Grace was all I wanted and all I needed. She was everything between the sun rising and the sun setting. She was the sensation you get after you felt a jerk on your fishing pole (literally). She was the smell of coffee and the burn of whiskey. She was a hard day’s work and a well-earned lazy Sunday. She was a garden full of ripe vegetables and a field of overgrown grass. She was everything and she was nothing, which made her the perfect amount of something. I couldn’t get enough of her.
Her pull became a little harder, essentially in sync with me. My towel fell to the ground. I brought her lips back to my mouth, and she kissed me harder. Her tongue entangled mine like barbwire, hooking me, holding me. Where her tongue couldn’t hold, her mouth sucked and her teeth clenched, creating a subtle but pleasurable pain. The sounds that escaped me were new, but I would remember them forever, for they marked a moment in my life . . . a moment that split everything I knew in two: a beginning and an ending. Grace was the middle, the good part—the white cream between Oreo cookies, the heart of a medium-rare steak, the center of a Tootsie Pop. She was all those things and more. My hand slid down the front of Grace’s jean shorts, beneath her panties, my fingers crept along her pelvic bone and just as they touched her center, the screen door flung open.
“Happy birthday, bro!” Joe yelled.
She quickly backed away from me as I bent down to pick up my towel. Joe put his hands over his eyes.
“Sorry,” he said as Grace scurried to the stove, and I covered myself.
After I was covered and Grace had stirred the pan a few times, Joe moseyed into the kitchen.
“Can’t you knock?” I practically seethed.
“Sorry,” he said again.
I shook my head, shaking away the anger. I didn’t want to scare Grace by pummeling the shit out of my brother.
“How much do you remember of last night?” I asked, quickly changing the subject.
He shrugged. “Not much.”
“Sounds about right.”
“I’m not sure what happened. I hadn’t even drunk that much. It was weird. Like I was in a daze.” He rubbed his forehead. “Felt like I had been drugged or something.”
“I think you drank more than you thought you did, Joe.” My eyes narrowed. “You owe Grace an apology,” I added.
“I know.” He nodded. “Grace,” he called out.
She turned toward him, feigning interest. I had a feeling she’d already made her mind up about Joe, and I didn’t blame her. I should have my mind made up about him too, but he was my brother. No matter what he did or what I thought, my brain was wired to always, always, always give him the benefit of the doubt—whether he deserved it or not.
“Yeah, Joe.”
“I apologize for last night. I can’t remember what I said or did but I know I was an ass, and I know we haven’t known each other long, but I am sorry for having to say sorry and having to have something to say sorry about.”
Grace nodded and glanced briefly at me. “It’s fine, Joe. I accept your apology.”
I knew what fine meant. Fine meant it wasn’t fine, but it was fine for now. She paused and squinted. “Actually, it’s fine if you get my car fixed in the next three days.”
So—she was done with me, done with whatever this was. I felt my face frown and forced my muscles to relax, maintaining a neutral look.
“You got yourself a deal,” he said. “And I really hope what I did last night doesn’t get between you and Calvin.” He gestured toward me. “I think you two are great together.”
Grace simply nodded, and Joe turned to me.
“Calvin, I’m sorry about the way I acted last night. It was out of line and it won’t happen again.”
I wanted to ask what was out of line and what behavior he wouldn’t do again but he didn’t remember what he had done, and Grace wouldn’t tell me either. What could he have done or said to make her slap him across the face? What made Grace tick? I really wanted to know.
“It’s fine, bro. We’re good.”
Joe was just apologizing to apologize, to make everything good again. He was my brother, so forgiveness was built into our bond.
“Are you doing okay today?” Joe whispered. He glanced at his boots and then back to me and then at his boots again. It was shame and guilt that made it hard for him to look me in the eyes. Grace peered over her shoulder at us.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I said. “Why don’t you fire up the grills?”
“Sure thing, bro.” He nodded, pressing his lips firmly together. “I’m gonna grab the coolers from Wyatt’s truck quick.”
“Wyatt’s here?” I asked.
“Yeah. How else would I have gotten here? You have my truck,” Joe called over his shoulder as he disappeared outside.
Grace turned toward me. “Who’s Wyatt?”
“Charlotte’s ex.”
And if I was being honest, I’d tell Grace she was technically my ex too . . . if one-night stands counted for anything.
27.
Grace I went back to stirring the brussels sprouts that had partially burned during our make-out session. I figured they were still salvageable. Most things were salvageable if you put in a little extra effort. A bit of burn would give them a nice, charred flavor. My lips were swollen, and my heart was still racing from the moment we shared. I wanted more. I wanted to cancel this whole barbecue and spend the day exploring Calvin’s body rather than the ins and outs of his family and friendship dynamics. Every alarm inside me was going off, saying, don’t get involved—but there was a part of me that needed him like one needs water or food or shelter.
Calvin kissed my ear and neck. “To be continued . . .” he whispered.
I had forgotten he was still in the kitchen. I didn’t say a word, and he scurried down the hallway toward his bedroom. I turned off the burner and added a honey-balsamic mixture to the pan. The sliding door off of the deck squeaked open.
“Hey,” Joe called from behind me.
I took a deep breath before turning around.
“Want one?” He stood there holding two beers, one outstretched to me.
I accepted and took a swig, turning back toward the stove to continue stirring the brussels sprouts. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I could feel them. I set the beer down and pushed the food from the pan into a serving bowl, pretending I didn’t notice that Joe was still there.
“Whatcha making?” he asked.
“Brussels sprouts.” I finally looked over at him. His eyes were right where I thought they’d be—on me.
“That’s odd,” Joe said. He swigged his beer.
“Why?”
“Because Calvin hates brussels sprouts.”
My lips parted but I quickly pressed them together. “Oh. I didn’t know that.”
Calvin had lied to me about something as stupid as liking brussels sprouts. I’m sure it was because he didn’t want to hurt my feelings. But it left me wondering what else he was lying about.
“Is there something I should know about today, Joe?” I lifted my chin.
“What do you mean?” He leaned against the counter and slouched his shoulders like he was trying to make himself look smaller. Maybe that’s how he felt—small.
“I’ve noticed people have been treating Calvin like he’s glass today, like he could shatter into a million pieces at any moment. Why?”
Joe swallowed hard. His eyes bounced around the room, deciding what and what not to tell me.
“Joe.” I said his name sternly, probably how his dad used to say it.