by Autumn Grey
“She was eighteen when it happened. Eighteen, just like me.” I take a deep breath and slowly stumble through my words and tell him what happened eighteen years ago. By the time I’m done, I’m exhausted and still angry. The thing is, I’m not even sure if I’m angry with my mom or the man who brought so much pain in her life.
Sol’s eyes are filled with pain, and he’s breathing hard. He reaches for me but freezes, watching me as if asking for permission. I nod and tug the earbud out of my ear and toss it next to the phone. He does the same with his and shifts closer. I fall into his arms, sinking into him as his arms wrap around me.
“I’m so sorry, Grace. So sorry.”
This time, I don’t cry. I don’t think there are any tears left in me. We stay like this for a little while longer, me soaking in his comfort and him holding me tight as if he’s trying to transfer all the pain from my body to his.
He pulls back but doesn’t drop his arms from around me. Then he shifts our bodies so he’s lying down on his back and I’m on top of him with my head on his chest.
“I know you’re hurting. Your mom is pretty special, you know. She didn’t give you up like someone else might have done. She loves you, Grace. So much.”
His words, the same words that have been filling my every thought, cut me deep and I feel like I’m bleeding from the inside out. At the same time, the truth settles in my chest, offering me the peace I’ve craved since I fled our apartment.
“She does,” I whisper. “Now I understand why she had me take self-defense classes at such a young age and put me on—” I slam my mouth shut before the words can come out.
“Put you on what?”
“Um, birth control pills.” The words pour out in a rush as heat fills my cheeks. “She took me to see her OB/GYN when I was fourteen. I thought she was just being overly conscious about that kind of stuff.”
Sol’s arms squeeze me a little, letting me know he’s following the conversation.
“Everything makes so much sense now, but . . . part of me wishes I was back to the times when it didn’t. Knowing hurts so much more than I ever thought it would.” Eventually, my eyes grow heavy with sleep, and with the steady beating of his heart against my ear, they fall shut.
I jolt awake, my heart racing inside my chest for no apparent reason. I glance around and find Sol sitting across from me, watching me.
“Hey,” he greets in a husky whisper.
“Hey.” I glance down my body, noticing the sheet covering me.
“You seemed exhausted. I didn’t want to wake you.”
I nod, throwing back the sheet. “What time is it?” I ask, sitting up on the bed.
He checks his watch. “Seven-fifteen in the evening.”
“Oh, gosh. You missed Mass because of me.”
“I’m staying with you for as long as you need me. I called Luke to tell him I won’t be attending today.”
“That’s really sweet of you, Sol. I should go home and talk to my mom.”
He stands up and stretches, his T-shirt riding up. I yank my gaze away because I have more pressing matters than drooling over his abs. “I’ll drop you whenever you’re ready.”
“Sol?”
He twists around to look at me, his tousled hair standing around his head. He pushes back the locks of hair on his forehead, and those piercing blue eyes come into view.
“Thank you for everything.”
At last, that crooked smile appears, and the world tips sideways. I didn’t realize how much I missed it until now. “You’re welcome, Gracie.”
He leaves the room, returning moments later with my shoes. After I slip them on, I stand, wincing as pain shoots from my feet, then mask it with a cough when Sol turns to look at me.
“I’m ready.”
He heads to the front door, and I trail after him, not liking this strange tension between us one bit.
Once we’re on our way, he darts a gaze in my direction, then back to the road. His hands flex on the wheel.
“Listen. I know I’ve been MIA the past week or so. I—I’m not in the right headspace.”
“You couldn’t pick up the phone and tell me that? Or text me? Isn’t that what friends do?”
He purses his lips, and the urge to press mine to his makes me squirm in my seat. Damn, lust has no shame.
Like seriously, Grace. Abort those thoughts right the fuck now.
“I’m sorry,” he says in a soft voice.
“Yeah. Sure.”
We drive in silence the rest of the way. When he parks the car in front of my building, I face him and find him studying me.
“Thank you for this, Sol.”
He nods. “Call me if you need to talk or just anything you need, okay?”
I smile and get out of the car. “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”
He waits until my mom buzzes me in before driving away, a rock the size of Texas sitting heavy in my chest.
The moment I walk inside the apartment, I know my mom has been keeping herself busy the past few hours while I was away. The floors look shiny; the ever-present dust on the bookshelves is now gone. The kitchen counter spotless.
I raise my brows at her, and she just shrugs as if to say, I had to keep myself busy.
We end up sitting across from each other on the couch in the living room. My hands are clutching a pillow tight in my lap just to give them something to do. She’s leaning forward, red-rimmed eyes watching me warily. I want to hug her and tell her I’m fine. That she and I are okay. But I need to know the answer to one question that has taken precedence above all others.
I clear my throat to relieve the lump of nervousness lodged in there. “Did you . . .” I’m not sure I can get the words out of my mouth. My stomach is already roiling with panic. As much as I want to know the answer, I’m also terrified. But if I don’t ask, I’ll never know.
My life has been an equation of unknown variables. I don’t want to live like that anymore. I need to stop feeling lost, fearing the unknown.
“You can ask me anything, Gracie. Anything.” She smiles, understanding clear in her eyes.
“Did you consider other options? Like adoption or . . .” Abortion. I can’t bring myself to say that word out loud. It’s just so final and brutal.
As if she can read my thoughts, she quickly says, “Getting rid of you like that was never an option. It never crossed my mind to walk into a clinic and do it. Plus, I come from a family of staunch Catholics. Mom and Dad would have arranged for an exorcism if I’d considered it.” She laughs, shaking her head.
Then she inhales deeply, the hand resting on her knee forming a loose fist. “After your grandparents realized I was pregnant, they took over and started making arrangements.
“Mom arranged for adoption through an agency. Everything was going so fast, and I was still reeling from what had happened and was going through therapy. I let my parents take over completely because I felt like they knew what was best for me. When I was eight weeks pregnant, Mom accompanied me for my first prenatal visit. I was lying on the bed during the ultrasound, confused and tears falling down my face, feeling lost, when she started pointing out where the baby was; the little arms and legs, head, then I heard this fast thump, thump, thump coming from the little screen.”
A brilliant smile breaks across her face, and her eyes shine with tears. I suck in a deep breath and hold it, waiting, waiting, waiting until my lungs burn, desperate for air. But still I wait for her words.
This feels like the moment I’ve been waiting for. The moment when scattered pieces of my life come together to form a larger picture. Sometimes we go through life, floating aimlessly with no destination in mind, looking for some kind of sign, a life-altering moment that will shake you to your core and give you purpose. I guess this is mine.
“You resembled a tiny bean, and you were wiggling a lot. And I was just lying there staring at the screen in wonder. And just like that, I knew. Everything became clear. I didn’t feel lost anymore. I knew what m
y purpose in life was. So I looked up at your grandmother and said, ‘Mom, I’m keeping this baby.’”
Air whooshes out of my mouth and nose, followed by a low sob. I bury my face in my hands, my shoulders loosening as relief sweeps through me. Even before Mom told me what happened, I knew, deep in my heart, that she’d fought her parents to keep me. But hearing the story unties the knot in my stomach I never knew existed.
There’s a sound of fabric crinkling and then the couch dips as a weight settles next to me. Then I’m being pulled into a tight embrace.
“Shh, sweetheart,” Mom says. “No one tried to take you away from me after that. I wouldn’t let them.”
Twisting my body around, I bury my face into her shoulder and wrap my arms around her waist tightly. She strokes my hair over and over.
Eventually, I lift my head and look into her eyes, and this huge ball of gratitude grows with every passing second. And when I feel like my chest is about to rip open, unable to contain my feelings, I say, “Thank you for keeping me.”
She smiles, her bottom lip quivering and eyes gleaming with tears as she wipes my tear-stained cheeks with her thumbs. “You’re my little angel. My blessing.”
We don’t attend Mass the following day. Instead, we snuggle on the couch and just talk and watch videos from when I was a toddler. My baptism, when I lost my first tooth, birthday parties, my First Holy Communion, and my graduation. We laugh at the ones Mom took the first time I learned to roll from my back to my belly and when I attempted my first steps. Growing up, I used to give her a hard time whenever she whipped out the camera to take photos and videos. But now, now I’m grateful for these memories.
By the time I go to bed, I feel like I’m ready to take control of my life. I know how I got here. I know exactly what it took for my mom to bring me into this world. And I want to prove to her, despite everything, she can be proud of her daughter. If I can be half as strong as my mom, I’ll consider myself blessed.
I haven’t seen Grace since Saturday when I dropped her off at her place. After talking to Seth, I realized I was being selfish. What kind of person makes promises and gives hope, then rips it away when temptation strikes? I didn’t want to be that kind of person.
I still don’t, but I need my friend back.
She hasn’t called or sent me a text. When I realize I almost messed up an oil change, something I’ve done so often I could do it with my eyes closed, I know my head is not in the right headspace. I finally cave, and after speaking to Joe, I take the rest of the day off. My breathing picks up, anticipation buzzing through me as I climb into my truck and drive to Deb’s.
As soon as I park my car, I’m hurrying toward the diner in long strides. The little bell above the door tinkles as I step through it. My gaze quickly scans the room and lands on Grace refilling the pastry display case. I lick my lips and flex my hands, nervous all of a sudden. It reminds me of the way I felt several weeks ago before she and I became friends, and I don’t like it. But I’m not going to let it stop me.
I stride toward her, pull the stool from under the counter, and sit down, then prop my elbows on the Formica counter. Grace finishes stocking the display case and stands up. Our eyes meet. Hers grow wide, and then a huge grin splits across her face.
“Hi!” She rounds the counter and wraps her arms around my waist in a hug. I wasn’t sure what to expect when I walked in here.
The anxiousness I was feeling seconds before melts away, and I wrap my arms around her, pulling her tight against my body.
“Hey.” I lean back slightly, my gaze roaming her face, noticing the dark circles around her eyes. “You doing okay?”
She starts to nod but seems to change her mind and shakes it. Her honesty jostles something inside me. Warmth fills my chest, and I hug her to me again. It’s such a great thing to know she doesn’t have to hide whatever she’s feeling from me.
Even with the dark circles around her eyes and the haunted look in their depths, she’s beautiful. Not just on the outside. Grace is beautiful in every way.
From the corner of my eye, I see Beverly standing next to a booth with a notepad in hand, ready to take the order from a family of three. I notice Debra walking toward me, and I quickly drop my arms from around her daughter. After she told me that her mom warned her about me, I’ve been more careful with the way I handle myself, especially in front of Debra.
A smile splits Debra’s face when she sees me. And even though she looks as tired as her daughter, she somehow looks much more at peace.
“Hey, Ms. Miller,” I greet her, returning her smile.
“Sol.” She stops, facing us from the other side of the counter. Her gaze moves back and forth between Grace and me. “Why don’t you two take a seat in the booth over there? I’ll get you both something to eat.”
“Actually, I wanted to ask you if I could borrow Grace for a few hours.”
She hesitates for several seconds, then turns her attention to her daughter. “Could you take the order at table five before you leave?”
Grace nods and does what her mother asks. As soon as she’s out of earshot, Debra turns to me.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sol.” Her voice is low, but I hear the worry mingled with a warning. “She cares for you, much more than as a simple friend. I see the way she looks at you, and the way you look at her . . . things won’t end well when you leave.”
I shift on my feet, suddenly very nervous “We both know our boundaries.” I pause, wondering how far I should go with this conversation, and I decide to be honest with her. “She means a lot to me, too, Ms. Miller. The last thing I want is to hurt her in any way.” I hold her gaze, hoping she can see the sincerity in my eyes. “I completely understand your concern. If you tell me to stop hanging out with her, I will.”
Those words hang between us as she studies me with narrowed eyes. Then she takes a deep breath and steps away from the counter.
“You’re a good man, Sol. And I trust you. I couldn’t ask for a better friend for her. She’s changed so much the past few weeks. She smiles and laughs more, and I know it’s because of you. Thank you, Sol.”
My throat closes up. Guilt assaults me as the past few weeks flash inside my head. I don’t deserve her praise and trust.
Unable to form words around the lump in my throat, I force my lips to smile, then exhale the pent-up breath when she turns and grabs the white and pink apron hanging from a nail on the wall just as Grace returns. She rips the paper with the order from her notebook and hands it to her mother, then unties her apron and hangs it up.
“Ready?” She swings around to face me, her eyes brighter than when I walked in.
I nod and stand from the stool. After saying goodbye to Debra, I lead Grace out the door and toward my truck, the scorching sun causing sweat to break out on my forehead.
“Where are we going?” she asks as soon as we’re buckled in.
“Uh . . .” I rub my stubbled jaw, realizing I don’t really have a destination in mind. When I decided to drive by the diner, my only intention was to check on how she was doing. Then I saw her—her tired eyes and slumped shoulders—and suddenly, I wanted to see her eyes light up like that time we drove to Ranger’s Cove. I clear my throat. “How about we just drive until we see something interesting?”
“So no plan in mind?” She smirks, squinting to keep the sun from her eyes. “You’re such a rebel.”
“Oh, shut up.” I laugh, the knot that has been tightening in my stomach since the conversation with Debra finally loosening. Being around Grace, being able to laugh like this, melts something inside me every single time.
With my fingers curled around the wheel, I glance at the rearview mirror to make sure it’s safe to pull out of the parking spot before driving away.
We’ve been driving in silence for a few minutes when I flick my gaze in her direction, taking in how peaceful she looks. “Everything okay between you and your mom?”
She sighs. “Yeah”—she rubs her forehea
d—“I think. We haven’t argued or anything. Something has changed. It’s been a little awkward being around each other.” She sighs again.
“It’s understandable, considering what she told you. But I’m sure everything will go back to normal eventually.”
“I keep wanting to apologize to her for . . . everything. Honestly, it’s exhausting. I miss that easiness she and I had, you know. I need things to go back to the way they were.”
Seeing her so torn sends pain scorching through my chest. I take the next exit and pull over on the first street I see. Once parked, I reach over and take her hand in mine.
“You two will get through this. You just need time, okay?”
Tears shimmer in her eyes as her gaze bounces all over my face as if trying to decipher the truth in those words. Finally, she nods. “We’ve been talking about going to therapy together.”
“You have? Whose idea was that?”
“Mine,” she whispers as if she’s not sure if it will work. “I just hope it will help.”
I lean across the console and pull her in my arms without a second thought. She comes willingly, tucking her face into my chest. “Everything will be okay, Grace. You’ll see.” I kiss her hair before pulling back.
She wipes her face with her palm and gives me a tentative smile.
“Don’t underestimate your strength, Grace. I know you. You’d move Heaven and Earth to make it work.”
She starts to shake her head, but I give her hand a gentle squeeze to stop her.
“Your mom is the only parent you’ve ever known. You two share a bond stronger than the pain he made her—made you both—go through.”
She nods, lifting her chin in determination as if ready for a battle.
“Good.” I restart the truck and then toss her a smile, the one I know she loves, before pulling out of the spot and driving away.
