Page 52 of Teach Me
We’d chatted on the ride, listened to music, held hands, but even Grady seemed a little off.
“Yeah, that sounds nice.” I pasted on a smile that disappeared as soon as he got out of his car in the garage, and I followed him inside.
He dropped his bag by the stairs, then went into the kitchen and began pulling things out of his fridge. His kitchen, which had seemed so cozy and familiar to me a few days before, now felt foreign under the glaring uncertainty of what came next.
I watched him with a rueful ache. Fuck, I cared for this man too much. I kept thinking I’d get tired of him or maybe some of the shine would wear off, but every layer we peeled back from each other left me wanting more. I wondered if he felt the same.
“Paul was telling me he’s applying for some prestigious fellowship or something.” I affected nonchalance as I pulled the bread from Grady’s pantry. I assumed from his rummaging we’d be making sandwiches, but I was no longer hungry.
“Yes, the Mind Matters Fellowship. Several grad students are applying for it. It’s pretty competitive.” Grady slapped a bag of cheese and another of roast beef onto the counter. “Mustard. Shit, where’d I put it?” he muttered to himself and went back to the fridge.
“He said he asked you to write a letter of recommendation for him.”
Grady cut me a look sidelong. “He did, yes.”
“Did you do it?”
“I told him I’d consider it.”
“I think you should. He’s been a really great tutor, and?—”
“I’m strongly considering it.”
“Why wouldn’t you?” I gnawed on my lower lip.
“I’ve been a little distracted.” He tossed me a wink over his shoulder that made my heart ache.
“Well, he’s not trying to date me or anything, if that’s what’s holding you back. He hasn’t put any moves on me since that…that one time.”
Grady closed the fridge and gave me a cool, assessing look that made me want to crawl out of my skin. It was one of the few times I’d ever seen him calculating. “What’s going on here,Cameron? You’ve seemed out of sorts since we left. I’ve been around you enough that I think I can judge your character, and I can’t imagine why you’d be invested either way in whether or not I wrote a letter of recommendation for a TA.”
“I like him,” I said weakly. Grady’s gaze sharpened on me, and for the first time, I didn’t like the way it felt, like he was trying to pull up a corner of my psyche and peer behind my flimsy excuses. It was working. “I just think he’s a good candidate, is all.”
“Do you now? Spent a lot of time going over his CV and qualifications?” He arched a brow. “Or is it something else?”
“Something else, like what?”
“You tell me.”
My jaw dropped. “Are you implying that I’m hooking up with both of you or somehow using you for gain?”
“I don’t know what the fuck I’m implying, but I’m telling you directly that the question seems out of character for you, and I want to know why you’re asking and why it matters.”
“You don’t have a fucking clue about my character.”
Grady stared long and hard at me. “I know you are kind and earnest. I know you are determined and tenacious in a way that takes my breath away. I know what you’ve told me about your past, and I know you know better than to believe I’d judge you for it. And yet, you’re pretending like I am right now, twisting things. And that—” He pressed his finger to my chest. “—is out of character. So either I’ve been wrong about you, or something is up and you don’t want to tell me.”
“I didn’t mean to imply anything like that. That’s not it at all. I want you, not Paul.” I swallowed the knot forming in my throat, feeling cornered. My palms went clammy, and a wave of dread washed over me. “I…I thought it was important,” I stuttered out, shrugging one shoulder defensively. “Paul’s a good guy. He deserves a fair shot.”
Grady’s gaze softened but didn’t let up completely. His eyes still held questions.
“You’re right,” he said after a long moment, breaking eye contact to reach for a bag of chips. “He deserves a fair shot. I’ll write the rec this week.”
I should have melted with relief. I should have been absolutely elated that this was such an easily resolved issue. Paul would get his letter, I would keep getting Grady. No harm, no foul. But the spike in my stomach was unrelenting, twisting around guilt, and a voice in my head whispered,This is how relapse begins.And maybe relapse didn’t mean pills or booze or any sort of substance, but shame and guilt were enough. I’d promised myself I’d never again get into situations where I felt them. That I’d always be honest and true to myself most of all. And Grady deserved to know the truth because I never wanted to feel like I’d manipulated him into being with me.
I closed my eyes, exhaled, and opened them again. “Paul knows about us.”
“What?” Grady barked, and gone was every last shred of softness, replaced with wild-eyed shock.