Page 75 of Enemies in Paradise

I head for the fridge. I’ve got my head stuck in it when I hear Grace, Mom’s nurse.

“Oh, hey, Bear,” she says a little too enthusiastically. “I didn’t know you were here.”

I turn around, slowly, to face the petite blonde with freckles scattered across her nose. The girl I dated in high school.

“Hi Grace. You’re here later than usual.” I leave the fridge door partially open, hoping she’ll get the hint that I’m in the middle of something.

“Your dad called and said he had to be at the store a little longer, so I told him I could stay. I don’t mind. I love spending time with your mom. She’s so sweet. Are you hungry? Do you want me to make you something?” Grace talks fast, letting her thoughts run loose, like opening barn doors to let all the animals out at the same time.

I shake my head. “No, thanks.”

Grace has always talked a lot, but it bothered me less when we were dating. I didn’t mind having someone do the talking for me.

She’s the nicest girl I know, and she’s cute. If I were smart, I’d get back together with her right here and now instead of looking through the fridge, trying to guess what Cassie would like to eat. Wondering if she’ll invite me to stay and share whatever I take to her.

I know exactly what Grace likes to eat. Anything that I like. She’d happily share it with me, too.

I could put her least favorite food in front of her, say it’s my favorite, and she’d eat it. That’s how eager to please she is.

Not that I would ever do something like that. I wouldn’t. But it’s also why I don’t ask Grace out again. We’d fall back into an easy pattern where she’d lose herself in my likes and interests, and I’d go along with it, because it’s always easier going with the flow. But there’s no challenge in that; nothing that would make either of us grow.

Maybe it was fun for a minute in high school to be adored like that—I’m embarrassed now that all her undivided attention and devotion fed my ego—but eventually I wanted to know her likes and dislikes, and she didn’t have any.

But right now, she’s looking at me as if I’m the most interesting man in the world.

Cassie’s never looked at me like that. Until a few minutes ago—and the night we kissed—the only thing I’d ever seen in her eyes was a fight waiting to happen. But before I left her in the apartment, I saw something new.

Desire.

Don’t get me wrong. The fight was still there. She’s never going to let me have an easy win. I’ll have to fight her for whatever I want.

And, like Grandpa said, I need something to fight for—or against—to motivate me to do better. Tobebetter.

“You sure I can’t make you anything to eat?” Grace smiles wide. “It’s really no trouble. I was about to make tomato soup for your mom if you want some, too. I can make you a grilled cheese to go with. You used to love my grilled cheese. I’ll make one for both of us.” She scoots around me and nudges me away from the fridge door. “Or should I make two for you? I remember how much you eat.”

The last words come out in a low breath, as if she’s remembering a lot more than how much food I can put away. A subtle reminder of how well she knows me.

At that moment, the front door opens, and Dad calls hello from the entryway.

“Dad’s home,” I blurt. “He and I can make Mom something. You’ve been here all day.”

Grace’s face falls, but she moves away from the fridge. I open the door to put a barrier between us, then bury my head in the fridge again. I don’t even look up when Dad walks into the kitchen.

“Hi, Grace. Hi, Bear. I didn’t know you were here,” he says.

“Hi, Mr. Thomsen.”

The tiredness in Dad’s voice and the disappointment in Grace’s are only slightly muffled through the refrigerator door.

“I may be here for a few days, actually.” I say to the yogurt on the top shelf. “Cassie’s staying in the apartment,”

“Cassie?” Dad and Grace say at the same time, he with surprise and she with suspicion.

“Pipes broke at the shop. The whole place is flooded. I’m headed back over there to clean it up as soon as I fix her a little something to eat.” I grab the container of leftover chili that Adam brought over a few days ago.

It’s Mom’s recipe he now makes at the restaurant. I know he was hoping she would recognize it, but she didn’t. She ate it with as much interest as she’d have eaten chili out of a can.

Each of us takes turns feeling the heartbreak one day at a time.

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