to therapy, but I can’t promise that we can go back to the way things used to be.”
“I’m not asking for us to return to how things used to be.
What used to be didn’t work for us. I want us to be better.
” She broke away from me and cursed under her breath while pacing the office.
“It can be better, Kiyah. Everything’s out in the open—our family knows about and accepts us, and there are no more secrets between us. We can have a clean slate.”
She halted in her tracks and asked, “Can I think about it?”
It’s not a no.
“You have forty-eight hours to make a decision.”
She propped her hands on her hips and stared down at the rug.
“It doesn’t matter what I want. Therapy, no therapy, you’ll pursue me relentlessly.”
I approached her and firmly grabbed her tense shoulders.
“We tried doing what you wanted for the past seven years, and it didn’t work out. It’s my turn now.”