Page 1 of Giving Grace

One

Grace

It’s for the best.

That’s what I keep telling myself.

It’s for the best.

I don’t have time for…whatever Ryan is. I don’t have time to chase it, whatever this stupid thing between us is.

I have a daughter.

I’m trying build a life.

A real life.

Not the half-assed existence I was leading in Ohio. Still sleeping in the same bed I’ve slept in since I was barely older than Molly. Working at the post office with my mom. Picking up shifts at the local dive bar so I can afford to keep my kid in cheap shoes and crunchy peanut butter. Ignoring the whispers and pointed stares that people lob behind my back when I take Molly to the Dairy Queen or run into ALDI to pick up a loaf of bread.

I’m trying to build something real here and the last thing I need is someone like Ryan O’Connell fucking up my efforts.

Messing with my head.

Giving me hope.

Really, Grace? I think you have hope confused with orgasms. Understandable since you’ve never really had much of either one.

Jesus.

And the worst part?

I mean the absolute worst—he was right.

Last night, when he shut me down. Told me he was sleeping on the couch because he didn’t want to confuse Molly.

He was right.

There I was, living in Fantasy Land, build it all up in my head into something more. Something it clearly isn’t. Flying so fast and so high that Ryan had to pull the brakes and remind me that hey, dumbshit—you have a daughter to consider here. You can’t just invite a virtual stranger into your bed without consequence.

So, in conclusion, I’m stupid and desperate.

And a bad mother.

So bad that it’s nearly 10AM and I’m still in bed. Not sleeping. Hiding. I’m hiding like the spineless, desperately stupid bad mom that I am because even though Molly got up hours ago, I can’t make myself even crawl out of bed to use the bathroom.

Because he’s out there and my tail is still firmly tucked between my legs.

Because I made it all into something it wasn’t.

Tipped my hand.

Asked for too much and got reminded that just because someone wants to fuck you, that doesn’t mean they necessarily want you.

Shit.

Now I’m crying.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I start to remind myself of all the reasons this is a good thing. Why this is for the best. Why I—

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