Page 144 of What I Like About You

I chew on the inside of my cheek. “I wish I knew that.”

Gramps sighs. “I didn’t know how to tell you. It felt weak. But it’s the best thing I’ve ever done. I can talk about her. I can build bookshelves and eat cupcakes and read her favorite books—the memories aren’t so suffocating anymore. I needed help.”

“That’s not weak.”

He dips his finger into the frosting bowl on the table. “I know that. I guess what I’m wondering is—do you?”

“Um, I’ve never thought about it.”

It’s the truth—the thought of therapy has never crossed my mind, not once. I know crowded spaces and too-loud voices trigger panic attacks. I know that if death even crosses my mind in the dark when I’m trying to fall asleep, I’ll be tossing and turning for hours.

I know my anxiety. I know Ollie can always calm me down.

Except Ollie won’t always be there. I mean, it’s not like I can take him to NYU with me.

I know my triggers, but do I really know how to deal with them on my own?

I don’t know.

“Well, you’re always welcome to come to a group session withme. Open invitation. If you want to. Whenever you’re ready—and if you’re not, that’s okay too. I know you’re going through a lot, and I don’t know how to help. I hate that. But this might. Help, I mean.”

I close my eyes.Breathe. “I’ll think about it.”

Gramps nods. “Okay.”

I stand up, certain that this too-real conversation is over for now.

“One more thing, Hal,” Gramps says, and my butt reglues itself to the kitchen chair. “It’s about BookCon. I’ve thought about this, um, a lot. And as much as I want to be at your panel, I can’t do it. I just … I’m not ready yet, I’m afraid.”

I swallow. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry, Hal. I’ll accompany you to New York, of course. But I don’t want you to think—”

I shake my head. “I promise I don’t.”

“I’m proud of you. Mir would be too, you know.”

“Gramps. Stop it. I’m blushing.”

“I only speak truth.”

I stand up, transferring the dirty bowls from the table to the sink. “I screwed up. Bad.”

“Everyone screws up. Let me be proud.”

I point to my flaming cheeks. “Nope. Stop it.”

He sighs. “Fine. You’re the worst. Please tell me there are cupcakes on the counter.”

Of course the cupcake container is freshly stocked with Maple Street Sweets cupcakes. Sawyer baked this batch himself,and they’re almost as good as mine. “Red velvet or vanilla and chocolate?”

Gramps narrows his eyes at me. “What do you think?”

“Cream cheese frosting?”

He nods. “Cream cheese frosting.”

May 28

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