Grady sighed, running his hand through his hair. “That bastard really fucked with your head, didn’t he?”
I blinked in surprise. “What are you?—”
“I’m not scared of whatever it is you’re hiding, by the way.I’m not scared of your scars, of your fears, of any other bullshit you think you’re protecting me from. The only thing I’m scared of is losing you again.” He opened the driver's side door, hesitating only for a moment. “I don’t know what I have to do to show you I’m all in, but I’m going to try. I’ve lived far too long without you, bluebird. I don’t want to do it any longer.”
With that, he got in his truck, put it in reverse, and slowly drove away. I stood there until his taillights disappeared, and I knew I was actually alone.
I slowly trudged back into the house, barely making it to my bed before I reached for my phone and typed out a message.
Cleo
I need to see you next week.
cleo
. . .
23 Years Old
It’d beena week since I’d seen Grady at the rodeo. One week since I texted him and asked him out to dinner. One week of no responses.
Looking down, I saw the text was still unanswered. I debated texting him again. Maybe it hadn’t gone through. It was late, he could’ve opened it and forgotten to respond. That was reasonable, right?
That was what I told myself to make me feel better, but it was losing its shine. Each day of no contact that passed, I felt the truth coming into focus.
Grady didn’t want me.
I didn’t know what I expected. Did I really think seeing each other once would be enough to have him knocking at my door? He had a whole life I didn’t know about. When I visited his mom, she avoided talking about him unless I specifically asked. After we broke up, I did it a lot. It didn’t take me long to realize I was only torturing myself. It wasn’t as if his mom was going to tell me he was doing miserably. She only spoke of the good things, the success he was having without me.
While she never outright said it, that was how I felt. Withouta nagging girlfriend, he was able to fully commit to the music scene, and it seemed like it was paying off.
I put those thoughts away as the familiar white house came into view. Marsha was sitting outside, holding a cup of tea between her hands. She smiled when she saw my car pull up, and I stepped outside. “Well, isn’t this a surprise!” she called out. “I didn’t know you were coming by.”
I rounded the car with a covered casserole dish filled with fresh lasagna my mom and I had made. Ever since Marsha told me about the cancer, I had been taking them dinner three times a week. Mom helped me during the school year when I had late-night events I couldn’t miss.
It wasn’t much, but it was what I knew how to do. Food was my comfort, and something Marsha and I both loved. Half of the dinners I brought were from recipes she’d taught me how to make. It seemed only fair to share them back with her.
“School has been a little busy over the past week, but I finally had a free evening, so,” I held up the dish, “feel like having some lasagna? The sauce is homemade, just like you showed me.”
“You know, they keep telling me I’ll lose my appetite with all these medications they have me on and the impending treatments, but I don’t know how that’s supposed to happen when you keep bringing me my favorite treats.” I walked up the steps and let her pull me into a tight hug. “Missed you, girl. You can’t be staying away like that. I don’t care if that son of mine is home or not. He can get over it.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at the bluntness of her words. “Anyone ever tell you you’re too damn observant?”
She smiled over the lip of her cup. “All the damn time. Can’t help myself. Now, let’s go see what you learned from my sauce lesson.”
I followed her into the house, listening as she told me about what the last week had been like, how it’d seemed like anendless stream of doctor’s appointments and pharmacy visits. The countertop by the fridge was littered with pill bottles, both prescription and over-the-counter medications.
She took a seat while I prepared plates for us and carried them to the table. I waited as she picked up her fork and took the first bite, closing her eyes and groaning. “My god, girl. You missed your calling. You should’ve been a chef.”
I laughed, following suit and taking a bite. She wasn’t wrong. It was damn good. Probably the best one I’d ever made. I couldn’t imagine doing this as a job, though. Even though I was much better at baking, being in a kitchen in general was therapeutic. It was the only time I had to myself. It was the only reason I was halfway as sane as I was.
“Naw. Sometimes hobbies need to stay hobbies. I’ll stick to my day job.” It was silent for a few minutes before I cleared my throat and spoke again. “So, is it just you here today?”
I didn’t look up from my plate, but knew Marsha was staring at me anyway. Her gaze was remarkably like her son’s. I could always feel the weight of it when it landed on me. “Is that your way of asking if Grady is here?”
“Of course, not. It’s not my business.”
She sighed, leaning back in her chair. “Well, that’s not entirely true, is it?”
