Taking a deep breath, I set my tea on the table. “I don’t know what my soul tells me to do. I just want things to be . . . okay.”
I can’t tell Joy the rest of the truth, that I hope Graham is okay too. My heart breaks for him. I worry that he’s hurt or sad, and I wish I could show him how great he is and how capable he is of more than just being a CEO. Although he listens to me sometimes, I know he wouldn’t listen to that.
She opens the box of brownies and hands me one. It’s gooey and soft and the icing almost runs off the end. After getting herself one, she holds it in the air. I clink mine against it.
“Sucks being an adult, doesn’t it?” she asks, her mouth sticking together with chocolate.
“Yeah. It certainly does.”
We sit for a while, Joy eating brownies and me watching her. I’m not hungry. And even though chocolate bingeing is how girls deal with things, it doesn’t seem appealing. I don’t need emotional support. I need answers. Solutions. The fact that I realize this is empowering.
Joy leaves, promising to check on me tomorrow. I lock the door and wind up at my computer. The email from the university is still in my inbox.
With a slight hesitation, I click on it again. The form is at the bottom to apply for enrollment. It sits there, luring me in with the promise of excitement and possibility.
I could be done in a couple of years. Most of my generals are done and transferable, and I know I qualify for student loans.
I remember Graham’s words, that I have potential. Is he right? I know I could do it if I had him to ask questions, but I may not have him at all. In any capacity.
A fleeting feeling falls over my soul. My spirits fall, my excitement dampening, as I know what I’m going to have to do. There’s only one answer that’s logical when it comes to Graham. At least I can see it now.
“Fuck it,” I say, filling out the interest form and clicking “Submit” before I can stop myself.
Graham
Ford’s face lights up as he recounts a story of giving a child a soccer ball somewhere on the other side of the planet. His tale is interesting, but watching him light up like I’ve never seen him before is the best part of it all.
“He would come up to us every time we saw him and say, ‘Thank you,’” he says, leaning back in his chair. “It was really gratifying.”
“Well, look who it is . . .”
We look up to see Barrett walk in the kitchen of the Farm, Huxley on his heels. He pulls Ford into a quick hug and then smacks me on the back. “What’s happening in here?”
“We were discussing the security company,” I say. “There’s more to do with this than there was your fucking campaign.”
“Just think,” Barrett jokes, “you would be bored out of your mind without us.”
“Or sane,” I mutter.
“Hi, Graham. Hey, Ford!” Huxley, the well-mannered kid that he is, waits his turn to talk. He dashes to Ford’s side.
Lincoln has always been Huxley’s favorite, but after spending a few days fishing with Ford while his mom and Barrett did political things in Atlanta, I hate to tell Linc that he has competition.
“Want to go see if the fish are biting?” Huxley asks.
“Hey, Hux. Ford is working with Graham today,” Barrett says, ruffling his hair.
“True,” Ford calls, shoving his chair back, “but fishing is way more fun than talking to Graham. Let’s go see what we can get into, buddy.” As they walk out, Ford leans in to Barrett and whispers just loud enough for me to hear, “Your turn to deal with him. Graham has a stick up his ass today.”
“Fuck off,” I chuckle. But he’s not all wrong.
I had to leave the office today because I couldn’t stand the proximity. Not because I wanted to be away from her. Because I wanted to be inside her. I wanted to scoop her up and listen to her laugh and hear her yoga stories and watch her face bunch up as she thinks of a response to something I’ve said.
Everything about this is impossible. I watched her pull away from the office last night after dropping her off. Her taillights dimmed as she vanished around the corner, and it took everything I had to not jump in my car and follow her.
Purely selfish. That’s what I am. There’s nothing I can give her, nothing I’m willing to give her, more than what we’ve been doing. That’s not fair to her in any way. Yet, I want to keep her in my office so I can breathe her in, feel her closeness. I want to sneak away for a few hours with her wrapped around me and just enjoy being with her. But if I do, everything will fall apart.
“What’s up, G?” Barrett sits in the chair previously occupied by Ford. He twists his head as he considers just how right Ford may have been with his interpretation of my demeanor. “You are pissed off.”
“Nah,” I say, drumming a pen against the table. “I’m fine.”
“Talk to me. What’s happening? Something with Ford?” When I don’t respond, he snickers. “Oh, I see.”
“You don’t see shit.”
“Oh, I think I do, little brother.” We stare at each other across the table, him laughing, me glaring. “Just to be clear, I may be in Atlanta most of the time now, but I still talk. Specifically, to Linc. So I know things.”
“If Lincoln is giving you information, and you’re taking it, you aren’t nearly as smart as I give you credit for.”
“Let’s see how credible my sources are. I get one guess, all right?”
“Barrett,” I warn.
“It is . . . Mallory?”
I shrug.
“I’ve seen her. She’s hot.”
I shrug again.
“Ford also chipped in that she was really smart, and believe it or not, Dad likes her.”
I shrug for a third time, but this time with a warning shot. Barrett laughs.
“Ford also said if you weren’t eyeing her—”
“Enough,” I shoot, sitting up and clasping my hands together on the table.
“I was only kidding. Ford didn’t say that last part, but I knew if I said he did, I’d get a true reaction out of you.”
“You are such a fucking politician,” I say, relieved that Ford wasn’t seriously looking at Mallory. As the relief lifts off me, I slump back again. “Barrett,” I wince. “I’m in trouble.”
He leans back in his chair, kicking his feet up on the table, looking all smug.
“Mom will kill you for that,” Lincoln blasts, coming in the room. “Trust me. I got smacked yesterday for something pretty similar.”
We all laugh as Lincoln grabs a seat next to Barrett. As we settle down, I realize they’re both looking at me like I’m a suspect in some investigation. Suddenly, I feel very outnumbered.
“So, what are we talking about?” Lincoln asks, blowing a huge pink bubble and letting it smack against his face.
“Your happiness is annoying,” I say.
“That’s what good pussy will do for ya, G. Try it.”
“We were just talking about that,” Barrett notes, smiling smugly at me.
“So he has been tapping that,” Lincoln exclaims. “Ford said—”
“Shut up, Lincoln.”
“Graham was just about to ask me for advice,” Barrett tells our brother.
“No, I wasn’t.”