Page 15 of Crash and Burn
One: Tell Grant exactly how I felt about him, and have him confess his own feelings for me in return. That was the best-case, most wondrous scenario.
Two: Not telling Grant and keeping our great friendship, but continuing to desperately pine after him in silence. Not as great a scenario.
Three: Telling Grant how I felt and having him give me a pitying look while turning me down, or worse, laughing in my face incredulously. Worst-case scenario. World-ending scenario. The one scenario I didn’t know if I could come back from. I’d finally know for sure how he felt, but I’d also risk losing one of the best friends I'd ever had in the process.
My heart clenched at that thought. The idea of losing Grant was so painful I had to grab at my chest and make sure there wasn't a gaping hole where that heart should be.
No. I couldn't risk it.
I wheeled myself back over to my sewing machine and began to re-thread it, forcing myself to pay attention this time.
This shirt was going to end up so cute, I just knew it. The original shirt had been a steal, only a dollar in the bargain bin. It was sort of ugly but with my skilled touch I was going to transform it into something magical. Like Cinderella's Fairy Godmother, taking rags and turning them into a ball gown. Maybe I could wear it at the next dinner with my parents. Maybe they would compliment me on it.
Or maybe they would go straight to hounding me about my career prospects.
I lifted my foot from the pedal and the sewing machine stopped.
Would it be the worst idea in the world to be an accountant? Or a paralegal? Or any of the other so-called “respectable” jobs my parents wanted for me?
I'd make good money. Sure, I got along well enough at the bar, but a salaried job would no doubt pay much better.
I'd have a simple nine-to-five with weekends off, outside of the occasional time crunches when projects had urgent deadlines. As it was, I worked almost every day of the week, except Mondays when we were closed and the one rotating weekday we each got to book off.
I'd also spend most of my time behind a desk. Right now I was on my feet all day. And if I took an office job, my parents would finally get off my case.
I mean, it was true I couldn't work at the bar forever. It wasn't like I'd do it until I was retired. But I was happy for now. Wasn't that enough for them?
Besides, I couldn't stop thinking about what Grant said about getting into art. Maybe I could start making clothes for people other than myself. Maybe I could sell a few pieces at craft fairs.
I was musing on that idea when my phone buzzed. I glanced over at it.
Hey, was the only message.
It was Grant.
I hurried to swipe it open.
Hey!!I typed, then went back and deleted the two exclamation marks before sending.Hey. What's up?
I just walked past a clothing store that's going out of business,he wrote.Everything's 90% off. Thought you might like to check it out, pick up some new pieces to work with that aren't second-hand and worn out.
My heart thumped heavily. Grant was so always thoughtful.
I'll text you the address,he continued.Better hurry before the good stuff is gone and all you're left with are ugly pea-green overalls or something.
The messages stopped after I texted him thanks, but my rapidly pounding heartbeat didn't slow. A giddy feeling rose up inside me, bubbling to the surface, making my lips stretch wide. Then I cleared my throat and forced my mouth into a flat line. I had to keep myself together. I couldn't swoon over his every word.
Still, Grant was always doing things like this. Always thinking of me.
Did he think about me as often as I thought about him?
A mass of butterflies took wing in my stomach, a sort of panicked nausea mixing with a rising sense of determination.
I couldn't keep this in any longer. I had to tell him.
Besides, Grant would never laugh in my face like I feared. Surely even if he didn't feel the same way, we could stay friends.
Because I couldn't keep on like this. Not for even one more day.
