Page 52 of Stuck with Me

My mind wrestles with spilling my guts to her. What I just learned from Aunt Sara. What I think. What I feel.

Because as much as I don’t want to admit it, we’re in this thing together. We’re both blind when it comes to the relationship between our grandparents. If we want to learn more, we need each other.

I clear my throat and she glances over her shoulder at me. But when we make eye contact, she groans. She flicks her attention away and returns it to the snow-covered ground and trees that continue as far as we can see.

“Have you ever noticed these initials engraved in the swing?”

She doesn’t turn around at first. I wonder if she heard me. I wonder if I asked the question out loud at all.

“And the heart?” I continue.

Turning slowly, she’s biting at the corner of her lower lip. She nods. “Why?”

“And you didn’t think to show me yesterday?”

She rolls her eyes and shrugs. Shit. I’ve probably pissed her off again and she’s gonna give me the silent treatment. As much as I didn’t mind the break from hearing her speak, I need her to start talking now.

“What does it matter to you?”

“The initials. G.R. + L.M. That’s our grandparents. You knew that?”

Her brows pinch together, and her usual pouty lips make anOshape that’s honestly the hottest thing I’ve seen her do yet.

Must focus.

She shakes her head. “No,” it comes out in a whisper. She shuffles over slowly. Like if it takes her a while to reach the swing, it won’t be true.

I wait for her to see it. I wait for it to soak in. I don’t know why I do. Why should I be considerate and allow her the time I had to let it register and all that it means? I guess because I know just how bad the repercussions are if you don’t let things process. Rosie doesn’t seem to suffer from panic attacks, but this information should be shocking for her too.

“This has always been here. I assumed it was here before Gigi bought the cabin.” She brushes some dust away from the indents with the pad of her thumb.

“Your grandmother’s maiden name was Russo. Giana Russo. G.R. My grandad’s name was Leonardo Moretti. L.M.”

Her eyes gloss over while she stares at the jagged initials etched in the wood surrounded by the heart. “So what? This doesn’t mean anything.”

I narrow my eyes at her and tilt my head. I don’t know who she’s trying to fool. Me or herself.

“You know as well as I do, this means a whole hell of a lot. Those two didn’t jus’ have a summer fling.”

“It’s just a silly heart,” she snaps, crossing her arms against her chest. “Lots of kids do stuff like this.”

“Yeah? Do people buy cabins together who aren’t really in love? Does a guy build a porch swing for a girl if he doesn’t really love her? And then do they carve their names in it?” I rise to my feet in front of her. “Does a guy give a family heirloom to a girl if he doesn’t really love her?”

“Just stop,” she says.

“We’re fooling ourselves thinking what they had was nothing. They loved each other. And they never even fucking told us.”

“I’m sure they had their reasons.”

“Yeah, because they were having an affair for over fifty years.”

“Shut up,” she snaps. “Just shut the hell up. Gigi would never do that. She loved my grandpa.”

“Yeah, well, the signs are telling otherwise.”

“Don’t ever fucking talk about my grandma like that again.”

I hold up my palms in surrender and she shoves me in the chest with her forearm as she goes to storm passed me.

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