“Why?”
“Because I want to see your face, and I’m five-nine and the thought of folding myself into the top bunk makes me feel like I need to breathe into a paper bag.”
I release a single bark of a laugh, but oblige her and climb down.
“You’re all wet,” she says, running her hands over my shoulders when I reach the floor.
“And possibly concussed,” I say, rubbing my head.
She opens the built-in drawers below the bottom bunk and finds a dry T-shirt.
It’s one of mine, left here years ago, and features the cast of My Little Pony.
It’s purple.
“This isn’t really my color,” I mutter as she pulls my arms up, followed by my soaked T-shirt. Then she slides the dry one over my head and settles it around my hips.
Tossing the wet shirt into the miniature kitchen sink, she leads me to the green-and-yellow-striped love seat on the other side of the room. Settling into one corner, she pulls on my hand until I follow, but I sit in the other corner. Still, our legs brush, our hands inches apart.
“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t tell anyone,” she says. “Emmy knew because she was friends with my mom and also because she had to sign a bunch of forms about the guardianship, but I asked her not to do anything for it. I didn’t want to celebrate. Your mom only knew because she point-blank asked me when my birthday was, and it didn’t feel right to lie. I had no idea she was going to plan that party.”
The rain continues to fall, chopping up the Atlantic and tugging Emmaline this way and that. Eva’s not telling me anything I didn’t suspect already. Still. Today is her birthday. Mom got the date right and ordered her a bunch of purple roses.
“Did you know she stole a thousand dollars from Pete to buy everything?”
Eva’s mouth drops open. “What? No.”
“Did you know she left Pete because he dared to be a little irritated about the whole theft thing, and now I’m living in a motel room with about five seconds of hot water and crusty sheets for god knows how long?”
Her jaw drops even further, if that’s even possible. “Oh my god, Grace. Maggie just told me about the party and that she’d have to postpone it. When she called, she sounded fine and said she wanted to take me out for my birthday anyway. Just dinner or whatever.”
“Did you go?”
She frowns. “Yeah, I did. But not because of my birthday. I wanted to talk to her, tell her I didn’t think we should spend as much time together. I didn’t know what had happened. If I had, I wouldn’t have—?”
“Where’d she take you?”
“Just . . . just the Crab Trap.”
“I hope it was a good meal. Although you should probably stop by the lighthouse and thank Pete for the fried shrimp and garlic biscuits.”
She rubs both hands over her face. “Grace, I left right when we got there. Luca called me and asked me if I knew where you were. He’s been calling you.”
“I turned my phone off.”
“I know. When I told him I didn’t know, I asked Maggie.”
“Oh?” I laugh, a bitter, sharp thing that hurts my throat. “And what did Maggie say?”
“She said she didn’t know, but she didn’t seem worried—?”
“Of course she didn’t.”
“—?but I was worried, so I told her I wanted to go find you.”
“Well, here I am.” I stand up and pace the tiny space, energy and anger and I don’t even know what making my fingertips tingle. “God, do you want the truth, Eva? The real truth? Because this is it. Do you see it now? Why this is something I never, ever want to have to talk about? Do you see what she does? She takes these beautiful motherly gestures and fucks them up. She steals money for a party. She forgets her own daughter’s birthday. She thinks I’m fine and that she’s mother of the year just because she’s still here. She moves me from place to place to place, thinking it’s good for me. It’s an adventure. It’s normal. Well, it’s not. It’s not and this”—?I wave my arms around—?“this thing that just happened with Pete is going to spiral down and down and down. It does every single time she breaks up with someone. She gets mad and then she leaves and then she acts like she’s fine for about ten damn minutes and then she switches from beer to vodka or gin or something clear or I don’t even know what the hell it is, and—?”
“Grace.” Eva stands up and tries to stop me, but I keep moving, circling the room like a wild animal.
“—?and before you know it, I’m sitting at a bar at Ruby’s, fending off forty-year-old assholes running their hand up my arm while Maggie dances the night away. Until it’s not fun anymore and then it’s all: Gracie! Gracie! Save me!”
“Hey, come on, sit down.”
I stop pacing and look at her. I take a step closer and closer until we’re chest to chest. Almost like it’s an instinct, her hands come to rest on my hips, and she pulls me even closer.
“I didn’t ask you last night, Eva,” I say, and she frowns. “I didn’t want to ask this. I didn’t want Luca and Emmy to be right, but they are. So please. Please promise me you’ll stop hanging out with her. It’s not a jealousy thing. It’s not because I’m pissed about the attention she’s giving you. It’s because you’re going to get hurt. You probably shouldn’t be with me, either, but you can’t be with her. Just . . . go back to Emmy’s and talk to her, or don’t, but Maggie’s not good for you. I’m not good for you. Please—?”
“Hey, hey, hey,” Eva whispers, and her hands come up to wipe away tears I didn’t even know had started falling. Big, fat tears too. Tears full of days and hours and years of the same old bullshit. The same old Grace is fine bullshit.
“Please,” I whisper again. “Promise me.”
“Okay,” Eva says. “Okay, I promise.”
I exhale the world onto her shoulder, sinking against her. “Thank you.”
“But I’m not leaving you or going back to Emmy’s right now.”
“Eva—?”
“No, Grace. I know you think you’re all messed up, but who isn’t? I’ll stay away from Maggie and do whatever you need me to do to help you with all this, but you’re not her. You’re you and there’s no way in hell I’m staying away from you.”
The relief is palpable. She pulls me even closer, her arms curling around my waist, one hand drifting up to rest on the back of my neck. She presses her lips to my temple, whispering things I can’t even decipher into my ear, but her voice is low and soft and feels like a hot bath after a day in the snow.
And for the first time in a long time—?for this moment, at least—?I am fine.