by Lily Cahill
I throw on my shirt and am still buttoning it as I run for the door, when Riley stops me.
“Hang on, you have something on your face.”
“What?” I ask, patting my cheeks.
He approaches, then bends down to give me a quick kiss. “There. Got it.”
My heart swells even as I roll my eyes. “Try not to look so … satisfied.”
“Oh, but I am,” Riley says as he follows me out of the studio. “At least, for now.”
The promise in his words sends a shudder through me. The man is turning me into a sex addict.
I clatter down the outside stairs and wave to Gamma, who has apparently decided not to wait for me. “I’ll get it, I’ll get it,” I call, worried I’ll see strain on my grandmother’s face.
“I got it already,” Gamma says, hoisting a recyclable bag out of the trunk of her car.
“You should have waited for me,” I scold, taking the bag from her. She’s a little red—is she overheated? “Go on in the house, I’ll take care of this.”
She tugs the bag back from me. “I’m not an invalid, Lilah. I can carry some groceries twenty feet to the kitchen.”
“Yeah, but you don’t have to.” The memory of her heart attack tugs at my conscious, all the fear of that moment coming back.
“I want to.”
“Let me do it,” I implore.
“No,” says a deep voice beside me. “Let me do it.”
In my panic, I have somehow forgotten Riley. And also somehow forgotten that this is the first time he’s meeting my grandmother. Belatedly, I remember my manners. “Gamma, this is Riley Brulotte. Riley, this is my grandmother.”
“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Riley says, and I can almost hear his dimple winking. “I’m a friend of Lilah’s. And, an expert grocery carrier,” he says, graciously slipping the bag from her grip.
My grandmother looks back and forth between us. “A friend of Lilah’s?”
“Actually, ma’am, she was my teacher this past semester. I was so impressed with her talent and natural teaching ability, I basically begged her to start hanging out with me.”
“Cool it, suck-up,” I mutter. But my grandmother is already puffing up with the chance to talk about her favorite subject—me.
“Did you know she was painting when she was five? I mean, all kids are painting at that age, but Lilah’s talent was always above and beyond.”
“Is that so?” Riley asks, reaching into the trunk for more groceries. “That’s about the time I started playing football.”
“I was going to say, a big boy like you—you must be a Mustang.” She shoots me an odd look—she’s heard me rant about football players more times in the last six months than I can count. “You boys going to make us proud this year?”
“I sure hope so,” Riley says, darkness flickering over his face for a moment. “It’s been a long climb, but we’re giving it everything we’ve got.”
Gamma arches an eyebrow. “The way the girls were talking in the salon this morning, it doesn’t seem as though that’s going to be enough.”
Riley pauses, then says smoothly, “We’re a lot more than we look on the field, ma’am. We just need a little more time to prove it.”
My grandmother eyes him for a long moment. Whatever she sees in Riley must satisfy her, because her face relaxes into a smile. “Come on inside, and I’ll get you something cold to drink.”
“I’d love some milk,” Riley says, gathering the rest of the groceries in his huge hands.
And just like that, they’re fast friends. Gamma starts teasing him about putting him to work, and Riley replies with a story about carrying some farm animal that has her laughing in minutes. I follow them inside, feeling oddly excluded. Why hasn’t Riley told me that story? He’s hardly mentioned his life back home. Does he think I won’t care about where he came from?
Does he care about where I came from?
I push that thought aside. I came from right here, I remind myself. My good-for-nothing mother may have birthed me, but my grandmother created me. She’s the one person on earth I can count on, no matter what.
And she is currently showing Riley through the house. Honestly, it’s freaking me out to have him here. It feels too real, like suddenly my life is in acrylics when I’d gotten used to watercolors. There’s a football player in my house. Riley “Lotto” Brulotte … in my house … charming my grandmother. How did my life get here?
I’ve always introduced Gamma to the guys I’m seeing. But Riley, I haven’t even mentioned. Until today, I haven’t even let him into the house. And that’s because he’s a football player.
The thought makes me feel sick with shame. If he were just any student, or a fellow artist, or basically anyone else, I would feel much more comfortable bringing him into my life. Then there wouldn’t be all this baggage—Natalie, the team, our different lifestyles.
“Here’s the picture I wanted to show you,” Gamma says, pulling me from my increasingly sour reverie. I can only watch in horror as she pushes open my bedroom door and ushers Riley into my cluttered room. She plucks a framed photo from amidst the chaos of my vanity table. “Isn’t that just the cutest thing?”
Riley holds the photo, smiling. I know what it is without looking. Gamma kneeling next to a ten-year-old me, her arm around my shoulder as I brace a canvas almost as big as I am. My gap-toothed grin is just as bright as the third-place ribbon from a local contest affixed to the painting.
“This is great,” he says, his words warm. “Is this painting around somewhere?”
“I sold it,” I say abruptly. Riley looks up and met my eyes.
“Lilah insists on selling everything,” my grandmother says, her disapproval clear. “Of course I’m glad that pretty much any gallery in the state will sell her work, but I’d like to keep some of it with us.”
“That’s all well and good, but we’ve got bills to pay,” I remind her. “I’m not so precious about my work that I won’t make a living.”
Riley’s eyes are still on mine. “You’ve sold every painting you’ve ever done?”
I shrug. “Once I’m finished, that’s it. Keeping it around won’t make the work any better.”
Riley’s eye is drawn to his sculpture, displayed on a shelf in the corner. “But you’ll keep a piece someone else made?”
“Inspiration,” I say, catching a pleased flush running up his neck.
My grandmother notices the rough wooden carving of the reaching arm for the first time. “Lilah, this is wonderful. Where did it come from?”
“Riley made it.” If he were an artist, I realize, I would be telling anyone who would listen all about him. About his talent—about our relationship. It would be so much easier to explain. Instead, I’m falling in love with a football player, and I can barely explain it to myself.
“Riley! Well. I didn’t realize you were so multi-talented. What a wonderful thing for the two of you to have in common.” Gamma, who obviously hasn’t bought the whole “friend” thing, beams at me. “Aren’t you a catch. Polite, charming …,” Gamma grins wickedly and glances at me. “And so strong.”
Oh, Christ. I can tell from the look on Gamma’s face that she is all but planning our wedding. I jump in. “I believe you promised this polite, charming, strong man some milk,” I say, arching a look at Riley.
“Oh, yes, of course. I baked some chai spice cake last night, as well,” she says, pulling the picture from his hand and setting it back on my vanity. She pauses, waiting for Riley to offer his arm, which he does. I swear, I don’t know who’s buttering up whom right now. Gamma smiles so wide she’s nearly glowing. “And I want you to tell me all about that new coach. The pictures in the paper make him look just like Denzel Washington.”
Riley stifles a laugh. “Well, I don’t know about that, ma’am,” he replies, his country charm in full force. “But he’s sure working us hard.”
As my grandma leads him back to the kitchen, I pause, my eyes on Riley’s wood carvin
g and my mind churning. If I can prove to Riley that he can make money from his carvings, maybe he won’t care so much about football. And then, maybe, we can find a way to make “whatever” into something real.
Gamma was all smiles with Riley a few days ago, but there are deep frown lines cupping her mouth today.
“Well, Lilah,” she says, sitting at the kitchen table surrounded by papers and bills. “I don’t see any way around it. I’m going to have to sell you to the gypsies to make ends meet.”
My grandmother delivers the old joke in perfect deadpan. It’s never made me laugh, but she keeps trying.
“Gamma, be serious. If we don’t rent that empty studio, we’ll be a couple hundred dollars short next month.” I look helplessly at the bills spread across the table.
“Oh, we’ll get someone soon. I put up an ad last week,” she says, getting up to refill our coffees.
“It could be months before we rent the space.” It has occurred to me that Riley might want a studio space, but not until the end of the football season. Not to mention that I would be violating a certain proverb about mixing business with pleasure.
The words “pleasure” and “Riley” are enough to spark memories. We went to the movies last night, but didn’t paid any attention whatsoever to the film. The mere thought of him was enough to make a sly grin break across my face. The things he had done to my body … well, I shouldn’t think about them in front of my grandmother.
With a bit of effort, I force my thoughts back to my impending financial ruin. Even with the money I’ve made from teaching, there still isn’t enough. “I’m so sorry, Gamma. I always assumed that I would keep selling paintings, which would mean there would always be money, but—”
“Oh, baby girl, hush,” she says, setting coffee in front of me. It’s doctored exactly how I like it. “Your creativity isn’t a cash cow to be milked. When you’re ready, you’ll paint again.”
“What if I don’t?”
Gamma shrugs as if I hadn’t just revealed my deepest fear. “Then I’ll get a job.”
“You know you can’t do that,” I protest. “With your heart, we can’t take any risks.”
Gamma settles into her chair with a little groan. “I’ve been getting better. Even the doctor says so.”
“Still.” I’ll never forget how scary it was, waiting in the hospital for someone to come tell me that my only family was dead. “I would rather you focus on getting better.”
“Lilah, I’ve been focusing on getting better for three years. I’ve lost weight, I’m eating healthier, and I’m taking my medications … I’ve even been doing yoga. I think it’s time I got a job.”
“You’re not going back to the restaurant.” Gamma had worked at a local steakhouse for nearly twenty years before the heart attack.
Gamma levels a look at me. No one tells that woman what to do. But after a moment, she sighs. “No, you’re right.” She fiddles with the spoon sitting in her coffee. “I’ve been thinking I would get my accounting degree online.”
I choke out a laugh. “Accounting?”
“I did the books at the restaurant for years,” she says defensively.
“Really? Why didn’t I know that?”
“I don’t tell you every little thing, my girl. Old Mr. Harold used to bang his head against the wall trying to figure them out, so I took over,” she says with a little smile. “And I’ve looked into it. My friend Gloria at the salon did her degree online and works from home now.”
“Well …,” I say slowly, mulling over everything in my head. For three years now, I’ve looked after my grandmother, worried about her. It’s not so easy to just stop.
“I’m not looking for permission, Lilah.”
Surprise has me sitting back in my chair. “Okay. Okay.” I’m still not so sure about this.
“Don’t worry so much, Lilah.” Gamma stacks the bills into a neat pile, like that’ll get them paid on time.
A sigh escapes me. “You always say that to me, but you never tell me how I’m just supposed to shut it off.”
“My darling girl. You don’t shut it off, you learn to live with it,” Gamma says with a sigh. “I still worry about your mother every day.”
My chin pokes out. “She doesn’t deserve one second of your attention.”
“I’ll stop worrying about her, if you stop worrying about me.”
The thought of Gamma wasting her energy worrying about my deadbeat mother rankles. But I have to admit that I couldn’t just switch off my love and worry about my grandmother, so I guess I can understand what she’s saying.
“Well, now, what is this?”
Gamma’s voice catches my attention. She’s bending over to pick up a slip of paper that evidently fell out of the stacks of bills. I recognize it in an instant: the sketch I’d done of Riley earlier while trying to concentrate on the bills. Clearly, I can’t get the man out of my head. That’s a whole other set of worries.
Gamma sits back and holds up the paper. “You captured him, that’s for sure.” She looks at me with a twinkle in her eyes. “He’s a cutie. You don’t often draw faces.”
“No,” I admit. Though I’d drawn Riley dozens of times now. I keep trying to capture this look in his eyes that makes me feel scared and safe all at once. “He’s … special.”
My grandmother hums. “How are things going with him?”
“We’re not dating,” I say quickly, wanting to keep her from fantasizing about a future that I’m not sure Riley and I can have. “We’re just … whatever.”
She fixes me with her sharp gaze. “You’re seeing him.”
“I guess. I don’t know. We haven’t labeled it.”
“Young people are idiots,” she says with a sigh. “Why is it such a big deal to admit that you like someone?”
“It’s not. I do. I do like him, I mean. I don’t know.” I blow out a breath. “It’s complicated. He’s not the sort of person I ever saw myself with.”
“And what does that mean?”
“I don’t know. You know how he made that wood carving in my room?”
“Yes.”
“I took it to Marty Carlson.”
Gamma quirks an eyebrow. “Whatever for?”
“Just to see,” I say with a shrug. “I thought, if he likes it, Riley might be convinced he has options other than playing football.”
Gamma folds her arms and purses her lips. “Did he give you permission?”
“I want to surprise him,” I say.
She sighs. “Some people would say that being a star player at a top-ranked school is pretty impressive.”
“I know, it is,” I say, propping my chin in my hand. “He works so hard. If he plays well this season, he could go to the NFL.”
“Honey. Why does that make you so miserable?”
“Can you see me dating an NFL player?” I say, gesturing at myself. “I’m not exactly trophy wife material.”
Gamma rears up like a rattler. “You are as beautiful as any woman on this earth, and twice as stylish.”
“That is clearly not true,” I say, laughing. “Beyoncé exists.”
Gamma ignores me. “Are you into this man?”
I shrug, not sure how to answer.
“What is stopping you from being into this man?”
“He’s a football player,” I say, standing up to carry our coffee mugs to the sink. I can’t sit still.
“So?”
“So,” I say, slamming the cups on the counter. “So, Natalie.”
“What about her?”
I bury my face in my hands. “She would hate me.”
Gamma comes up behind me and lays her hand on my back. “Lilah. Natalie loved you like a sister. Do you think she would want you to mourn forever?”
I turn to face my grandmother, leaning on the counter. “There’s a difference between moving on and flat-out betrayal.”
Gamma nods, her eyes far away for a moment. “This Riley—did he have something to do with that?”
“No. He would never.” In the short time I’ve known him, I’m sure of that.
“Then there’s only one thing that matters here, Lilah. Does he make you happy?”
“Yes,” I blurt. “He’s—he makes me feel …. But isn’t that worse? That he should make me so happy when Natalie died in misery?”
My grandmother huffs. “I swear, if Natalie were here I’d cuff her upside the head.”
I gape at her, tears standing in my eyes. “You couldn’t.”
“I could, and I would. What happened to that girl wasn’t her fault, but letting it destroy her was. She didn’t live long enough to see those monsters in prison, or to help other girls who were assaulted. She let them win,” Gamma says fiercely, “and left you behind to try and make sense of things. That’s not fair.”
“She was hurting, and I didn’t do enough to help her,” I say, stunned. “She was lost.”
“And what are you supposed to do when you’re lost? You’re supposed to stay where you are and call for help,” my grandmother says decisively. She smiles sadly and softly touches my cheek. “Sweet child, I know all about regret, about wondering how you could have done things differently. I still can’t sleep sometimes thinking about how I could have done things differently with your mother. But if you let it, it’ll eat away at the core of you. And it sure seems to me like you are letting regret get between you and Riley.”
I study her face for a long moment. We share the same eyes, the same hair, the same chin. Someday, I hope I’m as wise as she is. “I don’t know if I can.”
“Then that’ll be your choice,” she says. She walks back to the table and picks up the sketch of Riley. “Football is part of his life. If you’re going to be in his life, you’re going to have to accept it.”
Chapter Seventeen
Lilah
MY HEART IS POUNDING AS I ride my bike to the high-tech practice facility, and not just with the effort of pedaling. I can’t believe that I’m here, that I’m doing this.
Riley has mentioned, more than once, that today is something called the Blue and Silver game. It’s a Mustang tradition that includes a huge fundraiser for university donors and a showcase workout followed by a laid-back scrimmage that pits first-string offense against second-string defense and vice versa. According to Riley, it’s usually something of a party, but I can tell he’s worried. After the loss to Hawaii, he’s nervous the Blue and Silver game won’t do much to prove to potential donors the Mustangs are a team worth investing in.
