A look of surprise crosses her features for a second before she dusts her hands on her apron and swipes open the call.
“Hello,” she says, then pauses. “Oh, hey, Mrs. Sutton. This is Finley.”
My attention snaps up to her, and I have to hold back a wince. It’s not something I’m proud of, but I usually let my parents’ calls go to voicemail so I can see what they want before I call back. It keeps me from having to respond on the spot.
It also doesn’t go unnoticed that my mom is Mrs. Sutton to Finley, but her mother is Jodi to me. It only emphasizes the divide between the family I was born into and the one thatwelcomed me as their own. Finley, Holden, and Jodi have met my parents plenty of times, but they don’t have the familiarity with them that I have with the Blankenships.
When I was younger, I used to imagine my parents becoming friends with Jodi, even though they’re a few years older. I dreamed of inter-family barbecues where Holden and I would play video games on his couch while our parents sat outside on the back porch, sipping margaritas together. I thought maybe they’d spend time there and see what family dinners could be like. That they didn’t have to be quiet or stilted. That we could all sit together at a table instead of in separate rooms of the house. That we could argue over mundane things but never get mad. That we could talk about our days and actually be interested in how the other person spent it. That we could be together and like it.
It never happened, obviously, and I realized quickly that it never would. At first, the Blankenship house was just a fun place to hang out, but it ended up being a haven, a place I spent more time at than my own house. If I couldn’t have what I wanted with my parents, I was going to jump at the chance with another family and hold on for dear life.
Suddenly, I know what my mom is going to ask.
By the time I turn back to Finley, she’s already watching me, nodding, even though my mom can’t see her. “Of course. I’d love to. Friday works for me.”
I wince, and she clocks it, starts backpedaling. “Actually, I might have plans then that I forgot about. Let me double-check, and I’ll let you know in just a bit.”
She ends the call and moves closer to where I’m returning the noodles to the pot, her eyes assessing me. “You don’t want to go.” She doesn’t phrase it as a question.
I shrug, looking over her shoulder to where the rest of the crew still have their attention focused on the TV before responding. “Not really, no.”
She sees too much. I know she does by the way her face softens. “Okay, we won’t go then.”
I like the way she says we. Like we’re a team. It settles something inside me, and I let out a deep breath before saying, “No, let’s do it. Get it over with, or she will keep bugging me about it. As long as you’re okay with it.”
I watch her face closely, knowing I’ll back out at any hint of hesitancy in her expression, but it doesn’t change. “I’ll go to your parents’ house with you, Grey.”
The way she says it feels meaningful, like she knows it’s not that I don’t want to takeherthere, but that I don’t want to be there at all. And again, it makes it feel easier, more manageable. So I nod, pluck the phone from her hand, and call my mom back.
Grey is nervous. Ican feel it rolling off him in waves. Tension settles heavily in the space between his stiff shoulders and in the line of his tight jaw. I knew he wouldn’t love the idea of coming to his parents’ house—of bringing me to his parents’ house—but I didn’t think it would be this bad. Without thinking too much about it, I reach for his hand, tugging him to a stop before we climb the porch steps.
He stops, looking down at me with pale blue eyes that don’t seem fully present. Concern laces his features as he searches my face. “Do you want to leave?”
I shake my head, my heart feeling heavy and full at the same time. “Doyouwant to leave?”
“Absolutely,” he answers without hesitation, and despite the circumstances, it makes my lips twitch in a smile.
“Really?”
His sigh is heavy, and he palms the back of his neck. “No.”
I nod, expecting this answer. “I just wanted to say that I’m here. You’re not walking in there alone.”
I don’t know the details of Grey’s relationship with his family; I just know it’s strained. That he doesn’t talk about them much and seems to spend as little time here as is decently possible. I don’t think his childhood wasbad, but it wasn’t good. Our house was a soft place for him to land, and before that, his Aunt Melissa’s was.
I’ve often wondered what lingers behind the front door of his parents’ cookie-cutter home. What could be bad enough to make someone like Grey look small? Though seeing the way he shrinks in on himself now, I don’t know that I really want to know. I want to take him away, abscond to my mom’s house and make him all his favorite foods, bring him flowers that make his eyes dance again. Make him smile and tease me and drive me absolutely crazy.
Maybe it’s because he looks so unlike himself that I do it. Maybe it’s because I want to. Either way, I step up on my tiptoes, gripping his arm to keep myself steady, and press a soft kiss to his lips.
I mean for it to be chaste, quick, but when his hand comes around my waist, holding me in place for long enough for the kiss to turn into something more desperate, I feel weak behind my knees, and my pulse hammers in all the places I want him to touch me.
When he ends the kiss, he rests his forehead against mine, like he can’t bring himself to stop touching me quite yet. His hand hasn’t left my side, his fingers still tight on my hip, bunching the fabric of my dress.
“Thank you,” he says into the breath of space between us. I’m sure he can feel my smile against his lips.
“You’re welcome.”
We were supposed to take this slow, make sure this is what we both wanted, but I already feel myself free-falling, hoping he will catch me. I want to kiss him again. I want to be wrapped up inhim until I can’t tell where he stops and I begin. I want to make the divot between his brows disappear, make the tension in his shoulder release. I want to feel him grinning into my skin. I want whatever this version of Grey is to evaporate into the one I know. The one that’s quickly taking over my thoughts.
