Page 25

Astrid

After waiting ten minutes outside Grayson’s place, I finally get a text back from him.

Grayson: Pick-up line is backed up. Code to the door is 1234. You can head on in.

I chew on my lip, looking past my dash and to the door of Grayson’s house. The last time I was here, Callie had locked herself in the bathroom, and Grayson and I had agreed to our little sex scheme. Now, I sit in my car in the driveway, stomach turning with nervousness.

Today is my first not- counseling meeting with Callie. A meeting with a trusted adult. At the time, I’d felt fine agreeing to it, but now I shift in my seat, discomfort fanning out through me at the idea that I might not be enough for this girl.

Shoving that feeling down, I remind myself that my only goal is to loosen her up, get her to agree to seeing a real counselor. I’m just going to be a second ear for her to talk to. An older friend.

I grimace. None of the descriptions I find to explain this situation to myself are helping.

Still, I turn off the car, force myself out the door. Rather than a slow descent into cooler temperatures, it’s like Wisconsin hit a certain date and decided not to look back. While last week was in the seventies, this one is all highs in the fifties, a brisk, cool tone to the air that has officially ushered in fall.

As I walk up to the house, I text Grayson.

Astrid: Seriously? You have to change that code, Grayson.

Grayson: What, now that you know it?

Astrid: If your code is 1234, everyone knows it, you dork.

I punch in the offensively stupid code, wonder why his security company even allowed him to pick that, and push into the foyer. It’s spotlessly clean, just like the night I was here before, but it smells fantastic .

When I walk into the kitchen, I identify the source of the smell—two Milwaukee Frost crockpots on the counter, each of them with the lids on tight, something simmering inside. One holds what looks like chili, while the other has something white, little green specks floating at the top.

Heart fluttering for some unknown reason—maybe the ridiculously weak security measures—I move through the kitchen, taking everything in.

There’s a drawn unicorn on the fridge, all heavy-handed crayon, no doubt a product of Athena. It does something strange to my chest, the idea of her handing it to Grayson, Grayson taking it and attaching it to the fridge with a magnet from the local electric supplier.

It’s so domestic, such a pure window into what his life looks like right now, that it makes my skin flush with something unidentified. Prickly and warm at once. Almost like jealousy, I think, but it can’t be, so I move on, trying to leave the feeling behind.

I open the fridge and find it stocked almost to the point of hilarity with what I can only describe as kid food . Lunchables, juice boxes, those little packs of fruits and vegetables with the dip built in, string cheese, pudding, yogurt, all the packages with various cartoon characters splayed across the front.

Almost like Grayson went to the store and bought anything that looked like a kid might want. It makes my chest feel strange, warm and loose, so I grab a juice box, shut the fridge, and move to the kitchen island, taking a seat to wait for them, my mouth watering from the smell of the food in the slow cookers.

Five minutes later, the door opens, and I stand like I’m British and the queen has walked in. I need to tone down my nerves, so I slide back onto the stool, striving to look nonchalant. If I’m acting weird, Callie’s going to tighten up, and I don’t want that.

“Astrid?” I hear Grayson call.

“In the kitchen?” The moment I call it back to him, I get another strange feeling, like we’ve just engaged in a Honey, I’m home moment. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes—What the fuck?—and I focus on my juice box, taking another drink of the ridiculously sweet stuff to ignore everything I’m bombarded with right now.

“Ms. Foster!” Callie comes into the kitchen, drops her backpack on the floor, and immediately sits on a stool across from me.

“Hey, Callie,” I say, but I’m interrupted by Athena, who races into the room, her fine copper hair streaking behind her like a comet. She comes to a stop in front of me, breathing hard and holding up a picture.

By the doorway, Grayson appears for a moment, picks up Callie’s bag, and disappears again. Even while I’m looking at Athena’s picture, I’m seeing him in my mind’s eye, walking to the entryway, hanging Callie’s bag on one of those hooks. Keeping the house neat and tidy.

I file that information away—a healthy home habit, or a coping measure for his anxiety?

“It’s a dog,” Athena says, grabbing the corner of the paper and turning it so her head covers most of the drawing. She points to a part. “And his… booties .”

She whispers the word when she points to the dog’s feet, then bursts into laughter. I can’t help it—it’s contagious, and even Callie is laughing when she rolls her eyes and says, “ Booties is not a bad word, Athena.”

But after Callie says booties again, it sends Athena into another laughing fit, her high-pitched giggles so contagious that Grayson is chuckling when he walks back into the room.

“Come on,” he sets a hand on Athena’s shoulder gently, steering her out of the room. “You and I are going to run to the store, grab some cheese for dinner.”

Before I can stop myself, I say, “And what is dinner, exactly?”

Grayson stops, turning, those warm chocolate eyes finding mine. “My famous chili.” His eyes dart to the slow cookers, and he adds, “And white chicken chili for Callie, who doesn’t like beef.”

“Oh.” My traitorous stomach growls loudly for them all to hear, and Athena starts laughing again.

“You should stay for dinner,” Callie insists, turning to look at Grayson. “Right?”

His gaze on mine seems to say You can say no if you want .

But that chili smells good, and this kitchen is warm, and right now there are two young, smiley girls staring at me, waiting for me to say yes.

“Sure.” I grin, then look to Grayson again. “But only if there’s dessert.”

“Yes!” Athena turns to Grayson, grabs one of his hands between hers, and starts to bounce. “Ice cream!”

“Hmm.” Grayson seems to consider. Then, to my surprise, he grabs Athena and lifts her into the air, making her squeal with even more laughter as he flips her over. When he sets her down again, he says, “Okay. We can get ice cream. But only because Astrid is here.”

“You should come every night!” Athena laughs.

Then, Grayson is taking her to the foyer, getting her shoes on, calling out a farewell to us as they leave. We’d already talked about this, agreeing that it would be best for Callie and me to be alone, for her to know that we wouldn’t be at risk of being overheard, but it still feels odd.

I push through the awkwardness, clearing my throat and saying, “Hey, do you know if Grayson has any games or puzzles around here?”

“Yes.” Callie pops to her feet, seeming like she wants an activity just as much as I do. “There’s a game closet,” she says, disappearing into the hallway.

“Great,” I call, pressing my palms flat to the granite and willing my nerves to settle. “Just grab whatever you’re into!”

***

Forty-five minutes later, when Grayson and Athena return laden with shopping bags—far more than just cheese—Callie is in the middle of telling me about her budding friend group at school.

So far, we haven’t talked about anything too intense—going nowhere near the topic of her parents, her grief. But it’s enough that I’m confident it’s worth it. With every sentence, she loosens up, and I can feel the words coming easier to her. According to Grayson, she doesn’t talk to him at all, so it’s probably good for her to have an outlet like this.

“Cheese and ice cream,” Grayson says, when they come into the kitchen. He moves quickly, putting away the items with efficiency and actually folding the plastic bags before tucking them in a drawer under the sink.

I’ll have to ask him about all that later, but right now, Athena is climbing onto a stool, helping Callie and I to finish our puzzle while Grayson “puts the finishing touches” on the two chilis, which includes chopping green onions and cilantro, dressing each bowl with oyster crackers.

Twenty minutes later, we’re sitting around the table laughing as Athena tells us about a little menace in her class, a boy who causes the teacher a lot of trouble.

Each time my spoon clinks against my bowl, I have to shove down feelings of loss, refocus on where I am and what I’m doing. Sometimes, eating dinner around a different table feels like a betrayal, even when I know that’s what my parents would want for me.

After dinner and dessert, Grayson rinses the bowls and slots them into the dishwasher while the girls go wash up. I stand next to him, shifting from foot to foot, already feeling like I’ve overstayed my welcome.

Already feeling like I’ve entered into dangerous territory. Not with Grayson, but with the domestic, familial nature of all this. The running water, the little bubble of soap, the transition from eating to bedtime.

“I, uh,” I say, smiling when he straightens up, pushing the hair back from his face. “I’m going to take off.”

“Wait—” he reaches out, catching my elbow with his hand, and it actually knocks the breath from my lungs. I recover as discreetly as I can, not wanting him to see the effect he has on me.

“Sorry,” he says, “I just…I had a question for you.”

For some reason, my heart starts to pound in my throat. How embarrassing. I strive for nonchalance, “Sure. What’s up?”

Grayson turns, starts to wash his hands, not looking at me as he says, “Well, Callie asked me yesterday if she could go to the homecoming dance. I told her that of course she could—it feels like it would be good for her—but she needs a dress. Maybe shoes? I don’t know anything about it, and I was wondering if you might be willing to take her. If you have time.”

I’m already nodding, thinking about Callie, thinking about what it was like to go shopping on my own after my parents passed. The entire ritual of going to a school dance, getting your hair and makeup done. My mind is already turning the wheels, trying to figure out how we can make this a positive experience so she’ll keep engaging in extracurriculars.

“Yes, of course.” I reach out, putting my hand on his knee this time. “Of course I can do that. Sloane might want to come, too.”

“That’s great. I was actually thinking maybe Ruby would want to go, too.”

“Oh,” I laugh, “if Ruby comes, that girl might end up going to homecoming in Dior.”

“Is Dior…bad?” Grayson asks, tilting his head, and it draws a laugh out of me until I realize his hands are shaking.

I study him and realize it’s more than shaking hands—it’s a tight posture, his neck stiff, his cheeks flushed but his forehead pale.

“Everything okay?” I ask, leaning in, wanting to touch him but keeping my hands to myself.

He closes his eyes, shakes his head, letting out an uneven laugh. “Just…any time I think about the girls, I get this rush of anxiety. It’s not a big deal, I just have to wait it out.”

I can’t help it—I reach out, put my hand on his arm, squeezing just before his elbow. His skin is warm and feels a ply thicker than my own.

Grayson goes on, laughing a little, “It’s just—I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing with them. The other day, there was this moment, with Callie, where it finally felt like we were on the same team, but then it was over, and I was on the outside again. I just don’t know how to get them to open up to me. Let me in more. Every time I start to think about the future, about what’s ahead for us, I get anxious.”

“I don’t know if you have a lot of coping mechanisms, or a go-to,” I start, “but you can use visualization techniques to summon positive feelings, keep the anxiety at bay.”

Grayson blinks at me, and I laugh, trying again, “Like…try picturing a time you felt at peace. A specific location in which you’ve had mostly positive experiences.”

“Like, going to a happy place?” he laughs, opening his eyes. “Is that a real thing?”

My hand is still on his arm, so I feel his muscles shift when he flexes, bringing his hands together again.

“Yeah.” I meet his eyes. “Just…somewhere you feel content, happy. Nothing too exciting.”

He holds my gaze. “Like hiking?”

Standing here in the kitchen, with the hum of the dishwasher just behind him, looking into his eyes, I think that he’s not talking about hiking. That’s he’s talking about hiking with me . But I know that’s not true—that the whole point of having him walk through nature was to track the effect it had on his mood.

And that, overall, the effect was positive.

That had nothing to do with me, and everything to do with the scientifically proven positive effects of greenery on the human mind.

“Sure,” I finally manage. “If that’s a calm, happy moment in your mind.” Clearing my throat, I break the eye contact with him, and think back to what he said earlier, about getting the girls to let him in. “You know, it might make them feel more comfortable if you let them into your life, too. Have you thought about bringing them to a game?”

Grayson blinks, head tilting slightly as he considers me, almost as though he’s surprised I’ve suggested it.

“Well…yeah, kind of.”

“So, why not do it? I bet they would have a lot of fun.”

“Would…would you be willing to take them? Obviously, I’d cover the tickets, but they’d need an adult with them. And they like you.”

Now it’s my turn to blink. Distantly, in the back of my mind, I know that this is dangerous. That taking the girls to a game is getting way too close. Even closer than being here for dinner tonight.

But the version of me that’s in control right now can’t say no when Grayson is looking at her like this.

And she doesn’t want to, either.

“Of course,” I say, heart fluttering dangerously against my ribcage. “Of course I would.”