“Maybe.”
Not like he hasn’t already seen me run. They all did. Because strangers or not, I am scared.
And foolish.
And falling.
Chapter Fourteen
Griffin
Megan sits on the porch, e-reader in hand as she rocks on the glider. My parents and my other sisters play Bridge in the living room. In the resulting quiet, I stand in the opening that separates the kitchen from the great room, watching from a distance as my niece observes Maggie sketching the bowl of fruit perched on the table, one meant to be viewed but not eaten.
“She’s lovely,” a voice says from behind, and I flinch, as if caught doing something I shouldn’t.
“Geez, Nat. Keep some Tic Tacs in your pocket or something so I know you’re approaching.”
She whacks me on the shoulder. “Explain yourself,” she demands.
I know what she means to ask, but I buy myself a few seconds by playing dumb.
“Explain what?”
My reluctance to face her coupled with not taking my eyes off the pair at the far end of the kitchen table gives me away.
“You have never brought anyone other than Davis to brunch before. I gotta say, I prefer Maggie, but it still doesn’t explain your motives.”
“My motives…” It’s not a question but more of a challenge, to see how far she’ll go figuring it out on her terms before she gets me to speak.
Then she’s quiet.
For over five seconds. The silence builds until I have to face her, knowing she’ll hold out until I do.
“No answer I give is going to satisfy you,” I say. She grins.
“I’d accuse you of being self-serving,” she says, “using her as your latest distraction.” Then she waits a beat. “If it wasn’t for the way you look at her.”
I sigh. Or maybe it’s a groan. Whatever it is, it’s joined with the word “fuck” under my breath.
“Didn’t I just use her, though?”
Nat shakes her head.
“I don’t think you meant to, sweetie. That wasn’t your intent.”
I study the slats in the wood floor, the hint of guilt still there despite my intent. Not only guilt for letting her be a distraction, but for wanting her to be something more when something more has never been what I’m willing to give.
Nat pokes me in the chest.
“Hey. When are you going to give yourself permission to be happy? I’m not only talking about her.” Nat inclines her head toward the kitchen.
“I already freaked her out by bringing her here today,” I say. “It was way too much way too soon.”
Nat shrugs. “Happy,” she repeats, and I laugh.
“Says the girl who’s been on her own since, I don’t know, always? Didn’t I learn from the best? Didn’t I learn from all of you where rocking the boat will get you?”
Nat’s the one to look away now because she knows I’m right. She knows how things work around here.
“You’re going to enlighten me on happiness?” I ask. “You play the system as well as I do.”
“Vi makes me happy, asshole. Vi is enough.”
She’s right, about the asshole part. “Who are you trying to convince?” I ask. “Me? Or yourself?”
I never said my power of deflection didn’t get others caught in the wake. She turns to walk away, to rejoin the card game in the living room.
“Wait.” I grab her shoulder, and she stops, her eyes dark—not with anger but with pure, raw hurt…and something else I can’t identify. “I’m sorry. You know I love Violet more than anything. I know she makes you happy.”
Then I recognize what else is there beside the pain—acceptance.
“I knew the choice I was making when I had her, Griffin. And the consequences that came with it. But the joy of being her mom, the unfathomable depth of love I have for her, it absolutely obliterates everything else. It has to. She comes first, and every decision I make has her best interest at heart. She is my happiness and always will be. It doesn’t mean I don’t want more. It means more will be harder because of what’s at stake.”
She looks at me for a long, hard moment and then says, “I accept my choices and what they mean for me, but you take yours for granted. You have choices, Griffin. They might not be easy ones, but they’re there.”
I don’t respond because she doesn’t wait to hear it. Instead of heading back to the living room, she opts for the far end of the kitchen, the table where Maggie and Vi sit sketching fruit. I watch as she sits down next to her daughter, Nat’s face transforming when Violet’s eyes meet hers. Then Maggie looks up, too, her gaze meeting mine, and I feel the transformation, wonder if she can see it on me—the hope, the possibility, the start of something more. Not easy, but more.