Page 59 of Reaching Ryan

Chapter Twenty-four

Grace

I’m taking way more time than necessary, trying to find something to wear, which is ridiculous, considering I don’t even own enough clothes to fill up a carry-on.

Come on, Grace. It’s a college entrance exam, not high tea with the queen.

Defeated, I grudgingly remind myself that what I wear doesn’t even matter because this is just a stupid pipe dream anyway. Even if I do manage to get in, the tuition is ridiculous. There’s no way I can afford it.

With that in mind, I settle on a pair of dark-wash jeans and a bright blue sweater before shoving my bare feet into a pair of black ballet flats. Yes, it’s March and totally impractical but I’m willing to sacrifice a few toes to frostbite in the name of comfort.

Dressed, I quickly blow-dry my hair and apply a little make-up. Just enough to mask the fact that I didn’t sleep.

Because you were too busy wondering what it would be like if Ryan chose differently. If he’s pulled you closer last night instead of letting you go. If instead of apologizing for the things he said, he put all those dirty words to action and—

Downstairs, the door buzzer erupts across the apartment, its mechanical squall pulling me from my daydream. Seconds later, I hear Ryan saying something to Molly before disengaging the lock and letting whoever it is upstairs. Thinking it might be Henley, stopping by to retrieve her shoes from the corner she kicked them into last night, I check the time. Surely it’s still too early for—

Holy shit.

It’s after 8AM.

Letting out a panicked bleat, I run out of the bathroom and down the hall. “I need you to get your shoes on, Moll—Mom’s running late and I…” I come to a screeching halt somewhere between the living room and the kitchen, coming face-to-face with Mary Gilroy.

“Ahhh…” I stutter it out, mentally fishing for a reason Patrick’s aunt and Declan’s mother would be standing in front of me. “Patrick isn’t here, Mrs. Gilroy.” I look to Ryan for help but he’s too busy staring at his feet to offer any sort of assistance.

“First—my name is Mary,” she says, flashing me the same set of dimples she passed down to her sons. “Second—I’m not here for my nephew—I’m here for Molly.”

“Me?” Molly pipes up from her place next to Ryan.

“Yes. You.” Mary gives me a gentle smile before focusing her attention on Molly. “I figured that since your mom’s got a bunch of boring, grown-up stuff to do today, that you’d want to come hang out with me. I’ve got a whole list of stuff I need to do today and I could use the help.”

“What kind of stuff?” Molly asks, trying to sound skeptical but I can already tell—Mary could tell her they’re going to go back to her house to sort sock and watch paint dry and she’d beg me to go.

“Well…” Mary reaches into her coat pocket and pulls out what looks like an actual list. “I have to bake cookies. And then I have to go to the library for story time and then—”

That’s all it takes for Moll to cross over to the Dark Side.

“Can I go, Mom?” Molly turns to me with wide, pleading eyes. “Please?”

I should say no.

Protest.

Tell this woman that, even though she’s taken care of Molly for me before, I’m perfectly capable of handling the situation on my own, thank you very much, and I don’t need her help.

I don’t need anyone’s help.

Except that I do.

I really do.

So instead of giving her a firm but polite, no thank you, I give in to peer pressure with a defeated sigh. “Yes.”

Five minutes later, with a promise to have her home by dinner time, Molly is bundled into her coat and practically flying down the stairs, dragging a laughing Mary behind her.

As soon as they’re gone. I look at Ryan. “You did that, didn’t you?” I should be mad at him for meddling. For assuming he has a right to make decision concerning Molly without consulting me. I want to be mad, but what I actually am is grateful. “You called her so—”

“This is important, Grace,” he says, giving me an unflinching, apologetic look. “This isn’t cartoon bedsheets and new tennis shoes, this is your future—Molly’s future. If you needed help, you should’ve said something. Asked for it.”

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