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He must have gotten it because he chuckled.
I added a few pillows from the closet while he put our glasses on each of the bedside tables. How nice it would be to share my life with someone like this. Just the simple pleasures of an everyday life. I yearned for it. I’d thought finishing medical school would give me a new lease on life. Instead, I simply felt empty most of the time.
Not tonight, I told myself. Just enjoy being with Grant, watching your favorite movies. It would have to be enough.
Last Holiday started with the queen of everything, Queen Latifah, in her safe, ordinary life.
“I love this movie,” I said, settling into the stack of pillows behind my back. “She reminds me of myself.”
He used the remote to pause the scene. “What do you mean?”
I turned on my side to look at him. He did the same, so we were face to face.
“She’s always planning for the future instead of living in the moment. Pining away for a man she doesn’t feel worthy of. Saving the good stuff to enjoy later—for some perfect future that never comes. Denying herself good food, even though she makes it for other people, simply because she doesn’t feel good in her own skin, wondering why she’s the one no one chooses.”
“Do you feel like the one no one chooses?” Grant asked.
“It’s hard not to. When no one ever does.”
“Has it occurred to you that it’s because you work so much?” Grant asked. “There’s no time for a social life.”
“It has, yes.”
“You’d miss it, though, wouldn’t you?”
I thought about his question for a moment, conjuring images of my clinic and staff and our small, vulnerable patients. All of us committed to our work, to making a difference. Regardless, it was exhausting, especially being so broke all the time. “I would miss my work, yes.”
“But you’re tired.”
“That’s right,” I said. “Yet, there’s this drive in me to help kids who need it. Sometimes I wonder why I have such a martyr complex.”
“You don’t,” Grant said firmly. “Why would you say that?”
“I don’t know. I guess I feel like I have to do something good or I’m no one at all.”
“I actually understand,” Grant said. “My dad only gave love if he thought I earned it. Which, apparently, wasn’t often. He was drill sergeant first, dad second. Discipline in our house was like the gospel. It was always about how much I could lift, or run, or whatever obstacle course my dad put together in our backyard.”
“That sounds awful.”
“The only way I convinced him to let me play drums was the physicality of it. He liked that part. I only practiced in the garage. He never thought it was something meaningful, though. Just a dumb hobby. When I graduated from high school, he assumed I would join the military. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”
“How did you have the courage to go to Nashville so young and without anything or anyone supporting you?” I asked.
“I knew two things. I wanted to play music and I wanted to escape my father. Those motivators were bigger than my fears.”
“It all worked out, so you were right to bet on yourself.”
“In hindsight, yes. I’m grateful for all of it, trust me,” Grant said. “Jack and the guys are my family. Without them, I’d be lost.”
“You won’t lose them. Unless you murdered someone. That would be bad. But I’m pretty sure you’re in the band for life.”
He laughed. “I don’t plan on murdering anyone any time soon.”
“See, then you’re good?”
His expression darkened for a moment. “Love was conditional and transactional in my family. Like you, it left me unsure of myself. Like I have to earn every ounce of affection and God forbid I ever make anyone mad at me.”
“So you just go about life being perfect,” I said. “Never rocking the boat or asking for more. I get it.”
