31. Griffin
Chapter 31
Griffin
T he last two weeks without Andi have been miserable. My kids and I had been doing fine before she came into our lives.
We were fine.
Then she waltzed in with her sticker-covered guitar case and ceaseless goddamn sunshine, forcing the growth of flowers through all the cracks in our family. All the broken pieces I tried to glue together with sheer might, she gently pasted together with patience and a smile.
And now that we know what it’s like with her in our lives, the other option is living in black-and-white again. Sure, it’s my fault. I kept us there with my rules and schedules and order, but I’m man enough to admit I needed Andi to show me how much better it can be when I bend the rules, loosen the daily schedules, and let a little disorder into my life.
Hell, I bought a sparkly hanging disco ball planter yesterday just because.
I don’t even own plants. Nor do I particularly enjoy disco or shiny objects, but missing Andi Halton has fucked with my brain.
Logan has been pretending he doesn’t care she’s gone. Learning to compartmentalize from the master—me.
Problem is, I don’t compartmentalize as well as I used to anymore, and I don’t want my son to either. I want him to be able to talk and express himself. Life is better that way. Living out loud.
Last night, Andi called me so she could talk to Grace. Which I appreciated because my daughter needed a pep talk, and yet I could use one too. A little “Hey, how ya doing? I miss you.” Or maybe, “I wrote this song for you.” I’d even take “I saw a fire truck, and it reminded me of you.”
Something.
Anything.
Because I’m fucking pathetic and need to know she’s thinking of me as much as I’m thinking about her. That everything in her world reminds her of me. Because everything in my world reminds me of her.
From the songs on the radio to the photos she framed and hung on the walls of our house.
It’s actually nice to be away from the constant reminders and trapped here instead. In this elementary school auditorium while kids hyped up on sugar and pride perform “talents” for this end-of-the-year show.
Logan squirms beside me, his baseball cap pulled low, mumbling complaints every few minutes. I can’t blame him, sitting through this test of endurance, but we’re here for Grace.
She’s been a bundle of nerves all day, though god knows she practiced enough to do well tonight. Hours of practicing on the acoustic guitar I bought her after she proved to me she’d stick with it enough to have her own instead of borrowing Andi’s. Good thing, too. Otherwise, Grace would be going onstage tonight playing air guitar.
The thought makes me fidget, and I refold my arms across my chest after checking my watch again. Forty-five minutes in, and the group of girls onstage do some stupid dance to “Tootsee Roll,” but they’re barely moving. Nor do they look like they’re having any fun, with straight faces and baggy sweats. Next to me, Logan groans, and I elbow him.
He shoots me a look. “That’s Valentina.”
I bend down. “Which one?”
“Long black hair.”
I huff. She’s the only one smiling.
I don’t know what to say, so I merely grip his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Almost over.”
“Is it?” he asks hopefully, and I don’t know, but I nod anyway.
“Your sister said she’s number eleven, and these girls are ten, so she’s up next.”
He sighs and sinks farther down in his chair, and I don’t blame the guy.
A minute later, the blank-faced girls plus Logan’s crush exit the stage, and the principal comes back on, clapping like we just watched a ballet. “Amazing, weren’t they? Thank you so much, girls! Now, you’re in for a real treat by Grace Stone, who is normally known for being on the honor roll every quarter. But tonight, she’s going to be showing off another talent. Take it away, Grace!”
I smack Logan’s thigh so he sits up, and I lean forward, suddenly nervous as my daughter appears from the left side of the stage, carrying her guitar. She’s got on tall brown boots, a green lace skirt, and a worn-looking T-shirt emblazoned with a unicorn that reads Don’t Stop Believing . Between the clothes and her hair pulled back into a loose braid like Andi so often wears, they could pass for being related, and I rub at a visceral pain in the center of my chest before pulling my cell phone out of my pocket.
I hit the record button as Grace takes her place in front of the microphone stand and adjusts the strap around her shoulder. She strums a chord, gazing out at the audience, and I see the moment it hits her. Fear.
Performing onstage is so out of character for her, I wish I could help her somehow, but I’m useless.
Gracie’s face pales as she offers a shaky smile and clears her throat. “H-hi. I’m… My name is Grace Stone, and, and…”
“Oh my god,” Logan mumbles into his hands. “She’s gonna puke.”
“She’s not gonna puke,” I say, hoping she doesn’t puke.
“I’m, um, going to—” she clears her throat “—I’m going to sing.”
But she doesn’t. She doesn’t do anything except stand there, and I cup one hand around my mouth, shouting, “You got it, Gracie!”
She squints behind her glasses in my direction, and I wave. She takes a visibly deep breath and strums another chord, but this one doesn’t sound right.
People all around me whisper and shift, impatiently waiting, but I patiently waited through all their kids’ goddamn bullshit talents. They can wait a little longer on mine.
Behind me, the door bangs open, causing a commotion, but I don’t pay it any mind, keeping my attention on Grace.
Until a familiar voice rings out. “Love you, Gracie! You’re amazing!”
Logan and I both whip our heads around to the woman hooting and hollering like she’s at a concert.
I love her.
I fucking love her so goddamn much.
I burst out of my seat, followed by Logan, and hightail it to the back of the auditorium, where Andi’s jumping up and down next to another woman, holding a sign with big block letters. Gracie rocks like a Stone with stickers and glitter all over.
Onstage, Grace grins and acknowledges Andi with a few nods then closes her eyes for a moment, obviously re-centering herself, before she holds up her arm like she’s some kind of rock goddess and hits a chord on a downswing.
I grip Andi’s elbow, pulling her to me. “What the hell are you doing here?”
She places one hand on my chest and the other to my lips. “Shh. Our girl’s about to sing her heart out.”
Our girl.
Grace is mine. And Andi’s. Ours .
Beside me, Logan stares at Andi, who smiles shyly at him then mouths, “I’m sorry.”
My son doesn’t answer, but he also doesn’t fight her when she steps toward him, looping her arm around his shoulders, positioning him in front of her as Grace starts playing “You Belong with Me” onstage.
It’s suddenly hard for me to breathe.
I don’t understand what’s going on. With Andi here and hugging Logan. Some random woman cheering and singing along with Grace when she gets a little lost on the guitar.
I missed something, but the more I think about it, the more I miss in this moment. So, I stop trying to control it and clap along with Andi as she keeps the beat. Soon, others join in, and my daughter smiles, even though the song seems a little slow and her voice cracks every so often.
Grace finishes with a flourish, holding the last note, and damn if I don’t get teary-eyed.
The audience applauds. Andi cheers raucously. The woman with the sign lets out a high-pitched hoot that I think would do well to torture our enemies with on repeat.
Onstage, Grace waves, bows, and runs offstage. I take the opportunity to grip Andi’s wrist, telling Logan, “Don’t move.”
Andi holds up her index finger to the woman with the sign, silently asking for a minute, before I drag her out of the auditorium to the small vestibule where two parents are selling concessions at a table. I tow Andi over to the corner, lowering my voice. “I ask again, what the hell are you doing here?’
“I had to see Grace perform.”
I don’t like beating around the bush. “Why aren’t you in LA?”
“Because…” She lifts her arms out at her sides and lets them flop back down. “I…” She puffs up her cheeks and blows out all the air with a shake of her head, like she really has no answer for me.
“Andi. Why?”
I need to hear it. I don’t normally give a shit about what anybody has to say. But in this case, I really, really need to hear it.
Her big brown eyes dart around behind me, but I pin her against the wall so she can’t escape, my hands on either side of her shoulders. I dip my head, closing my eyes. “Please, Andi. You left, and I was okay with it.” I swallow thickly. “I was trying to be okay with it. I will eventually be okay with it. So, I need to know why you’re back already. I need to know how often my heart will break. Make no mistake, I’d rather break it a thousand times than never have you in my life, but I’d just like to know what I’m dealing with so I can prepare.”
When I meet her gaze again, her eyes are watery. She moves her hands to my sides, fisting my T-shirt. “Always so prepared.” She leans up on her toes, reaching to kiss me, but she can’t quite reach without me bending. I don’t, and her lips land on the underside of my jaw. “I came back because I needed to apologize for leaving without telling you that I love you. I love you, Griffin. I love you so much, and I want to be with you. I want to be with the kids. I want us to be a family.”
She ducks down to pull the framed photo I gave her from her purse. The one of the kids and us. “I want to put this in the living room, on the table next to the big couch, and then take a lot more pictures so there’s a different one in every room.”
I feel like I should be mad at her, like I should hold some kind of grudge for being so flighty, coming and going on a whim, but I can’t. I told her to go, and I’m too happy she’s back.
I only want her to be with me. Forever.
“Maybe we should get a big one.” I slide my hands around her waist, lifting her off the floor so she shrieks and throws her arms around my neck, legs around my waist. “One of those obnoxious blown-up photos.”
“All of us in matching clothes,” she says, grinning. “Get a professional to take it outside during the fall.”
I always hated the idea of doing that, but we’ll do it. And I’m going to get a bunch printed. Buy a wallet with little plastic inserts just so I can print tiny photos and carry them around with me like my grandfather used to.
“I love you. I missed you so much,” I say, molding my hand to the back of her head, urging her to me for a kiss that’s one part adoration and one part fear. I don’t want to have to live without her, and maybe I can kiss my desperation into her, so she’ll know. She’ll realize that she’s changed my whole world, and without her in it, gravity doesn’t keep me tethered anymore.
“I love you. I love you. I love you,” she says, punctuating each sentence with a kiss to the corner of my mouth, my cheek, and my jaw before she hugs me tightly, pressing her face into the side of my head, her fingers scratching over the nape of my neck.
Fuck, I’ve missed that.
A throat clears, and I turn with Andi in my arms to see a woman glaring at me with raised eyebrows. I glare right back, carrying Andi to the doors of the auditorium, where I finally set her feet on the floor. “Ready to go back in?”
She takes my hand, lacing our fingers together. “Absolutely.”
Inside, there’s a kid onstage performing magic tricks that are getting a few laughs, and Andi pulls me over to the woman she arrived with, whispering, “This is my best friend, Dahlia.”
I shake her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Dahlia looks me up and down. “Very nice to meet you, Griffin. I hope you’re worth it.”
I curl my hand around Andi’s neck. Now that she’s here, I can’t stop touching her. Not that I could before she left either. “Me too.”
“More than worth it,” Andi assures both of us, then gestures to Logan, who approaches her with a wary frown. Andi speaks so softly to him that I can’t hear what she says over the clapping and laughing of the audience, but Logan responds with a short answer and they hug, so I assume it’s positive.
While the last acts wrap up, Andi and Dahlia whisper things to each other, and I can see Logan melting with every second. I know he was really upset with Andi for leaving. He felt like she was choosing something else over him, which I understand, but it’s not true. We have room in our hearts to love many things. I should know. I learned that lesson in real time.
But it’s wild to watch my son falling back in love with the woman I know he thinks of as his mother in real time. Not that I ever thought he wouldn’t. He adores her, just like his sister does.
Who eventually comes running out after the show is over, heading right to Andi, hitting her with a hug so big, it earns an audible “Oof” from Andi. Then a laugh. She kisses Grace’s head a few times, whispering about how proud she is of her, before finally letting go so I can hug her as well.
But as soon as I do, she’s back to Andi. She introduces Dahlia, who I learn has talked with my kids for a few minutes over FaceTime. “You were great,” Dahlia says. “Very impressive for your first show.”
Grace turns bright pink. “Thanks.”
Andi tightens her grip on her shoulder, rubbing protectively. “Listen. I know we have a lot to talk about, but I was hoping we could do it over ice cream? My treat.”
I defer to the twins. Gracie hops on her toes. “Yes!”
Logan shrugs, all cool. “Yeah, okay.”
So, I wave my hand out in front of me for them to lead the way, when a thought occurs to me. One I didn’t even think to ask. I grab Andi’s arm. “Wait a sec. How did you get here?”
“Flew into Philly,” she says as Dahlia rolls up her homemade poster.
“I rented a car. Hope it’s okay, but Andi said I could stay in your house.”
I toss a questioning glance to her, and she hits me with fluttering eyelashes and a big whopper of a smile, silently pleading. As if I’d say no.
“Dahlia’s like a sister to me, and I want her to get to know my family.”
I nod at Dahlia. “Of course. You can stay in Andi’s old bedroom.”
Andi bites into her bottom lip, always fighting the losing battle against her growing smile. I kiss her temple. “You ride with Dahlia. We’ll meet you there.”
“Actually…” Grace lifts her hand as if she’s in a classroom. “Can I ride with you too?”
Dahlia throws her arm around Grace’s shoulders. “Definitely.”
Logan cuts his gaze to me, a silent question that I answer with a playful roll of my eyes. “Yeah, you too.”
Logan lets himself be pulled into Andi’s side, and I follow the foursome out of the school, taking Gracie’s guitar in the truck with me. The ride to the ice cream shop isn’t long, and I park next to Dahlia’s rented Toyota, watching as Andi and Dahlia walk with linked arms as Logan talks with his hands, appearing as if to explain something about the dance that group of girls did, and it gets a round of snickers from everyone.
Inside, I pay for the ice cream even as Andi tries to fight me about it. But she goes real quiet when I slip my hand into the pocket of her jeans and squeeze her ass hard. Logan and Grace claim a big booth, and I slide in next to Andi, who’s beside Grace and opposite Dahlia and Logan.
They all talk, zigzagging from Andi having trouble writing songs in LA to the basketball camp I signed Logan up for to the next song Grace wants to learn to play to how long it takes Dahlia to dry her waist-length hair.
I sit back, taking it all in with peace and gratitude. Well, not quite peace. Not when the twins eventually start fighting because Logan told Grace she could’ve sounded better and Grace told Logan Valentina kissed Jackson Cruz, and she overheard her telling her friends she loves him.
Andi holds her hands up between them, trying and failing to get them to apologize to each other, eventually settling for them agreeing to stop kicking each other under the table.
Dahlia gestures to all of us at the table, an amused smile on her face when she asks Andi, “This is what you missed?”
She eyes each of us, Logan, Grace, then me, and turns back to her best friend. “Absolutely.”