“No. I haven’t spoken to him.”
I squint at my grandfather, searching for signs that he’s lying. He isn’t, though.
He squints right back at me. “You don’t have to share his bed. You’ll have your own room.”
“No. Not happening. Also, I don’t want to talk about bedroom arrangements with my granddad, thanks very much.”
Granddad takes a sip of his tea and nudges the plate of cookies toward me.
I look away from the plate.
“I would offer to put stakes on a chess game with you,” he says, “but I think you will win. And I do not want to gamble with my family’s safety—do you?”
A slant of light hits the chess table, beckoning me into memories of the two of us hunched over it. Granddad, ever the teacher, would have me repeat moves and walk me through strategies. I trusted him to steer me along the right path.
I still trust him.
But what he’s asking me today is so outrageous, trusting him is hard.
He doesn’t rush me through my thoughts. There’s no chess clock running; there never was.
I allow my mind to entertain the what if. What if I moved in with Edmund and Troy? Would it hurt me? My pride, yeah, in that they think I can’t take care of myself. I could handle that kind of hurt.
Heartbreak is the bigger risk. I’m falling for Troy. I’m even falling for Edmund—although I can’t explain why.
And then there’s that inner confusion. I don’t want to be told what to do, and yet I crave being under their control.
What does it mean?
Only one way to find out.
“Fine. I’ll do it. But I’m bringing Cackle.”
The next day, movers load my boxes into a truck and ferry it to Edmund and Troy’s apartment. I drive my own car with Cackle meowing pitifully in his carrier.
I have a shiny new reserved parking space in the garage below the building, and my own code to use the elevator.
Edmund and Troy direct the movers to the guest room, which I’ll be using. It already has a bed and dresser, so my furniture won’t be necessary. I left those things at my old place, and I’m still paying rent. This move is temporary. I didn’t bring much. My cat. Clothes, toiletries, books. My journals, of course.
Eventually, the movers leave. I go down the hall to my room and stare at the boxes lined up. They don’t even fill a single wall. Cackle, still in his carrier, continues to meow.
“Do you want some help unpacking?” Edmund’s voice startles me.
“No. I’m setting Cackle free so he can explore the room.” I open the door to the en-suite bathroom and see that his litter box has already been set up. His water bowl is out, too, and I put a few pieces of kibble in his food dish.
I close the bedroom door in Edmund’s face and open Cackle’s carrier. He bolts out like he’s been shot from a cannon and immediately starts patrolling the room.
The queen-sized bed seems opulent and decadent compared to the tiny twin I slept in at my place. The comforter is a soft, dove gray which matches the filmy curtains covering the floor-to-ceiling window. A modern, gray-stained wooden dresser faces the bed, with a decorative mirror placed over it. The mirror will have to go. Nothing scarier than waking up from a nightmare and seeing another face staring back at you…even if it’s your own.
I lift the mirror and slide it into the back of the walk-in closet.
Now the wall looks empty—it needs something. Perhaps a dartboard bearing the likeness of my fiancé’s face? The idea makes me snicker.
I pad over to the window and look out over the city lights. It’s late. I could go to sleep—I’m not even hungry.
Or I could leave this room and wreak some havoc.
Cackle is busy surveying his new kingdom, so I ease out of the bedroom.
