Page 113 of Every Chance After

“Very talented,” Marigold confirms. “You should’ve seen Luke’s talent show?—”

“I don’t play anymore.” I pass the bread, hoping to shut this down.

She hesitates, brow pinched, before meeting my eyes. “Why not?”

“It triggers bad memories,” I admit.

“Then, why keep the piano?”

“It’s a part of him that he can’t let go,” Marigold reports.

“And I don’t want to forget,” I say, not wanting to hold back. She could ask me anything, and I’d tell her the truth if only to tip her favor back in my direction after this fuck up.

“Would you, though?” she asks.

“What? Play?”

“No, forget?”

“No.”

“So, really, holding on to the piano and not playing it, is you punishing yourself? Pianos are meant to be played, Grady. Played and enjoyed and shared with people. They should spread joy, not be turned into dust collectors, mocking your pain every day. It’s right there, waiting for you, hoping you’ll take a chance and try again, and you walk on by it, selfishly ignoring a beautiful opportunity.Thisis why you’ll never be happy—you’re too damn busy being miserable.”

She rises, resting her napkin beside her plate.

“Sorry, guys,” she smiles shortly. “Wine makes me too loosey-goosey with words.”

“I liked it,” Marigold says.

“Me, too,” Gil agrees.

I hang my head, not knowing what the fuck to say. Only that she’s right. Absolutely right.

And not just about the damn piano.

“Well, y’all keep eating. It’s delicious, Grady,” she says. “I’m just going to powder my nose.”

“Um, it’s—” I start to direct her.

“I’ll find it,” she snaps.

“Wow,” Gil says when she disappears into the house. “I’m liking her more and more. Think I still have a chance, or did you fuck it up for both of us?”

“Chance at what?” Marigold asks, face pinched with confusion.

“A chance to be more than friends with Marnie,” Gil says.

Marigold looks from him to me. “But you said you were just friends, and you’re an old man.”

Gil laughs. Marigold’s ability to remember everything a person says is endearing, but not always. “Remember how you said you didn’t like Peter Pike? Things change.”

Her lips pinch as she considers this. Then, she nods. Marigold may not always understand social shit, but she’s extremely logical. “Peter Pike is two years and three months older than me. We’re all adults. Age differences don’t matter.”

“Marnie would agree, I think,” Gil says. “Grady’s the only one who cares.”

“I don’t care. It’s just… I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” I rise, bumping the table. I grab my plate and hers, as my siblings give me their adult versions of stink eyes.

I go inside, balancing dirty dishes and not expecting to see her. If it were me, I would’ve bailed the moment another car appeared in the driveway.

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