Page 37 of Absolutely Not in Love
I reach for my phone. “Perfect. I’ll order us something.”
And that’s how we wind up sitting on the floor in my living room, sushi covering the giant trunk I use as a coffee table, eating and talking like it’s no big deal that we’re together, sharing a meal like this.
It takes me a few minutes to relax, to stop stressing over the fact that Gracie Mitchell is in my apartment. That tonight, she’ll sleep here, and the night after that, and the night after that, too.
I have to stop thinking about it. I have to pretend like this is just a normal date. No—not even a date. This is just…a conversation that happens to include dinner. With my neighbor who isn’t at all interested in dating me.
Still, as we talk about music and books and so many other things we have in common, I can’t fully suppress the hope that this is the start of something great.
After we finish eating, Gracie tells me the story of how she fell in love with the cello over the Harry Potter theme. Then I tell her about my grandmother and how she’s the one who taught me how to love classical music.
“Is this your grandmother on your mother’s side?” Gracie asks.
“On my father’s side.” I settle back against the couch, my legs extended in front of me, my ankles crossed. “She was this really petite woman, probably not an inch over five feet tall, but she was tough as nails, too. And it’s a good thing because she lived her life surrounded by really powerful men.”
“So that’s where you get your height,” Gracie says, a wry smile spreading across her face.
I chuckle. “She used to make the same joke. Told me I’d better remember that all the best parts of me came from her.”
Gracie leans forward the slightest bit, like she’s really interested in what I’m saying. “I can tell by your tone that you guys were close.”
“Yeah. We were. She also just…looked out for me. More than anyone else. I don’t know, maybe she sensed I needed it.”
“In what way?” Gracie leans her elbow against the couch and props her head in her hands, her focus solely on me. This level of scrutiny might make me uncomfortable in a different situation, but something about Gracie’s manner puts me at ease. So much so that I don’t even hesitate to answer her question. Something tells me Gracie won’t judge me for it.
“When I was a kid, I struggled with pretty intense social anxiety,” I say. “I still functioned, for the most part, and it’s gotten easier to manage as I’ve gotten older, though a lot of hours of therapy helped, too. But before the therapy, before I even really understood what was happening when I would clam up and have panic attacks, Grandma gave me all these tricks to calm myself down.” I shrug. “Classical music was one of them.”
Gracie’s expression softens, reassuring me that I made the right call in sharing. “It did that for me too. It still does.”
“Grandma played the violin,” I continue. “Never professionally, just around the house, whenever I begged her to play for me. But she was incredible. Looking back, I know I must have been biased, but I think she was talented enough that shecouldhave played professionally had she been given the chance.”
Gracie frowns. “She never tried? Why not?”
I grimace and run a hand through my hair. “I’ll tell you why, but just know I’m fully aware that what I’m about to say is going to make me sound like a pretentious snob.”
“Consider me warned,” she says through an easy smile.
I breathe out a sigh. “She couldn’t play in the symphony because my grandfather believed it was beneath her.”
At this, Gracie’s smile flips into a frown. “I’m not sure I understand. Because she was so talented?”
I shake my head, hating the inevitable turn in conversation this revelation will cause. “Because she was so rich.”
“Ohhhh.” Gracie’s eyes light with understanding. “So she was the kind of person who wouldfundthe symphony. Not someone who would play in it.”
“Exactly.”
It’s not lost on me that I just told a working musician that my family—at least my grandfather—would consider her career beneath him. I can only hope she doesn’t think I feel the same way.
“What does this grandfather think about your hockey playing?” she asks. “I’m guessing if a working-class job like playing in the symphony is beneath him, minor league sports are too?”
“Very good guess. He died a few years back. But he had plenty of time to let me know how disappointed he was with my career choice before he passed. And my father has picked up the torch with equal enthusiasm.”
She frowns. “I’m sorry he did that. And that your dad is doing it now.”
I run a hand over my face. “It’s fine. I’ve mostly made peace with it. And I still have a good relationship with my mom.”
“Yeah, she seemed nice,” Gracie says. She’s quiet for a beat before she adds, “I know a little something about what it feels like to disappoint a parent.”
