Page 133 of All Twerk, No Play

“Then you must bereallysad,” she said, sliding her small, sticky hand into mine. “Alex was only gone two days. When he got home he said he missed me and Grace so much it was hard to breathe.”

"Ruby, honey, did you— Oh.” Grace didn't ask why I was sitting on her front porch, just held the door open in silent invitation and offered Ruby screen time to give us privacy.

The kitchen smelled like cinnamon and fresh coffee, with a plate of half-eaten pancakes on the kitchen table. Grace poured me a fresh cup of coffee, eyes brimming with sympathy.

“Grace, do you know where the clean binkies—” Alex said, a baby carrier strapped to his chest. He looked tired, the bags under his eyes nearly as dark as mine, but not surprised to see me. “Oh. Hey Cruz. This is Caleb.” Alex tilted so I could see the sleeping baby. “Grace got the call from the foster agency while I was in New York.”

“Hey there, Caleb,” I said softly, straightening his little knit hat. “How long is he here?”

“As long as he needs until his mom is ready to bring him home,” Grace said with a protectiveness in her tone. Alex’s jaw tightened, his pats on the baby’s bottom speeding up.“That's life as a foster parent. Some kids will stay indefinitely, like Ruby. We’ve already filed her adoption paperwork. But others …” Her mouth tightened, and she reached over to rub his hat, “we love them as much as we can while they’re with us.”

I shouldn’t have come here. I should have waited until Monday and gone to Blackstone & Clarke, kept things professional. Although Victoria’s empty desk might have torn me open all over again.

Alex poured himself a giant cup of coffee. “So why the early visit, Cruz?”

The moment of truth. I unzipped my backpack and dropped the manila envelope on the kitchen island. “Is this what I think it is?”

“It is if you think she signed her luxury condominium over to you and will pay all your taxes and fees in perpetuity,” he said, bouncing when Caleb fussed. “I tried to talk her out of it, but she’s Victoria. That’s what she does.”

“She gives away multi-million dollar property as abreakup gift?” That’s what she’d given her ex-husband, after all. She’d handed over her childhood home to buy her freedom. Is that what this was? Her way of buying me off so she could leave guilt-free? “Not that it matters. She made it pretty damn clear that it’s over, and the apartment is a consolation prize.”

“Did she?” he said skeptically, his eyes dropping to the manila envelope.

I didn’t want him to see her words, didn’t want his hands to touch what she touched … but he was the best hope I had to make sense of this. I handed the letter over with great hesitation, and he took it with gentle care. He tugged on his lower lip, his eyebrows rose, then his throat rumbled with a laugh.

He handed it back with an arrogant smirk. “She never actually said it was over.”

“She clearly did,” I said, re-reading the letter. She had to take this job, she wished we had more time, she was grateful for what we had …

Oh my god. Did she not break up with me?

“She wrote it this way intentionally,” he said. “If you read it strictly, she gave you an out. But the breakup is open to your interpretation.”

“Fucking lawyers,” I muttered as Grace grabbed the sponge and started forcefully scrubbing the breakfast dishes.

“Damn right, we’re the worst,” he grinned. “She knew that if you came to me, I’d tell you. She was hedging her bets, as always.”

I thumped the letter down on their island, making Grace jolt before she lifted a clean glass into a cabinet. “So if she’s not breaking up with me, why leave without warning?”

“You’re not the only one she left,” Alex pouted, and I realized that I’d been wallowing about losing my girlfriend, but he lost his business partner and best friend. “I told her if she was really in charge, she should be able to decide when to move … but once her dad said she had to be there, she dropped everything. Completely irrational.”

Grace slammed the cupboard door and whipped around, hazel eyes blazing. She jabbed the spatula at Alex. “Irrational? All these foster parent trainings about supporting kids with trauma, and you can’t even see the signs in your best friend? Un-freaking-believable.”

I reeled back, surprised at the sharpness in her tone. She was usually so calm, so steady, but when she turned to me, there was an intensity I’d never seen before. “She believes she can’t rely on anybody because everybody she’s loved has either betrayed her or died. Including her grandfather. And he made decisions without her consent, so she inherited a company she never wanted, a company she thinks her mother died for.”

She picked up an empty baby bottle and measured the powder with trembling hands. "And she was taught her emotions were a weakness, so she shows her love with extravagant gifts and parties. Withreal estate, because that's what her family values most."

The truth landed like a sucker punch. The air mattress, the furniture assembly, the training sessions. All the times I’d been offended that she was trying to pay me, she'd been trying to win me over the only way she knew how.

The preppy clothes, the surprise party, the goddamn cobratattoo,my nickname inked permanently on her body … all signs of her love.

And I hadn’t seen it. I’d been so obsessed with the words that I’d missed the actions.

“And her dad, the only family member she has left, will criticize her if she’s anything but perfect. Just like you two, accusing her of beingirrational,” Grace said, moving behind Alex to unclip the baby carrier straps. “As soon as he showed up, her adrenaline probably spiked, triggering her fight-or-flight instinct. And now she’s under so much pressure, her cortisol levels are probably off the charts. She’s so deep in survival mode, she probablycan’tthink straight.”

Grace’s chest was heaving now, her face red with frustration as she shoved the bottle into Alex’s hands. “And you, Cruz? You’reterrifyingto her.You didn’t even want a relationship six months ago. Right now, anything she can’t control or predict is a threat, and you’re a wildcard. She’d rather end things herself, even if it hurts her, than always be on edge, waiting for you to leave her. She probably thinks she freed you from the cage that she’s trapped in.”

She stared out the kitchen window, eyes glassy. “Self-isolation is a trauma response,” she said softly, tapping her chest twice. “When my dad kicked me out, I didn’t trust anybody for a long time. Years. Didn’t let anybody get too close, because I couldn’t control their reactions. Even after years of therapy and becoming a social worker, I still worry that the foster agency will take Ruby, that Alex will leave, that my brother will move away …”

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