Page 19 of The Boyfriend Boycott
“Sure, Mom. Love you,” I say before hanging up the phone and rejoining Grady at the lookout.
“Who was that?” he asks, and I’m sure he can see the shift in my expression. A two-minute conversation with my mother has taken the wind right out of my sails, and I’m suddenly very tired.
“No personal questions,” I remind him, although he catches me in my double standard.
“Hey, if you get to ask me personal questions, I’m allowed to ask them back. One for one,” he argues, and I guess it’s only fair.
“It was my mother. The one and only Marla Sinclair,” I say, trying to mask the bitterness in my voice. “She’s drowning her sorrows in wine because my father announced his engagement to his new girlfriend.”
“How doyoufeel about that? Do you need to go drown your sorrows in wine, too? Because you know, I own a place,” Grady says, his eyes searching my face, making me very awarethat this is information I share withno one.Treading into this territory feels like free falling, and yet, just like when I felt the surge of fear as his motorcycle accelerated the first time, Grady is something solid to hold onto.
“I don’t really get to have an opinion,” I say. “I’ve never had an opinion where my parents’ relationship is concerned. They divorced when I was young.”
“You get to have an opinion now. What is your opinion now?”
I chew the inside of my cheek as I consider Grady’s question, and the fact that he’s cared to ask. No one has ever asked me how I feel where my parents’ dysfunctional relationship is concerned. I let out a long sigh through pursed lips.
“That my mother needs to take a good long look at herself. Otherwise, her relationship with Roy is going to end up the same way as all the others before him. We’re tornados, her and I. We leave a path of destruction everywhere we go. The difference is, I’m aware of it,” I say with a self-deprecating laugh. Grady nods, trying to understand, though I can tell by the line that forms between his brows that he doesn’t. Not really. And I don’t feel like explaining more than I already have. “Okay. That was your personal question. Let’s get back to the drawing board, shall we?”
“What do you have in mind?” Grady shifts gears at the sudden change of topic.
“Jodi made some hard-hitting arguments about your reputation in town.” I begin laying out my plan of attack.
“You really were eavesdropping.” He laughs.
“Yeah, and you can thank me for it later. Pay attention.” I snap my fingers in front of his face.
“Have you ever thought about working for the CIA? You’re really good at spying, Spencer. I bet they’d love to have you.” He’s still laughing, so I smack him on the arm.
“We need to take this seriously if we’re going to get this done in three weeks,” I say, with the straightest face I can manage.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he says, raising both hands in surrender and I flash him a withering stare. “I’ll focus.”
“As I was saying,” I continue, “she said you were the class clown. Which, as it turns out, is something I happen to like about you.” I don’t miss the way his eyebrow quirks at my admission, but I continue, counting out the list of things we need to tackle on my fingers. “She said you own the local dive bar, so she clearly has an issue with that, even though people love the Whisky Jack. And she pointed out that you’re in direct competition with the new restaurant, which implied that you have an ulterior motive and are just afraid to lose customers, right?”
“When you put it that way, it seems pretty bleak, doesn’t it?”
“I mean, I’m not going to lie to you, Grady. We have our work cut out for us,” I say. “But we’re going to attack this from all angles, step by step. I think we can make this work.”
“What’s in it for you? You never told me why you’re even helping me with this.”
And for good reason,I think. I don’t want to jinx this one shot I’ve been given. Anytime I’ve ever allowed myself to think something is a sure thing, it gets ripped out from underneath me. Not this time.
“It may be hard to believe, because I’m so well-adjusted and normal,” I start, but Grady cuts me off.
“No one is well-adjusted and normal, Spencer. We’re all a little fucked up in our own way.” I nod in agreement, and I can’t help but think that Grady and I might make a good team after all.
“Well, I’ve never had anything like this,” I say, and I hold my hands up, gesturing to the town below. “I understand why you want to protect it so badly. I do. Because I would give anything for it. Somewhere to call home, to feel grounded. If this issuccessful, I might finally have a shot at some stability.” I leave out the part where if I don’t get this job, I will lose all the ground I’ve gained to create an established life for myself. It would technically make me homeless, and the thought makes me feel panicky in a way that he could never understand. You can’t understand it when you’ve grown up with two stable parents for a good part of your childhood. Not to mention, in a beautiful home on a sprawling property.
“Fair enough.” Grady accepts my half-answer, but I can still hear some wariness in his tone.
“Do you trust me?” I ask. For this to work, he has to put his faith in me and follow my suggestions, even though I have no idea what I’m doing. But Grady doesn’t have to know that.
“I don’t have a choice, do I?” Not a convincing answer, but I’ll take it.
“First things first,” I say, “you need to lose the bike.”
“Absolutely the fuck not.” Grady just about shouts, his expression looks like I’ve just told him I enjoy kicking puppies.
