Page 53 of Falling for Grace

“Grace.” She tuts. “How are things with you and Brandon?”

How are things with me and Brandon?

Awkward.

Uncomfortable.

Comfortable.

Familiar.

Unfamiliar.

Scary.

Safe.

“Fine.”

“And now the truth?” I roll my eyes at my mother’s intuition.

“We’re putting on a united front, but my secrets are pecking away at him every second of every day. He knows I’m going to tell him…things…after the funeral.”

“I’m proud of you sweetheart. The next few days contain a lot of heartache for you, it’s been a long time coming.”

“Please Mum, not a lecture, not today. I know I’ve made a tits up of it all. Look, I gotta go,” I say, noticing the time on the shitty bedside clock.

“Sweetheart, believe me that wasn’t a dig or a lecture. I worry about you. I love you.”

“Sorry I’m just being defensive. Love you too Mum, you should get some sleep.”

“I hope the eulogy goes well.”

“Me, too,” I reply at the thought of standing up and addressing the friends and family.

I have spent a few days putting some notes on paper, but I’m planning on sitting quietly for 10 minutes before the car picks me up to finish it off. I do my best work under pressure, or at least that's what I am telling myself.

“Call me later?”

“I may not be able to, but I’ll text you and let you know how it all goes.” Why do we wish people well for funerals? I mean, it’s a funeral—how well can these things go?

“Love you darling. You’re going to get through this.”

I nod because that’s true. I am going to get through this, I just don’t know how much of me will still be intact when this visit is finally over.

I stand outside the house looking up at the window that once was Danny’s bedroom. The sky is bright blue, white fluffy cotton ball clouds floating in the warm sunshine. The sounds of the street surround me as I wait, pulling in deep breaths before I face the family.

“Gracie.” His voice wraps around me like a blanket. My shoulders tense as though he physically touched me. I didn’t hear another car pull up, but there he is, standing behind me. Brandon. He’s in a dark suit tailored perfectly to fit his body. His eyes are covered with Ray Ban aviator sunglasses.

The world has fallen for his charms, just like I did, but I know that those people, all those people who follow his every move, hang on his every word, not one of them could say they know him like I do, could share what we have—and I cherish that.

In five long strides he’s standing in front of me, towering over me. He seems huge, maybe it’s because I feel so small today. He touches my cheek softly, tenderly, and I involuntarily lean into his warm caress. A moth to the flame every time.

I hate not being able to see his eyes. I can’t see what he’s thinking. With shaking hands, I pull the glasses off his face. I have to stop myself from buckling under the intensity of his look. So much raw pain, so much sadness.

“Brand–” He pulls me against his rock hard body and embraces me in the warmest of hugs, my face squished against his shoulder; his smell engulfing me.

“I can’t believe we’re here.” His head is by my neck, breathing me in. His aftershave is the same one he has always worn. He smells like warm pine and fresh laundry, and for the first time I stop feeling sick. I am settled.

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