Page 93 of Love Felt Like This

“What’s in February?” he asks.

“The Grammys.”

“Beverly!” Finch yells, scratchy and loud and excited.

I jump at the sudden sound, then laugh. “What?”

“You need to go.”

“No, I shouldn’t.”

“Shouldn’t?”

“I won’t have time.”

“Yes, you will,” he says. “Take the break.”

“I don’t belong there.”

“What are you even talking about?” I open my mouth to answer, then close it. “Beverly. Be honest with me.”

“I don’t have time,” I repeat, instead of using the word belong because now it sounds childish. “I need to work.”

Finch grumbles something unintelligible under his breath before saying, “You’re the reason I still wake up to nightmares of coffee makers at three in the morning.”

“Aw, come on, that’s not true.”

“My friend bought me a Keurig, and I broke it.”

“By accident?”

“On purpose.”

“Liar,” I say with a laugh, then instantly frown. “Wait, tell me you’re lying.”

“Go to the Grammys.” I sigh as he continues, “You can lose one weekend. Enjoy this opportunity.” I bring my lukewarm coffee to my lips. “Enjoy your fake boyfriend.” I almost choke on it.

“You’re a monster,” I say.

“Those award shows are always fun,” Finch insists. “You need that. Albert and I used to sneak in flasks to the Emmys. One year, I gave an acceptance speech that everyone assured me was great, but hell if I remember it.”

I laugh as he chortles to himself. I wish I’d gotten involved in professional puppetry sooner. I wish Grandpa had been a little healthier and we’d performed together more. I wish I could’ve been there on those crazy nights, just to say I saw it all.

Then Finch says, “It was the only time Albert allowed himself a break. Do it for him.”

There’s a creak in the floorboards behind me as Nana emerges from her room. She peers over the couch and to my phone on the table.

“Is that Finch I hear?” she asks.

“Is that Alice I hear?” Finch counters from the speakerphone.

“You’re not dead yet?”

“You wish, woman.”

I tilt the speakerphone closer to her, as they descend into teasing. Finch tells her about the Grammys, despite me squirming as he does, and they reminisce about memories with Grandpa. The longer I sit, the more I start to drift, as my mind races.

We have only Connection remaining.