The Rom Con(97)

“What do you know, it’s time for my soap. Cass, hun, could you walk me to my room?”

Jack springs into action, helping her up from the chair. “Where to?” he asks, but I wave him off.

“It’s alright, I’ve got it. You okay to wait here?” Like he really is a mirage and if I blink, he’ll disappear.

He nods. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

He looks me straight in the eye as he says it, apparently failing to see the irony of his statement, and I’m not gonna lie: part of me really wants to punch him in the face right now. If this were an Old Hollywood movie, now is when I’d wind up and slap the leading man so hard, my hand would sting for a week. But before I can act on my impulse Gran squeezes my arm, and I don’t even have to look at her to know she knows exactly what I’m thinking.

So instead of violence I choose guidance (heh) and lead Gran out of the kitchen, bracing myself for the earful of over-the-top commentary I’m sure she’s about to unleash.

She doesn’t waste a second. “Boy, is he a dish,” she hoots as soon as Jack’s out of earshot. “When I opened the door and saw that face, I nearly had a second stroke.”

I groan as I push open her bedroom door. “You know I hate your gallows humor.”

“Oh lighten up, it was just a joke.” She pauses. “Don’t have a stroke!” She throws her head back and cackles.

“Still not laughing,” I remind her, helping her onto the bed. “What did you guys talk about for two hours, anyway?”

“What do you think we talked about, the weather? He’s obviously here to win you back! And you better hear him out,” she warns as I get her settled against the pillows.

“I thought you said he was a loser who doesn’t deserve me.” I switch on Days of our Lives and hand her the remote.

“I didn’t know him then,” she says defensively.

“Whatever happened to ‘Don’t give him the milk for free’?”

Her smile is deviant. “Forget the milk—if it were me, he’d be dining at an all-you-can-eat buffet!”

“Alright, that’s about enough excitement for you today.” I lean over to tuck the blanket around her, and before I can clock what she’s doing, she’s reached out and pinched the apples of my cheeks—hard.

“Ow!” I swat her hands away. “What was that for?”

“You need a little color in your cheeks. Men like a little flush.” She sits back again, pleased with herself.

“You are a menace.” I rub my cheek tenderly; I swear there’ll be a bruise. “And since when are you such a soft touch, anyway? Some smooth talker with a pretty face is all it takes to win you over?”

She holds up a finger. “Don’t forget the money.”

I groan. “Oh, Gran.”

“What? It’s like my mama always used to say: ‘It’s just as easy to marry a rich man as a poor man.’ I didn’t listen, but you still can.”

I exhale loudly and move to leave. “I was looking for some real advice, but I guess I’m on my own here.”

“Fine, wait.” She grabs my sleeve and sighs dramatically, mock–put out. “You want to know what I think you should do?”

“Please.”

She looks me straight in the eye. “Swallow your pride, forgive him, and let yourself be happy.”

I’m shaking my head before she’s even finished talking. “And what, just pretend the past six weeks didn’t happen? Pretend he didn’t desert me at the first sign of trouble? How do I know he won’t hurt me again?”

“You don’t,” she says, matter-of-fact. “He’ll either prove himself or he won’t. But love is a leap of faith either way. It takes a strong person to apologize, and an even stronger person to forgive. And this won’t be the last time you need to do it. But don’t punish yourself by holding a grudge.” She squeezes my hand. “I’m giving you permission to forgive him.”

My eyes start to sting and I pinch my sinuses, willing away the looming waterworks. “How do you always know just what to say?” I whisper.

“Well, I am ninety. I’ve had some practice.”

I let out a hoarse laugh, blinking away the tears.

“Actually, you should probably write down whatever I just said. I’ve already forgotten it.”

I’m laughing harder now.

“Now get out there already, he’s waiting for you,” she says with a flick of her wrist, shooing me away.

“Meh, let him wait.” I lean over and wrap her in a hug. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she murmurs, rubbing light circles on my back—and this time, it’s her voice that sounds thick.

“Hey, one more thing,” she calls as I’m walking out, and I turn back with raised eyebrows.

Her lips twitch. “Leave the door open so I can hear you guys.”

I impale her with my stare before shutting the door extra firmly behind me. When I turn I have a straight-line view into the kitchen, and I’m able to observe Jack for a moment without him noticing. His arms are braced against the stove’s edge, his head bent as though deep in thought, or perhaps just weary. A superhero with the weight of the world on his shoulders. There’s something so out-of-body about seeing him here in my grandmother’s kitchen, standing amongst her dated appliances. It’s incongruent, like a glitch in the matrix.