Worst Wingman Ever (The Improbable Meet-Cute, #2)(10)

“Wow. You two are obsessed with me.”

“Here’s the thing, John.” She put her hands together. “You are a giver. You do everything for everyone else before you do a single thing for you. I honestly think that’s why the Brenda thing hit you so hard. Instead of being like, ‘Wow! This is a great guy!’ she took it for granted and screwed you over, and when she left, you had nobody to love, and you didn’t know how to love yourself.”

I blinked at her. That was oddly insightful.

“You deserve self-care,” she said, going on. “You deserve to feel good and to look good and to let someone do something for you for a change. Just let me.”

She looked at me earnestly.

I let out a puff of air. “Fine.”

She did a little dancy thing in her seat.

The next day I was Pretty Woman’d within an inch of my life.

Did I look the best I’d looked in years? Yes. Was it at the expense of my dignity? Also yes.

She insisted I participate in a “before” and “after” video for the salon’s social media. She refused to let me pay her, so I felt guilted into agreeing to it.

All the comments on it were backhanded compliments.

It’s like one of those videos where the guy quits drinking and they do a before and after Was he homeless or is this just some guy? He’s cute now tho for real Okay, but why did he look like Encino Man? It’s giving Brendan Fraser

I had to stop looking. Apparently the transformation was jaw-dropping, that’s all I needed to know. I now had the confidence to approach the mystery woman if I ever saw her again.

If.

In the meantime I had a lot to think about, because Andrea was right. I did put everyone before myself. I always had.

Maybe it was time I learned to take care of me.





Holly

CHAPTER 9

The next two days, family came and family went. Grandma drifted in and out. She no longer took breaks from the morphine. It was a vigil now. We didn’t hover around her laughing and joking anymore. We whispered and spoke quietly so she could sleep.

The whole family had been here today. Everyone came and touched her hand and talked to her, even though she didn’t wake up for it.

I’d hoped for the rally. It looked like I wasn’t going to get it.

At 7:00 p.m., Jillian, Lucy, and Mom all went to dinner at a restaurant close by. I stayed. I wouldn’t be going home anymore. No more night nurse. Mom and I were sleeping bedside because we were too close to the end.

Once everyone had cleared the apartment, I put the railing down. Checked Grandma’s vitals. Her blood pressure was low. Her hands and feet were cold because her circulation was in service to the organs that were failing.

I brushed the hair back off her forehead, put some of Jillian’s lip balm on her lips. Lit her favorite candle. Then I picked up her hand and pressed the back of it to my cheek and closed my eyes.

I was going to miss her so much.

I wasn’t ready.

My job was to help others be ready, but I couldn’t do it for myself.

I felt like I couldn’t do anything for myself right now. I couldn’t unpack my apartment or ask a cute guy for his name in a courtyard. I couldn’t even put air in my tires.

I knew my life would kick-start again. But it wouldn’t happen until hers was over. It would happen because hers was over and I had no choice but to keep going on.

“I never told you about my first husband,” a voice said quietly.

My eyes flew open. Grandma was awake. I smiled at her. “Hey.”

“Hello, my sweet Holly.”

Hearing my name made the knot bolt to my throat. Because the truth was, I thought I’d already heard her say it for the last time.

“You thought I was a goner, huh?” she joked tiredly.

I laughed a little. “Not yet.”

“I couldn’t go without telling you.”

“Telling me what?”

“About Chip,” she said. “I didn’t forget. Sit. I don’t think we have a lot of time.”

I sniffed and sat on the comforter and took her hand. “What is it, Grandma? I’m listening.”

“I’ve never told anyone what I’m about to tell you.”

“Okay. Say whatever you need to say. It stays with me.”

“I don’t care who you tell,” she said. “Anyone who cared is long dead. I’ll be gone before they can arrest me, and Lucy will never confess.”

I wrinkled my forehead. “Confess—”

“I killed him.”

I jerked to stare at her. “What?”

“I did,” she said matter-of-factly. “Chip was a mean drunk. He liked to hit me. One day he came at me, and I just knew that was it. I wasn’t getting out alive. I clocked him on the side of the head with a cast-iron frying pan.”

I blinked at her.

“Lucy and I put him in the back of my station wagon. Drove to the river, rolled him into the water. I called the sheriff the next day and told him my husband went drinking and never came home. They found him a few weeks later. Called it an accident. They thought he probably fell off a bridge or something.”

I was in shock. “Grandma . . . ,” I breathed.

“Feels good to tell someone,” she said, closing her eyes.