Page 87 of Defended By Love

Grant looks to me. I nod.

“Yes, Mom.”

The adjoining door creaks open. At the top of the stairs with the light of the kitchen behind her, stands Shelly. Tears stream down her face and she smiles weakly.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t help but overhear…” she starts.

“Because you were eavesdropping?” Grant finishes.

She nods and then holds her arms wide open, palms facing us.

Is she afraid of falling?

“You don’t have to hug her if you don’t want,” Grant whispers behind me.

Except, now that I understand the gesture, I do want to. With Grant behind me, I walk to the top of the steps and let his mother wrap me in a hug that lets me know exactly where Grant got his super strength from.

“You two absolutely deserve each other,” she whispers into my ear as she plants a sloppy kiss on my cheek. “He sees the best in everyone, except himself. I’m glad you spelled it out for him.”

For once, I have nothing to say. I just hug her back and marvel that once again Shelly has met and liked me for the first time. What is it about this family that can see the good in me?

Or maybe, what was with the people I was spending my time with before that they could only see the bad?

“I hope you’re hungry,” Grant’s mom says as we pull away. “I didn’t know what you’d like so I made a bit of everything.”

From my vantage point, I can see the kitchen table nearly sagging under the weight of the food she’s made. The meal she’s prepared makes the breakfast from the other day look like a light snack.

“Fuck,” Grant mutters when his mom leaves to grab some plates.

“What?”

“Looks like we’re going to be up here a while.”

With balls bluer than the ocean on a clear, summer’s day, Grant makes his way up the stairs to join his mom instead of taking me to fuck into tomorrow. I smile after him.

That is exactly the sort of man I deserve.

Chapter 38

It was late when we finally made adequate progress on the buffet of food Shelly made for us. It was even later when the conversation fizzled. It was extremely late when she decided to bust out the old photo albums of Grant.

But it was all worth it.

Yawning in the near-midnight light from the upstairs window in Grant’s home, we say goodnight to his mom and make our way downstairs.

It’s funny—I usually book my first dates at the fanciest restaurant in town, but I’ve never had a date go that well. Or had food that delicious.

“I really like your mom,” I say as we walk down the steps to his place.

“She really likes you,” he says, looking at me with such love that my heart pangs with feeling.

I let my fingers run over the surface of a family portrait that hangs on the wall of his living room. It’s one of those tacky family portraits where everyone is wearing vaguely matching outfits and no one’s smile looks natural. Which is to say, the best kind of family picture.

“Your mom really misses your dad.” It’s not a question, just an observation that weighs heavy on my heart after watching Shelly’s face talk about memories associated with different pictures in the photo albums.

“She really does.”

“She misses taking care of someone.”

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