Beautiful Graves, page 12
Even though he is assuring me that I can go to San Francisco, I understand the predicament we’re both in. There’s no doubt his mother’s reaction if I don’t go with him will be unwarranted, but someone once told me that people are merely a collection of their experiences. It’s not my place to judge her if she gets upset.
I grab his hand and press his knuckles to my lips. “I’ll come.”
“Lynne, please.” He gives me an embarrassed smile. Like maybe he shouldn’t have said anything.
“No, really. My dad . . . he’ll understand.” Just as I say that, a rush of relief rolls through me. I realize to my shame that it didn’t take a lot for me to neglect my San Francisco plans. Hearing about Dom’s distress was the final push, but I would prefer to spend my holiday with total strangers than with the family I single-handedly destroyed. As for Dad and Renn, they’re better off without me. I’d just spoil their Christmas and make things awkward for everyone. “I’ll deal with it. Don’t worry. Dom?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m not Emily,” I say.
“I know.”
“I’m here to stay.”
“Sounds like your ninety-nine-point-nine-nine-percent nonmarriage prediction is more like a ninety-one percent now.” He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear.
I lean over, grab his face, and kiss him. “And you know what else?”
“Hmm?”
Taking the plunge, I close my eyes and Band-Aid it. “I love you too.”
In the end, I use the coward’s way out.
I call Dad when I know he is at work. Specifically, when he is in his weekly partners meeting, and I leave him a voice message, pretending like I tried to get ahold of him.
Hey, Dad, it’s me, Ever. Look . . . I don’t know how to say this. I’m really sorry, but I don’t think I can make it home this Christmas. Something came up. A friend invited me over, and I think it’s really important that I go. I really am very sorry. Let’s get on the phone and pencil a date and I’ll come soon. January soon. I . . . I hope you’ll have fun without me. More like know that you will. I know Dad’s and Renn’s invitations are purely out of guilt. They made their feelings about me known after what happened. I . . . well . . . call me back. Bye.
A day passes. Then another two. By the third day, I know I’m not going to get a call back. A part of me understands him. Another part wants to lash out, to explain that I was never made welcome after what happened to Mom. That the accusation was written plainly on his and Renn’s faces every time they looked at me, which wasn’t very often. After I dropped out, after I left, they didn’t call. They didn’t text. They didn’t want my company. It is only now, a few years later, that they’re starting to show signs of interest in me. But what if it’s too late?
Dad is ghosting me like I’m an underwhelming Tinder date, I text Renn.
He doesn’t respond. Not even with an LOL.
I think about texting Pippa to ask if she could check on them for me. But I haven’t responded to her messages in so long; it seems like a deeply selfish move.
Throughout all this heartache and turmoil, Dom spins golden stories and makes plans around our upcoming Christmas. About decorated trees, epic ugly sweaters, mistletoe, and an old-school door-to-door carol.
I eat it all up, ready to devote myself to my new instant family.
ELEVEN
I wake up to a knock on the door before the alarm goes off.
It’s morning enough and weekday enough that I don’t instinctively think an axe murderer has come to kill me. I drag myself to the front door, knocking into Loki’s water bowl by accident in the process.
“Whoever you are, you’d better be bearing pastries.”
I unlock the door, and no one is there. I peer around the peeling wallpaper and wonky floorboards and notice a small square box at my feet. I recognize it, even though it’s covered with shipping labels. I don’t need to see the return address to know it came from my childhood home.
To: Everlynne Lawson
From: Martin Lawson
OPEN
It is the ultimate fuck-you from Dad. He knows it. I know it. His guess is I won’t open the box. That I don’t have the guts to face what’s inside it. He would be right. But the fact that he is trying to hurt me is new. Well, mission accomplished, Dad. I am hurt. A stab-to-the-heart hurt.
Why would he do this to me?
Begrudgingly, I pick up the cursed thing and carry it into my room, putting as much space as I can between us. Loki is at my feet, sensing my looming distress and wanting a front-row seat in case this develops into a full-blown meltdown.
The box is heavy. Heavier than it probably should be. Heavy with memories. With regrets. With all the things I didn’t say and should’ve. Heavy with one moment of recklessness that turned my life on its axis. I tuck it into my closet, between old boots and balled-up dresses I’m too lazy to hang.
My hands linger on the box’s surface. It’s an engraved wooden thing. My fingertips tingle. A part of me wants to open the box. Another part knows how badly it is going to affect me. I’m currently bottling up a lot of things in order to survive, and opening this box would unleash my demons all at once.
I hear the flick of the button of the coffee machine outside my room. Colt roars out a yawn. I can see him from my ajar bedroom door, stretching. The door to my room is halfway closed, so he can’t see me.
Nora appears next to him in the hallway. She snakes her arms around his torso, pressing her head to his chest. He pats her ass, then pushes her hair to one side with his free hand.
“Well?” he says. “There you have it. Morticia has finally found her Gomez, and he doesn’t even seem like a sociopath or anything.”
Wait, is he talking about me? Nora quickly rushes to my defense. She swats her boyfriend’s chest. “Stop calling her that, you big meanie.”
“C’mon, Nor. You know I like her.” He pats her ass again as he moves toward the kitchen. She follows him. I press myself against my door so I can still hear them. “She’s a great girl. Funny. Smart. Kinda hot, if you take out all the weird black shit she wears. I’m just not down with how you’re so overprotective of her.”
Colt throws our fridge open. I don’t need to be there to know he is chugging our milk straight from the carton.
“I’m not overprotective of her,” Nora objects.
“That so? Great. Move in with me, then.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Right. Remind me why again?”
“Ugh.” Nora stomps her foot. “You don’t understand, do you? She doesn’t have any friends here. She barely leaves the house when it’s not for work. She’s lonely. She’s sad. She’s lost. And . . . look.” She takes a breath. I hold mine. I don’t care that I’m eavesdropping. It is me they are talking about. I need to hear it. What they say about me when they don’t know that I’m listening. The hard truth they keep at bay.
“I pity her, okay?” Nora admits quietly. I close my eyes. Humiliation sinks its pointy teeth so deeply into me that I’m surprised it doesn’t break my skin. “She doesn’t have anyone. She works one solitary job at the shop, and another one dealing with tourists. I’m a big chunk of her world right now.”
“You’re a big chunk of my world,” Colt reminds her, his voice softer now. “What does this mean for me? Are you going to live with her for eternity?”
“No. Don’t be ridiculous.” Nora lets out a nervous laugh. “Things are moving fast between her and Dominic. I bet he’ll ask her to move in with him in the next few months. He’s almost thirty, you know. He wants to settle down.”
“So my wanting to settle down with my girlfriend depends on Dominic’s desire to settle down with his?” Colt asks edgily, his tone slightly mocking. I hate that he has a point. I hate that everything he says makes sense.
“Yup,” Nora says simply. In this moment, I don’t know if I want to hug her or shake her. I’m standing in her way to happiness with her boyfriend, but she is doing what she thinks is the right thing. “Pretty much.”
“Let’s just hope she doesn’t miss out on this opportunity. This Dom guy seems neat.” Colt sighs, knowing that he’s lost the battle this time around.
“They’ll get married. Mark my words,” Nora purrs.
“We’ll go first.”
“Aww. Colty!”
The machine shrieks, announcing the coffee is ready. The sound of wet kisses and sweet nothings fills the kitchen. It’s another day in the world.
Another day my mom won’t get to see.
TWELVE
On the drive to Dover on Christmas Eve morning, Dom tells me that he bought us a cooking-class pass for the next six months, and that he signed me up for a calligraphy course as an early Christmas present.
“You know, because you said you used to do art.” A shy smile touches his lips.
Art is such a big, wide field, and calligraphy is definitely not my thing.
I am grateful for his thoughtfulness, but I also feel a little suffocated. I get that he lives in high gear, but I live at a turtle’s pace. I always feel like I need to catch up.
“That’s a lot of extracurricular activity,” I note lightly.
“Well, you can’t be doing what you’re doing forever. For one thing, you hate it. For another, art is more fun, more fulfilling, will offer you better prospects.”
I haven’t told Dom about designing gravestones. I’m pretty sure it would make him run for the hills. I kept it vague, so I can’t exactly get upset that he got it wrong.
“Yeah,” I say. “Guess I could try and see. Maybe it’s my thing.”
“Have you talked to your dad recently?” Dom asks.
“We spoke on the phone before you picked me up.”
Honestly, I wouldn’t qualify what we had as a conversation. We shared empty miss-yous, hollow inside out. But we didn’t address the fact that I’m not in California right now, or that he sent me the box, or that the gap between us is widening every minute of every day.
“I hope you figure it out. If you go in January, maybe I can tag along. I have a lot of vacation saved up,” Dom offers. Just thinking about it makes me want to heave. I haven’t mentioned Dom to Dad. I’m too ashamed to admit I might be happy.
“What should I expect of your family?” I ask, to change the topic. “Prep me.”
“Well, Mom’s just the best. No preparation needed here. She is warm, sweet, and enjoys company. She will love you instantly because you love her son.” He lets the statement hang in the air for a beat before continuing. “As for Dad, he keeps to himself most of the time. He and Seph have the same personality. Dark, broody, skimming the verge of rude. As long as you stay away from politics and the Red Sox, I’m pretty sure you’ll have no trouble winning him over. And then Seph, you’ve met.”
“Actually, I haven’t,” I say. Dom and I haven’t discussed Scone-gate, but since I’m going to meet Seph in about an hour, it’s time to fess up. Dom arches an eyebrow, surprised.
“I thought you did?”
“No, he was in the shower. I just picked up some scones and left.”
“Seph’s a real gem once you get to know him. Hard exterior, but inside he’s a kitten. He’s a wiseass but makes up for it with a heart as big as his trap. I don’t know what I’d have done without him.”
“Why didn’t we drive to Dover with him?”
Dom shakes his head. “He doesn’t do lovey-dovey couples. Can’t stand them. He probably wanted to make sure he wouldn’t get stuck in a make-out-fest.”
“Isn’t he happy for you?”
“He is, but it’s complicated,” Dom says. His phone rings. He puts it on silent. I wonder what’s so complicated about being happy for your older brother and his new girlfriend.
“He sounds like a character.”
“He is, but . . .” He smiles. “Don’t write him off just yet, all right? He’s a good guy.”
An hour and a half after we hit the road, Dom pulls up at a gray shingle-styled house in a picturesque cul-de-sac. With three garage spaces, big bay windows, and tended rosebushes.
Dom turns off the ignition and rounds the car. He opens the door for me. I get out and smooth out my oversize black sweater, which serves as a dress over my black leggings. I put on a white dress shirt with a Peter Pan collar underneath, to look more preppy than goth. I also tamed my fire-engine hair into a braid and tucked my septum piercing into my nose so it’s not visible. If Pippa saw me right now, she’d call me a sellout. A fraud. She wouldn’t be off base. I feel strange in my own skin.
Dom hauls both our suitcases out of his trunk. The front door opens.
A petite woman with sharp yet pleasant features hurries toward the car. Her hair is naturally gray and cut short. Her smile makes her entire face open up. She is wearing a red turtleneck dress.
She flings herself over Dom and cries, “Oh, honey. How I’ve missed you.”
Something inside me breaks. Because there is nothing I want more in this world than to hug my mom, but she is six feet under.
Dom kisses his mother, cups her cheeks, and takes a step back to observe her. I love seeing men being affectionate with their mothers. I love seeing them tenderly clasp the women who made them, especially when they’re over two heads taller than them.
“You look amazing, Mom.”
“You look tired. And stunning. But mostly tired.” She laughs. I realize that she is spot on. Dom looks exhausted. I normally don’t pay attention to it because . . . well, because he is a nurse, and maybe that’s just the way they are.
“Let me introduce you to my girlfriend, Lynne.”
I don’t correct him that my name is Everlynne. It seems redundant at this point. He likes the name Lynne—so what?
Smiling big, I reach a hand out to her. “Hi, Mrs. Graves. Thank you so much for having me.”
“Call me Gemma, honey. Thank you so much for coming! Dom speaks so highly of you. I’m glad to finally meet.” She grabs my suitcase and wheels it in. I try to protest, but she shakes her head vehemently. “No, no, you’re a guest. Now, come inside. There are refreshments and some warm-up pies before dinner. Dad and Seph are already arguing over the Red Sox. Your interference would be most welcome.”
“Shocker,” Dom snorts out. “Don’t worry, I’ll make them behave.”
The inside of the Graveses’ home is just as impressive and grand as the outside. All wooden floors, chandeliers, plush carpets, and upholstered sofas. As if sensing my insecurity, Dom presses a hand to the small of my back and drops a kiss to the crown of my head. “You’re doing great, babe,” he whispers as we follow his mother. “She loves you.”
When we walk into the informal living room, we find that it is empty. Gemma parks her balled fists against her waist and frowns. “Why, they were here just a second ago. Now, where in the heck did those two disappear to?”
She peers behind Dom and me, and her face breaks into another huge smile. “Oh, there they are.”
And then I feel it. A brewing storm. The small hairs on my arms stand on end, like lightning is about to strike. I want to fall to my knees and bend forward, dodge being electrocuted.
But I know it’s too late. That thunder has already struck me.
All it takes is for me to turn around.
I swivel on my heel. And then I see him.
Seph Graves is standing in front of me; only I don’t know him as Seph Graves at all.
I know him as Joe. My Joe.
My lost love and my downfall is my boyfriend’s younger brother.
The limb I’ve been missing these past six years.
He is here. In the flesh.
And he looks gutted to see me.
Every single one of the Graves family members is staring at me right now, but I can’t get a word out of my mouth. I’m thunderstruck, my face probably whiter than a sheet.
All I can do is stare at Joe/Seph. His face is all bricked up. A cold, icy demeanor I’ve never seen on him before. It makes him look unlike Joe, which I understand is an idiotic thing to think. I don’t even know him. Maybe that’s his usual face. Maybe he always looks like he wants to punch his way through a crowd.
Oh, God. I need to throw up.
“Babe? Are you okay?” Dom rubs soothing circles over my back, frowning.
I nod weakly, forcing myself to snap out of it.
“Yes . . . yes! Sorry, I’m Everlynne.” I reach to shake Mr. Graves’s hand first. I cannot process what he looks like. Tall, I assume, since I have to extend my neck to smile up at him. There’s a mustache and a cardigan, too, behind the blurry cloud of panic forming in front of my eyes. The only thing that seems to be on portrait mode, sharp as a razor, is Joe’s face.
“Hello.” Mr. Graves is curt. Nothing like his human ball of sunshine of a wife. “I’m Brad. Nice of you to join us.”
Nice of you to create my entire dating history.
Next, I turn to Joe. He is still looking at me with something between sheer indifference and confusion. I’m weak at the knees. Of all the scenarios I’ve run in my head about what would happen if we ever met again, this situation has never come up. Rightly so. This is torture. The stuff nightmares are made of.
I tentatively reach for his hand. I’m shaking. My palm is clammy. I feel like a prisoner who’s been caught trying to escape their cell. Our skins touch. I nearly jolt. His hand is warm and dry. Big. His eyes are on mine. Blue and cool and utterly unreadable.
“Lynne, right?” Joe/Seph drawls. The first words to come out of his mouth. His voice cracks through me like whiplash. He remembers. Oh my God.
