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.
When he hears my footfalls, he straightens and turns my way, his expression determined. “Hey. Listen, I know I don’t—”
His words cut off abruptly when I walk right up to him and let myself do what I’ve been wanting to since the moment I saw him: I throw my arms around his neck and squeeze, my pride be damned.
Jack releases a guttural sound and crushes me against his chest, holding me so tightly he’s practically cutting off my air supply. But who needs air, anyway? For the first time in weeks the ache in my chest is gone, so if this is my last memory, at least I’ll die happy.
“God, I’ve missed you,” he grits out. His hand grips the back of my neck, locking me in place in the crook of his collarbone.
“This hug is not for you,” I make sure to clarify, my voice muffled by his neck . . . but while I’m here, I decide to take a deep inhale of his skin. Mmm, that’s the stuff. “It’s purely for selfish reasons.”
“I’ll take it however I can get it.” He clutches me tighter, his fingers threaded in my hair like a tether. I couldn’t escape if I tried. “I thought you were going to slam the door in my face. Either that or hit me.”
“Been thinking about it since the second I saw you. And you’re not out of the woods,” I warn, then snuggle tighter into his neck, directly contradicting my previous statement.
“I deserve it. I’ll give you as many free shots as you want.”
“Argh, you’re too pretty. I can’t have that on my conscience.”
He lets out a soft chuckle and finally pulls back slightly, freeing me a fraction so he can look into my eyes, and his tender expression turns to alarm. “You’re crying.”
It’s true, and I’ve given up trying to battle back the tears. I may as well grab a surfboard and ride the wave at this point.
“Please don’t cry,” he says, thumbing a tear from my cheek. “I have a lot of things to say to you and it’ll make it really hard for me to get through.”
“Can’t make any promises,” I snuffle. “I’ve never been much of a crier, but lately I’m like a leaky faucet.”
The dog jumps up on our legs just then, looking for attention, and we reluctantly separate so Jack can pick it up.
“So is this your wingman?” I inquire, scratching behind the pup’s soft ears.
His smile is sheepish. “Figured it’d be hard to turn away a guy with a puppy.”
“I had a feeling. Soften me up, huh? Very underhanded.”
“Hedging my bets.” He laughs as I roll my eyes. “The truth is, I don’t have the heart to crate him—but if I don’t, he destroys everything he touches. But you’ll be pleased to know my apartment isn’t looking nearly so fancy these days.”