Disgrace

by Brittainy C. Cherry

  “But you are,” she commanded, closing the binder. “Especially after that outburst you had in town last weekend. Look, I get it—you’re going through some kind of midlife crisis right now, and you feel lost, but you cannot keep running from the people trying to help you.”

  I huffed, blowing out hot air. “Charlotte Lawrence is not trying to help me. None of the girls who go to that type of gathering are trying to help. They’re just digging for gossip.”

  “Well, maybe if you didn’t show up, tossing around comments about a cheating husband, people wouldn’t have anything to gossip about.”

  And just like that, I was to blame once again.

  “I’m not doing any of this, Mama. I don’t want to do any of this at all.”

  “That’s fine,” she agreed, nodding slowly as she stood. “Keep thinking of yourself.”

  “Someone has to think about me, seeing as how you aren’t.”

  “What do you want me to do, Gracelyn Mae? You want me to have an outburst in town toward Finley? You want me to publicly humiliate Autumn? You want me to blacklist their families and make such a scene in public that Charlotte has enough gossip for months to come? We are not those people. We do not grab microphones and air our dirty laundry. I raised you better than that.”

  “I had a moment,” I said quietly, feeling a knot form in my gut.

  “We don’t get moments!” she barked, standing tall. “We aren’t allowed to stumble. How do you think your little antics affected everyone around you? How do you think it fell upon me? And okay, if you don’t care about me, at least care about your father—how do you think this makes him and the church look? People are asking how he can run a church if he cannot even control his own daughter.”

  I didn’t have a word to say to her because I hadn’t thought about any of that.

  “Your actions have consequences, and your choices affect others. So, you can keep throwing a fit and acting out like a five-year-old, or you can remember all you have been given, all that was handed to you by your father and me, and you can fall back into line, Gracelyn Mae.”

  * * *

  “Leaving so soon?” Jackson asked as he walked back into the bedroom after grabbing us two glasses of water.

  “Yeah, I’m sorry. I just…I have this stupid meeting at Charlotte Lawrence’s house.”

  “Charlotte Lawrence? That gossip nut?”

  “That’s the one.” I sighed.

  He placed the glasses on his nightstand and crawled up on the bed, wrapping his arms around me from behind. “She’s batshit crazy.”

  “I know, but after my outburst, my mom’s convinced I have to do damage control, which includes attending Charlotte’s events.”

  “Bullshit,” he huffed, turning me around to face him. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “I’m a Harris, and we don’t act out in public—that’s the rule.”

  “Fuck the rules. Your husband was an asshole, and your best friend was a bitch. They deserved to be called out.”

  “Maybe, but not by me. I don’t have that right.”

  “Wow…” He whistled low. “Your queen really did a good job of brainwashing you into believing you have no power of your own.”

  “You don’t understand,” I told him.

  “You’re right, I don’t.” He dropped his hold on me and pulled back a bit. “You allow these people to control every aspect of who you are. It’s like you don’t even care,” he said, his voice sterner than I thought it should be.

  “It’s fine.”

  “It’s not.”

  “It’s just one meeting.”

  “You can’t be that naïve, Grace. Come on, you’re their fucking sheep, and you are walking into a lion’s den.”

  “Why do you even care? I thought we were just sleeping together,” I asked him, narrowing my eyes in his direction.

  “I don’t care,” he barked, his face red as he shifted his glance away. “Go ahead and be exactly what they want you to be. That seems to be working out great for you. You married the guy your mom wanted you to—perfect. You had the best friend your father probably pushed you toward—awesome. Everything anyone has ever done for you has worked out swimmingly. It would be a shame if you made a choice for yourself, wouldn’t it? But you must be too weak to do such a thing.”

  “Fuck you,” I snapped, my eyes watering over.

  “You already did, princess,” he snapped right back.

  I leaped up from his bed, feeling like a fool as I collected my things. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am controlled by other people but look at this—the one time I do make my own decision, I end up with a monster like you,” I shouted, my chest rising and falling quickly.

  “Yeah, that was a shitty decision. You should’ve rethought it.” He was becoming cold again; being with Jackson oftentimes felt like whiplash—first sour, then shockingly sweet, then vice versa.

  He sat there snapping the bracelet on his arm, and then I looked up at his face.

  “I came to you because you felt familiar,” I confessed. “I came to you because out of everyone in this town, you were the only one who made any kind of sense to me because you were no one’s puppet, but then you act like this. You snap for no reason, and I just don’t get it. You’re not a monster, Jackson, and I don’t understand why so often you find the need to act like one. I’m done trying to understand,” I told him before turning to leave. I reached his front porch, but when I heard his hard voice calling after me, I paused.

  As I turned to face him, his face was red, and his breaths sawed in and out. His hazel eyes locked with mine, and I saw the debate in his mind as he leaned against his doorframe.

  “I’m not good with words,” he confessed. “I have all these thoughts in my head, and I don’t know how to express them, so instead, I snap. I come off as hard and aggressive when I can’t express myself in the right way.”

  “And what were you trying to express just now by shouting at me?”

  “I…” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, snapping the bracelet on his arm. “It pisses me off.” His eyes reappeared, and when I stared into them, I didn’t see his anger, just the gentleness that sometimes slipped out of his soul. “It pisses me off the way these assholes treat you. It pisses me off watching you not stand up for yourself. It pisses me off that you act like you don’t have a voice. It pisses me off that I don’t know how to talk to you...”

  My heart was racing as he stuffed his hands into his pockets, and looked down at the ground. “I know it makes no sense, Grace, but I just think you deserve more, and the people in this town aren’t going to give it to you. They are tearing you apart, not stitching you back together, and it pisses me off that I can’t express that in a clear way.”

  I swallowed hard. “I think you just did.” He looked up, and I wiped the tears falling from my eyes. “I don’t know who I am,” I confessed.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean exactly that. I don’t know who I am. Someone else has always handled everything I’ve ever done. I went out with Finn on a blind date. I became a teacher because my mama told me it would be a good choice. I followed Finn around like a sad puppy dog. I never made a choice that was of my own doing. The only thing I’ve ever done for myself is get that pink car years ago.” I waved my hands back and forth and began pacing, my heart rate climbing higher. “Who am I? Who is Gracelyn Mae? Do I even exist or am I just a robotic creation of the environment I was brought up in? You know what I mean?” I asked.

  “Grace…”

  “I don’t know how I like my eggs.”

  He narrowed his eyes, confused as ever. “What?”

  “My eggs—I don’t know how I like my eggs. Whenever I go out, for as long as I can remember, I’ve never ordered for myself. I always say, ‘I’ll have what he’s having or what she’s having.’ Not once have I ever chosen my own food. Finn always ordered scrambled eggs, so guess what I always had?”

  “Scrambled?” he said, playing
along with my crazed mind.

  “Exactly! But that’s not all,” I exclaimed. “I just realized I don’t know anything about myself. I don’t know what kind of movies I like. I don’t know what clothes look good on me. If I could go on a solo trip anywhere in the world, where would I go? I know where my sister would go. I know where Finn would go. Heck, I even know where Mama would end up—but me? I have no dang clue because I don’t know what I like or what I would want to experience. I think that’s the hardest part of being alone right now.

  “I don’t know how to do it. I don’t know how to be alone with myself because I don’t know who I am. I’ve always been the pastor’s daughter, then I went straight into becoming a wife, then I was a teacher to my students, and if the universe hadn’t fought me, I would’ve gone straight from being a wife to becoming a mom. There has never been a moment when I’ve been able to just fully be Grace. Now I’m in a place where I have that opportunity, but I have no idea how to go about finding myself.”

  Jackson studied me for a moment with his eyes narrowed and his arms crossed. The way he tilted his head to the left and then to the right intrigued me. What was going on in that mind of his? What was he thinking?

  “Okay,” he finally said, dropping his hands and rolling his shoulders back. “We’re gonna start with the basics.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He took my hands into his and walked me back into his cabin. He moved me over to his kitchen table where he pulled out a chair and had me sit. He then went into the refrigerator, grabbed a carton of eggs, and set them right in front of me. “We’re going to find out how you like your eggs.”

  I smiled and felt a fresh wave of tears coming my way. “Sounds good.”

  I sat patiently waiting as Jackson began cooking. “First, we’re going to do scrambled—both hard scrambled and soft scrambled.”

  “I didn’t know there was more than one way to scramble eggs,” I told him.

  “By the end of the night, you’ll be shocked by my egg-making skills. I eat eggs every day before I work out.”

  “Oh? You work out?” I mocked him. “I couldn’t tell at all. You’re kind of skinny for a guy who works out,” I joked. Jackson had more muscles than I knew a human could have. To put it frankly, he looked like a Greek god.

  “Shut up,” he huffed but in such a light way. I swore it almost looked like he was blushing.

  “Do you get embarrassed by how handsome you are?” I asked.

  “Don’t call me handsome.”

  “Aww, it makes you nervous, doesn’t it, handsome?”

  He gave me a hard look, but those eyes still looked playful. “Don’t make me spit in your eggs.”

  “Touché.”

  He brought me the first round of self-discovery: hard scrambled and soft scrambled.

  I picked up a fork and ate them.

  Meh.

  Not a fan.

  “I don’t like how they feel in my mouth,” I told him.

  “Rumor has it most girls like it to be hard in their mouths to make it easier to swallow,” he stated matter-of-factly.

  “Yeah but…” I started, but then I paused. I replayed what he’d said in my head as my cheeks heated, and I began to blush. “Oh my gosh, Jackson! You’re so inappropriate.”

  “Of course I am—I’m a guy.” He finished eating the eggs for me. “Okay. Next up is an omelet,” he declared, going back to the stovetop.

  The omelet did nothing for me. He ate that, too. He also finished off the poached egg, the hard and soft boiled eggs, and when he set the over-easy egg in front of me, and I cracked it open, I literally gagged.

  “You forgot to cook this one!” I shuddered.

  He laughed, and I swooned at the sound. I hadn’t known he knew how to do that—laugh.

  “It’s supposed to be—runny,” he told me.

  “It legit looks like an alien’s brain landed on my plate, and then all of his insides oozed all over. That’s disgusting.”

  He walked over to his counter, took out a piece of bread, and returned to the table. He proceeded to scoop up the nasty, runny guts and eat every last drop. Then he pulled out a chair and sat down. “Well, that’s a wrap. All out of eggs.”

  I nodded slowly. “You know what? I don’t think I like eggs.”

  He smiled, and I felt it. “So, first discovery of Gracelyn Mae: she’s a woman who hates eggs.”

  “You have a dimple when you smile,” I mentioned. “In your left cheek.”

  He dropped the grin, and I was sad that I’d even brought it up. “My mom had the same one in her right cheek.”

  “I’m sorry,” I told him, growing somber. “About your mother.”

  He shifted around and shrugged. “It’s fine. People die.”

  “Just because people die, doesn’t make it fine, Jackson.”

  His brows wrinkled and he shook his head. “Yeah, well, I’m not the case study tonight. You are. So, let’s get back to focusing on you. What’s the next self-discovery task you have?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “But I’m interested to find out who I actually am. Can I tell you a secret, though? One of the hardest things for me?”

  “What’s that?”

  “I have a ridiculous fear of letting people down.”

  Jackson grimaced and shrugged. “You’re gonna have to let some people down in order to find yourself.”

  “Is it even worth it, though?”

  “Yes,” he replied adamantly. “It’s always worth it, and those who care will stay. Those who don’t should’ve faded a long time ago.”

  “Have you found yourself, Jackson?” I asked him, curiosity filling me up inside.

  “Nah.” He gently shook his head and fiddled with the band on his wrist. I zoomed in on it and read what it said: Powerful Moments. “I don’t know if there’s anything left to find.”

  I was certain he was wrong, but by the way his body tensed up, I knew he was done with the conversation.

  “I should probably get going,” I said, clearing my throat. He nodded and stood from the chair. “Thank you for tonight, though. Truly.”

  “Of course, and I am sorry for my sometimes harsh personality.”

  I smiled, and as we walked to the front door, I thanked him once more. His arm brushed against mine, and chills raced up and down my body.

  “Good night, Gracelyn.”

  “Good night, Jackson.”

  As I walked away, somehow still felt his touch.

  “Grace?” a high-pitched voice said behind me, and as I turned, I mentally sighed as my eyes landed on the speaker.

  “Hey, Charlotte. Hey, girls,” I said to the gossip queen and her group of followers. “What’s up?”

  “Oh nothing, just coming from girls’ night. We’re off to get some ice cream. We were low on desserts, seeing how you didn’t bring that apple cobbler.” She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. “I don’t mean to pry”—Oh gosh, here we go—“but did I just see you with Jackson Emery?”

  I blinked my eyes, uncertain how to reply because she had obviously seen us, otherwise, she wouldn’t have asked.

  “Yeah, we just crossed paths.”

  “Oh, I see.” She gave me a wicked grin and bit her bottom lip while the other ladies giggled, whispering things to one another. “Well, you know what they say about that man—he’s all rock, even down below, if you know what I mean…and I’m sure you do.” She giggled.

  I gave her my fakest smile. “No, I don’t know what you mean, Charlotte.” Sweat was dripping from parts of my body I didn’t even know could sweat even though I tried my best to play it cool.

  “I’m just saying, I get it. Sometimes a girl just needs a break, and I can’t even shame you for breaking with him. He’s an awful human, but you can’t deny how hard it is to breathe when he takes off his shirt to work down at his shop.”

  “His abs have abs,” one of the girls noted.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stated, tr
ying not to lose my composure.

  “No, sweetie, it’s fine. Your secret is safe with us.” She winked as she and her gaggle of women walked off in their high heels and fake personalities.

  A knot formed in my stomach, and I tried my best to swallow it down.

  Rumors of me and Jackson Paul Emery were beginning to float around, and I knew those rumors could lead nowhere good, especially with them starting from Charlotte’s lips.

  I could already hear Mama’s voice, ringing in my ear, saying, I told you so.

  * * *

  “I told you so,” Mama hissed beside me as we sat in the church pew Sunday morning. The whispering voices were still speaking about me, but now their narrative included Jackson’s name.

  I felt like vomiting, but I didn’t. I sat tall with no slump in my shoulders. Fake it till you make it, Grace. I wasn’t fully confident in the realm of being myself, but I knew those people who sat behind me whispering would’ve judged me whether I was hooking up with Jackson or not, because that was what small-minded individuals do: talk about others.

  “Are you happy?” Mama asked me. “Are you proud of yourself for what these people are saying?”

  I took a deep breath. “I don’t care.”

  “Excuse me?” she barked, somewhat stunned.

  I stared forward at Dad preaching and shrugged. “I said I just don’t care. I don’t care what people think of me.”

  “Then you are a fool,” she whisper-shouted.

  “Quiet, Mama, you might miss an important message Dad’s preaching your way.”

  She sat up straight, the veins in her neck popping out, but she didn’t say another word.

  For the first time in forever, I had stood up to Mama, and I’d have been lying if I said it didn’t feel good and terrifying all at once.

  My foot tapped against the floor rapidly as I tried to keep my conflicting emotions in check. Just in time, Judy placed a comforting hand upon my knee.

  “You okay?” she asked, leaning in slightly.

  “No.” I placed my hand on top of hers and squeezed. “But I’m working on it.”

  Sometimes to find yourself, you have to let others down—parents included.