Page 133 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
I reach out and squeeze her hand. “I’m not on my own. I have you.”
“You know that’s not good enough. Not long term.” She tugs me toward her so we’re standing even closer and lifts a wrinkled hand to my cheek. “You’re a fighter, Lila. You always have been. And you’re more than enough for that little boy. All by yourself, you’re enough.”
I sense thebutto her sentence and wait for it, even though I know exactly where she’s steering the conversation.
“But youcanstart dating, honey,” she says. “It’s been three years. Have you thought about it at all?”
Perry’s smile flashes in my mind’s eye, and my gut tightens. “Maybe? Honestly, it still feels impossible.”
She studies me, one eyebrow lifted. “Why do I feel like there’s something you aren’t saying?”
I wrinkle my nose. This woman knows me too well. “Fine.MaybeI’m starting to think it’s time for me to try. I don’t know. I think the whole breakfast dilemma has me recognizing how much I want Jack to have a father figure in his life.”
Grandma June’s eyes brighten. “Oh, honey. Of course you do. You know, my neighbor next door, she’s got a couple of granddaughters in high school, and she just mentioned the other day how much money they’re making babysitting. I could get their number for you.”
Babysitting? I guess it would be necessary if I were going on actual dates, which . . .oh man.A wave of fear washes over me. The idea ofPerrymight feel a tiny bit enticing, but pick-me-up-on-the-doorstep dating? Dinners and movies and babysitters? Just so I can dive into the drama of awkward conversations and worry about whether my breath still smells like the onions thatwere on the cheeseburger I ate at lunch and whether I should expect a kiss at the end of the night? Am I really ready for all of that?
Except, wait—is that even what dating is when you’re an adult? I might have a bigger problem on my hands than just the possibility of onion breath. Do people even think about kissing at the end of the night, or is it just assumed? And what aboutmorethan kissing? First date? Third date? Are there rules about this sort of thing?
Everyone referred to “bases” back in high school, but even back then, I never really figured out what they all were. When my best friend sat down at the lunch table and triumphantly declared she’d made it to second base with her boyfriend, I genuinely thought they’d gone to a baseball game and somehow snuck onto the field. It wasn’t until weeks later that I finally figured out what she meant.
As for me, there’s only one man who has ever gottenmore, and I married him when I was nineteen. Needless to say, my experience is limited.
I offer Grandma June a smile I hope is convincing. “Yeah, maybe. I’ll think about it.”
She lifts an eyebrow, her expression saying she isn’t buying my lackluster acquiescence. “Any man would be lucky to have you in his life, Lila. Maybe even that new boss of yours.”
I roll my eyes. I’ve only had one conversation with Grandma June about going to rescue my stranded boss. It only took her about fifteen seconds to turn it into the opening scenes of one of the Hallmark movies she loves to watch so much. “Don’t you start this again.”
“Start what?” she says innocently. “Stranger things have happened.”
Stranger things, maybe. But I don’t need Grandma June fanning the flames of whatever hope I’ve got regarding my verygrumpy boss. If I let her or Marley or anyone else encourage me, I’m liable to fall, regardless of whether Perry is actually interested. And that feels like a very good way to both embarrass myselfandlose my job.
“He’s my boss, Grandma. I’m not hoping for anything beyond that.”
“Fine, fine,” she says with a huff. “You’re lying, but I won’t push it.”
I shoot Grandma June a saucy look before moving into the living room, where I lean down and kiss my grandpa’s weathered cheek. “Hey, Grandpa. What’s the latest? How are your Spelling Bee numbers this week?” We’ve been playing the New York Times Spelling Bee online game for the past few months, comparing scores and keeping track of who scores the highest the most frequently.
He grunts a hello, his hand reaching for mine and tugging me onto the couch beside him. I nestle into his shoulder, pulling my feet up under me just like I did when I was a kid. This isn’t the house I grew up in, but it isthe same couch, and the familiarity of the moment is a balm to my soul. Only the presence of the walker set just to the side of where Grandpa Jamison is sitting reminds me that all is not what it used to be. “I made it to genius level every day this week,” Grandpa says, his voice scratchy and thin. “How’d you do?”
“Every day? Are you serious?”
He chuckles. “Didn’t do that great, huh?”
I huff. “I only got to genius level once. What was the pangram yesterday?”
“Naïvely ,” he says, tossing me a knowing grin.
“Naïvely ? Really? How did I not get that one?”
“You’re too smart to be naïve,” he says, nudging me with his elbow. “The word wouldn’t come to your mind.”
Huh. I may not be naïve anymore, but I was naïve enough for a lifetime when I met Trevor. Naïve enough to think pausing my dreams and marrying him was a good idea. Naïve enough to miss all the warning signs for what they were. But there’s no point in hashing that out with Grandpa Jamison.
“You want to watch some baseball?” he asks as he reaches for the remote.
“Ugh. Not even a little bit,” I say, though even baseball would be better than stressing over my past choices. I just have to remember that Trevor brought me Jack, and he’s worth whatever else I’ve been through.
