Her gaze turns bitter, and she says, “We’re not supposed to have those feelings.”
“No. Women are not.”
“Society wants us to smile and be pretty and nothing more.” She takes a deep breath. “And what’s the room at the back of the house? You use it for a study or something?”
“Something like that.”
A line appears between her brows. Like she wants to ask more but is holding herself back. Setting boundaries with my cousin has been successful. I made it clear that I didn’t want to talk about my ex or anything relating to that situation. Not that she knows about the contents of the war room, since the door is locked. But she’s stopped pushing.
It’s strange how discussing these things with Noah didn’t put me on edge, while similar conversations with my cousin does. Guess I’ve spent more time with him recently. We have a level of trust between us. I don’t want to spill the tea, be a fascinating case study, or a cautionary tale. All of those lenses have a bad habit of blurring the details that make me a living, breathing person. My relationship with friends and family should be different and deeper.
Though there’s a small chance I am being overly sensitive. I don’t know. It’s an understandably sensitive topic.
Grandma and I talked about anything and everything. The cringe I experienced each and every time she sat me down to discuss sex as I was growing up. Because for some reason we hadto have the conversation more than once. Guess aging hippies and arty types tend to be open to most things. It left me believing it’s how things should be with people close to you.
“Tackle any more of your wedding deposits today?” I ask in a careful voice.
She wrinkles her nose. “Lost thousands on the dress. But managed to get the booking fee for the reception place refunded. They had another couple ready to take the date.”
“That’s great.”
“Yeah.” She frowns at her pale pink toenails. “It was going to be so beautiful. I had it all planned out.”
“You’ll make an amazing bride someday. But in the meantime, it’s okay to grieve what was lost. I’m sorry you’re going through this.”
She tries to smile, but it doesn’t quite stick. Her phone buzzes and she turns it over to check the screen. Then she swallows, gives me a smile, and changes the subject. Which is fair. We both have our sore spots worth respecting. “What do you normally do on a Friday afternoon? Have a glass of wine?”
“We can do that,” I respond.
“And we need snacks.”
“That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day.” I head into the kitchen to find the necessary supplies. Cheese and crackers and a bottle of white wine from the back of the cupboard. A shame I didn’t think to put it in the fridge earlier. But this is exactly why we have ice cubes. “We should use Grandma’s vintage wineglasses.”
Grace follows me, leaning her shoulder against the doorframe. She seems uncomfortable again. I hope we get past this stage soon so we can relax around one another.
I hold up one of the glasses. “Check it out. Stem so thick and heavy you could honestly clobber someone over the head with it.”
“That’s not a wineglass, it’s a weapon,” she says in awe.
“Right?”
“They’re gorgeous. Mom was just so pissed she left you everything.”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “I asked if there was anything she wanted to remember her by, but…”
“It is what it is.” Grace shrugs. “Why don’t we invite hot neighbor over for a drink?”
“He’s at work.”
“You know his movements?”
“No. I mean, not really. But he’s a chef, so…”
Her smile turns lascivious. “That’s a damn shame he isn’t around.”
“Yeah.”
“I was thinking he’d be perfect for a rebound hookup. What with me only being in town for a while and him living right next door.”
