I clear my head of the daze. “Of course.”
She embraces me as if I’m fragile.
I sigh, thinking about how I’ve missed having family. Having grandparents. Plus, they’ve come all the way here to meet me. Surely, they flew all this way because they wanted to make amends?
I promised myself I’d give this meeting a chance.
I pull her closer, and my arms tighten around her. She sighs this contented little sound into my neck, and I smile when she whispers, “Thank you.”
Before she returns to her seat, she flashes me a smile brighter than the one before, her eyes shimmering with tears, which triggers a lump to form in my throat.
Swallowing hard, I face my grandfather, offering my hand in a handshake. His smile is . . . shy. Like he’s nervous to share it with me, yet he can’t help it.
Once we’re all seated, the waiter appears, as though he’s been standing by for us to complete our pleasantries and take our orders, then leaves.
We stare at each other in silence as I fiddle with my hands on my lap.
Finally, I ask, “Did you have a good drive?”
Emily nods. “We couldn’t wait to see you. It’s been so long.” She clasps her husband’s hand, smiling. “We miss you.”
Wow. That’s rich coming from the same people who didn’t want me in the first place.
Crap. There goes my bitterness rearing its head. Clearly, I have lingering baggage I need to unpack. As much as I want to get that issue sorted, this is not the right place or time.
I force a smile. “I’m happy you made it here.”
The waiter arrives with our drinks; beer for my grandfather, white wine for my grandmother, and a mint soda for me. My gaze darts to the wine longingly, thirsty for something to calm my nerves and wishing I wasn’t driving later.
“How is school? Are you enjoying it?” my grandmother asks. From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of my grandfather watching me. I can’t read his expression, which makes me even edgier.
“I love it. The professors and—”
“You chose this college over Brown?” William cuts me off. ‘’You’re a Miller. Every one of us attended Brown for generations.”
I stare at him, dumbfounded. Emily shoots him a glare and mutters, “William.”
Recovering quickly, I take a sip of my drink while taking deep breaths, then say, “It was my choice. I’m happy at James Fredricks.”
He narrows his eyes. “Your mother, she’s too weak. She shouldn’t have given you free rein to choose what you want. We’re paying for your college education. We should have been involved—”
“William, stop,” Emily whispers, pleading.
My face heats as anger swims through my veins. “We didn’t ask for your help.”
The waiter swings by to deliver our dinner, and we fall silent, tension crackling in the air. As soon as he leaves, I lock my jaw and meet my grandfather’s gaze.
“Don’t get me wrong. I am grateful for your help.” I breathe deeply, gathering courage for what I have to say. “But I won’t sit here and listen to you talk about my mother like this. Mom is not weak. She single-handedly raised me when you two gave up on her. On us.”
“Grace, I apologize for William—”
I shake my head. “You know, when we first met a few years ago, I didn’t understand why you and my mother were estranged. I got to know what happened later, and I still can’t believe how you could disown your own daughter. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for her.”
I pause, taking another deep breath. Am I overreacting? When it comes to my mother, let’s just say she’s a no-go area. She’s made mistakes in her life, but she’s my hero. No one talks shit about her and gets away with it.
“I wanted to give you both a chance. To get to know you.” I push my chair back, tears prickling my eyes, and stand.
“Grace, please. Please stay. You haven’t even eaten anything,” my grandmother pleads. “We’re driving back early in the morning, and we . . . I really wanted to get to know you.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think I can. I’ll call you, okay?”
She’s looking at me with a face so similar to my mother’s, I can’t stop myself from leaning down and placing a peck on her cheek.
I grab my coat and purse, then march out of the restaurant. I hear her say, “You broke your promise, William.”
Whatever.
Swallowing the tears threatening to fall, I straighten my shoulders and head out.
Outside, I jog to my car with my head down to keep the cold breeze off my face. My phone buzzes with a text. I fish it out of my purse and unlock my screen.
MJ: How’s dinner with Emily and William?
Me: Didn’t happen.
MJ: Ugh. I wish you had come home with me. You ok?
Me: I’m good. Chat tomorrow?
MJ: Nope. Will call you after dinner with the ’rents.
I shove the phone back inside my purse. Looks like I’ll be spending Thanksgiving Day alone, which is a good thing. I need to sort out my feelings about the almost dinner I just had with my grandparents.
On my way to the dorm, I call Levi to tell him how dinner went and that I’m not sure I’ll be good company with the way I’m feeling. He asks if he can come over, and I tell him he shouldn’t. He needs to spend this time with his family. He’s incredibly sweet, this boy.
After the phone call, I grab fries and a burger from McDonald’s since I didn’t really finish eating my dinner and my stomach keeps grumbling as a reminder. When I get to the dorm, I set everything on my desk and head out to the bathroom to take a shower, then slip on my flannel unicorn pajamas.
Ten minutes later, I’m sitting on the bed shoving a bunch of fries into my mouth and watching Elf when my phone buzzes with a text. I press pause on the movie and wipe my hands with a napkin before unlocking the screen. I tap on the tiny envelope.
And I stop breathing for, like, three seconds as I stare at the text.
Then, air rushes out my lips and my pulse thuds in my ear because, Sol.
Sol: Happy Thanksgiving, Gracie.
I read and reread those words, my desperation for someone to talk to propelling me to pick up my phone and quickly type: Thank you. Happy Thanksgiving, Sol.
Seconds later, three dots appear on the screen and my heart races so fast. Impossibly fast.
Sol: Thank you. ☺
The dots appear again, then stop. Then pick up again. I swear God is trying to test my patience or something. What does he want to say? Why does he keep stopping?
Me: You feeling better? Mom told me you were sick.
He doesn’t answer. I wait one. Two. Three minutes. I want to crawl through the screen and see what’s going on on the other side.
My phone starts ringing, the sound so sudden and loud, causing me to jump in shock. I stare at the number starting with a familiar country code—plus three-nine followed by a long string of numbers. There’s only one person I know who is in Italy.
Sol.
Before I know what I’m doing, my finger swipes the screen to answer the call, then I press the phone to my ear. There’s crackling on the line before it evens out, followed by silence. Throat clearing, then. . .
“Grace?” Sol calls my name like a question, his voice scratchy as if he’s just woken up.