Page 54 of What I Like About You

“Halle!” Gramps slurs, mouth half-full with pie. “I was saving you some pie. But now I’m eating it. Because I got hungry. Sorry.”

“Oh,” I say. “That’s okay, Gramps.”

I don’t know what to do,Ollie mouths to me.

I’ve never seen Gramps like this before. Okay, so most of the adults in the room are well past sober—but this isGramps. And this isn’t“Islands in the Stream” on Thanksgivingtipsy.

He waves for me to lean closer. Then closer still. I bend down to Gramps-in-a-chair level and rest my hands on my knees. It’s like he wants to whisper something in my ear and oh my God Molly and Nash are watching. This is so embarrassing.

“You might need to drive home tonight,” he whisper-shouts.

Home sounds great. Home sounds like it should happenright now.

“Okay. Should we—”

“There might be more apple pie left. But probably not. It’s really good.”

I stand up, face burning as Gramps laughs too loud. Nash makes eye contact with me and he’s the only one in this kitchen, besides Ollie and me, who looks genuinely concerned. Ollie chugs a glass of water. It’s not funny when the drunk old guy isyourdrunk old guy. And now Gramps is giggling like crazy aboutGod knows what, octaves higher than normal grandpa laughter.

Add giggling to the list of things grandpas shouldn’t do.

I squat back down to Gramps’s level and fake a yawn.

“Can we go?” I ask. “I’m super tired.”

Gramps rolls his eyes.

“Me too,” Ollie says.

“Halle. Oliver,” he says mid-chew. “It’s only”—he glances down at his watch—“ten o’clock.”

“Gramps,” I say. Firm, this time. “Let’s go.”

A statement, not a question.

“Let me finish my damn pie.”

The harshness in his voice takes me aback. The playfulness that accompanied him moments ago vanishes. He’s never raised his voice to me, not even when he was upset about the cupcakes. And it’s just—that’s it. I’m so tired. It’s too much. Too much social interaction, too much constant tension, too mucheverything. I know that he’s hurting, but I’m done.

I hold my hand out to Gramps. “Keys.”

Surprised by my tone, he reluctantly hands them over.

“I’ll be in the car,” I tell Ollie.

Then I bolt, weaving through the nameless strangers. I need to get away from everything about tonight ASAP. Away from the side eye, “Islands in the Stream,” the broccoli. All of it.

“Halle! Halle, wait!”

I don’t wait. I twist the handle and push the door open. Walk down the steps and across the lawn to where Gramps’s Corolla is parked halfway up the sidewalk.

Nash catches up to me as I’m fumbling with the car keys, trying to get the door open. You need to manually open the doors with, like, akey, and my hands are shaking. It can’t just be easy.Shit.

“Halle.” Nash’s voice is quiet. “Can I help?”

I can’t deal with Nash right now. I thought splitting myself made sense. I thought nothing would change. Now everything is changing. I have to file Nash stories in two sections of my brain: stories for Halle and stories for Kels.

Things got way too blurred tonight. It needs to stop.

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