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“Hey, baby.” She hugs me tightly.
“Hey, Mama.”
“Let’s get you inside.”
I let her usher me into the house, tucked close to her side. As I should have expected, Dad and Grandpa are waiting for me in the living room. I take a glimpse around, smelling the freshly baked scent of pie.
Memories assault me, and I lean into my mom, a sob escaping. Then another. I can’t stop them, openly weeping, clinging to my mom. The emotions of the last week take over.
She gets me to the sofa where she and my dad crowd me, rubbing my back with soothing ‘shhh’ sounds. I don’t know how long I cry, letting it all out, but a glass is shoved in my hands, and I calm down enough to see the pink liquor.
“What’s this?” I stutter, looking at my grandpa.
“Moonshine! Drink up.”
My tears start to dry up, and I let out a little giggle before taking a sip. The liquor is strong, scalding my throat and landing in my empty stomach. Grandpa hands me his handkerchief, and I gladly take it and wipe my face. When I’ve regained my composure enough to talk, I scoot back, laying my head on my dad’s shoulder.
“I’ve had a bad week,” I tell them.
“Obviously. Logan said you aren’t talking. You left without telling him anything,” Mom says worriedly.
“I sent him an email.”
“What’s going on?”
I glance at each of my family and exhale loudly. “Y’all may want to get comfortable. This is a long story.”
I take another swig and start from the beginning. I tell them about falling in love, which they already know, then about the program, the acceptance, my decision to decline, and I finish with the details from Monday night and Tuesday morning.
None of them interrupt; even when my voice cracks and I cry through parts of the story, they listen intently. When I’m done, I raise my eyes to my grandpa first.
He’s standing tall, his feet planted firmly, his arms cros
sed, and a murderous look on his face. I slink back as his eyes pierce into mine. I recognize the stormy gaze and fear for Nick’s life.
“Your brother is about to eat shit. When I’m done with him, he’s going to regret every vile word he spewed to you.” He surprises the hell of out me when he reaches in his pocket, takes out his phone, and slams the front door on his way outside.
“Uh oh,” I whisper.
“It’s the truth, Grace—Logan was out of line. However, this thing with Nick is certainly surprising, too.”
I nod sadly, trying to shove the thought of Nick away. “Are you two mad at me?”
“Hell no, why would we be?” Dad tucks a stray hair behind my ear. The gesture makes my eyes sting again. Another reminder of Nick.
“Because everyone else seems mad that I turned down this damned opportunity.”
“But, baby, you explained yourself. The timing wasn’t right. You aren’t excited. Why do something you’re not passionate about?” Mom pats my knee gently.
Dad stays quiet, too quiet. The expression on his face can only be described as pained.
“Dad?”
“Grace, this may be my fault.”
“How?”
When he tells me about his conversation with Nick, and making Nick promise to encourage me to go away, my sadness fades and is replaced with resentment.
