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Afterward, I didn’t want to let him go, and I felt a bit childish asking if he’d stay on. But it’d also turned into one of the most romantic things anyone had ever done for me. Somehow, we’d gotten disconnected in the middle of the night, and when I’d woken from a dream starring Marcus, which hadn’t ever happened before, I’d felt that same sort of lightness in my heart I always did around him.
I met Grant in the kitchen, and we made sure the apple pie we’d made from Rebecca’s recipe had set. Marcus’s family hadn’t asked us to bring anything, but it didn’t feel right to show up without food in hand.
My hand faltered as I tore off a piece of plastic wrap to cover the dessert. Why the fuck was I so anxious about today?
Grant might’ve been nervous, too, because he wasn’t dressed in any sort of historical outfit. He only wore his newsboy cap, a graphic tee that read: I Hate Repeating Myself. Signed, History, and a button-down shirt over it with the sleeves rolled up. For the first time in a long while, I found myself smiling at his selection. The truth was, Grant was a cool kid, period, and his collection of T-shirts and historical outfits was endearing. I wished I’d been a lot less fussy about it his whole damned life.
But that moment of clarity was all too brief. As we piled into the car and got on the road, I couldn’t help thinking about Marcus’s relatives and hoping they’d see Grant that way too. I also hoped they hadn’t invited us out of obligation. I turned up the radio to drown out my thoughts, but I couldn’t find it in me to hum or sing like I had that one day with Marcus. And from Grant’s stiff posture, he obviously couldn’t either.
“Maybe when your grandparents are feeling better, you should stay the night. They’ll be bummed they missed out on spending time with you,” I said as I turned into Marcus’s neighborhood. His mom lived right around the corner from him, and now I could picture how easy it would be for him to walk over in a couple of minutes flat.
“Good idea,” Grant replied, his shoulders relaxing. “We could make some cookies together. Grandma would like that.”
“She would.” I smiled as I found a spot to park on the street. “Just not oatmeal raisin.”
He smirked. “I think Grandpa might like them, though.”
“At least we know where she got it from.” I glanced at the bungalow, which resembled the majority of houses in the neighborhood. The driveway was lined with cars, so we might’ve been the last to arrive.
I pushed open the door as my stomach performed dive-bombs, either about meeting Marcus’s relatives or seeing him in person after the other night.
But most of my nerves fled when Marcus opened the door, wearing black jeans, a blue button-down shirt, and a huge smile. Damn, he looked good. “Glad you could make it.”
“Me too,” I said as he took the pie from Grant, and we discarded our coats on the hooks near the door. Four people were seated in the living room near the large television, watching today’s NFL game.
Before Marcus could make his introductions, we were warmly greeted by a lady with shoulder-length black hair and deep-brown skin, wearing an apron and a grin that resembled Marcus’s.
“Mom, this is Delaney and Grant.”
“Please call me Arlene.”
“Nice to meet you, Arlene. Thanks for inviting us.”
“Of course. The more, the merrier. Make yourselves comfortable.”
Marcus led us to the living room, and one of the women waved from a reclining chair. She appeared to be around Arlene’s age, was wearing trendy tortoiseshell glasses, and I could only assume she was her sister.
“I’m Aunt Sherry, and the man who can’t take his eyes off the screen for one minute to greet you is my husband, Luis.” Luis scoffed before acknowledging us from his perch near the game. He had a mustache and a toothy grin.
“No worries,” I replied. “Football is probably synonymous with Thanksgiving.”
“Not for all of us,” Arlene said with an eye roll.
“Glad to have you,” Aunt Sherry said. “Marc never mentioned how handsome you both are.”
“Sherry,” Arlene hissed. “Always starting trouble.”
“Where’s the lie?” Aunt Sherry winked, and I didn’t dare look at Grant or Marcus, especially since my face felt as warm as the bottom of the pie tin.
Someone cleared their throat from the couch.
“That’s my sister, Keisha, and her boyfriend, Jeff.” Marcus stepped toward them, we followed behind, and I was glad for the reprieve from the aunt’s scrutiny.
“Nice to finally meet you,” Keisha said with a smirk, and I wondered if there was some story behind it. She had Marcus’s coloring, hazel eyes, and her hair had a bit more of a wave to it. It again made me curious about Marcus’s father, but all I knew was that he passed away when they were young.
