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It makes talking to him much easier than talking to other people.
Outside of the window, the city is finally starting to vanish, the thick billowing white clouds taking over my view. It’s around ten in the morning so the pink glow of dawn is gone, but the bright yellow light of early day is still catching on the curls of the white fluffs. It’s the kind of sight that can’t be replicated.
I’ve never understood how my sister could look out this window and feel anything but wonder. It must be hard, missing out on something so stunning. At my side, Grant mentions, “You know, maybe this is going to work out for more than just us. I think pretending to get together might take some of the stress and pressure off the rest of our family members, too.”
I turn away from the window, tilting my head to the side. “What do you mean?”
“Well, my dad isn’t going to spend all his time worrying about me now,” says Grant. “He’s under the impression I’ve found someone that’s going to look out for me—don’t take that the wrong way, either. I don’t mean that you aren’t looking out for me!”
Waving a hand at him, I promise, “No, I understand what you mean, you don’t have to worry about it. He thinks that you’ve found your future wife, and that’s what he’s wanted for you.”
“Right,” says Grant, with a nod. “So he’s feeling better. And your dad wants to display good old family values and to show his daughters are respectable family women. Correct me if I’m wrong, but he wanted one of you—and he didn’t really care which one—to hurry up and prove that to the public with a wedding or an engagement at the least. Right?”
“That about sums it up,” I tell him.
“So now that you’re with someone—I know nothing has really changed yet for John, but once he hears that I’ve proposed, maybe that will take some of the pressure off your sister. She could actually have time to breathe and do her own thing. Especially since after a proposal comes a wedding.”
A wedding. I can almost imagine walking down the aisle and Grant waiting for me there. Not that it will really ever happen. And maybe that will be a problem in the long run. Grant and I haven’t really discussed when and how we’ll break things off. I mean, we cannot stay engaged for years, right?
“The press loves a good wedding,” I agree. I think on it for a moment, turning to look out the window. The clouds are spread out, white on purest blue, with golden outlines tracing over their form. It’s close enough, you could really reach out and touch them—if only windows could go down.
Heather is a good girl. And my best friend.
She’s my best friend, and two years younger than I am. She’s also way more invested in making my father happy, like when she agreed to keep an eye on the Instagram pictures for him. Knowing that our father wants this from us has been weighing heavily on her shoulders.
I’ve felt bad for her, maybe more than I’ve felt bad for myself.
Eventually, I tell Grant, “I hope that you’re right. Heather needs a bit of time to just focus on herself.” And then, “What’s wrong with our parents, huh? It’s like when they hit a certain age, they forget all about the fact that we have our own lives.”
As soon as I say it, I’m worried that Grant might get offended that I’ve included his father in that group. But he just seems to be in agreement. “I don’t know. They want… They know what made their lives good, and I think that they just assume it’s what we want, too.”
A thought crosses my mind. I twist in my seat, turning to face him more fully. “Do you even want to run that company?”
“Yes,” says Grant, no hesitation there. “I honestly do. My dad built this company from the ground up, and I want to be the one that will carry on that legacy. I just don’t think that the CEO role should hinge on which one of his kids gets married first. I know… I know that losing my older brother hit him hard. But I want to focus on my career, not my love life.” A pause, and then, “What do you want to do?”
“What?” The question catches me off guard.
“If you could do anything,” Grant insists. “For work—forget your current job. What would you do?”
The thing is, I find that I don’t actually have an answer for that. “I have a major in business.”
“Right, but your dad convinced you to get that, didn’t he?”
I laugh. “You're right, I wouldn't have chosen that major if not for my dad.”
“So, if you could take different classes, or study something else—” Grant says. “Come on, anything. It doesn’t have to be reasonable. I’m just curious.”
My answer comes slow and hesitant. I know how it sounds. And it’s nothing that would do any good for my father’s name or his election run.
But the thought of lying to Grant the way that I lie to most people feels wrong.
“You can’t laugh,” I tell him.
“Never,” says Grant.
I insist, “I mean it! Heather is the only other person that I’ve told this to!”
Grant crosses his fingers over his chest. “Cross my heart, you won’t hear so much as a peep out of me. What is it?”
