Page 93 of Built to Fall
Grant coughs pointedly. “I’m still waiting for my thank you.”
Abby releases me just to punch him lightly in the shoulder. “There it is.”
We settle in around her kitchen table, Abby tearing into the cupcakes like she hasn’t eaten anything all day while Grant makes jokes like,“Jeez, does your husband not feed you?”as he scrolls through his phone. Every so often, he snickers to himself.
“What are you doing?” I ask finally, leaning over to try and see his screen.
He turns it toward me without hesitation. It’s a group chat—one that includes half the school, from the looks of it. Someone sent in a photo of us leaving the bakery with the box of cupcakes toNotes of New Haven.Of course, they posted it, the caption reading:
IT’S HAPPENING! BABY VANDENBERG CONFIRMED!
I slap a hand over my mouth to smother a laugh, my shoulders shaking.
“I think we need to come clean.”
Grant sighs, as if he’d rather keep this joke going as long as possible, but he stands anyway. “Come on, Abby. Take a picture with Lina and me.”
Within a few minutes, Grant posted two pictures with the caption:Babysitters, not parents. Please adjust your rumors accordingly.
The first photo is of the three of us smiling with cupcakes in hand, and the second one is of Grant reaching across Abby and smashing his cupcake in my face.
Yeah. I’m not ecstatic about it either.
Abby forces Grant to hold back my hair while I wash the cupcake remnants off my face in the kitchen sink, all while reprimanding him in the way I wish I could if I wasn’t drowning in frosting.
“You’re dead,” I mutter, wiping icing out of my eyelashes while Grant hums innocently above me, his fingers moving through the knots in my hair in the same way he’s seen me do it a hundred times.
“Are you going to Dad’s house for Christmas, Gigi?” Abby asks once the water is no longer running and I’m drying my face with a towel.
“Yeah.” He doesn’t look exceptionally excited about the fact.
I nudge his foot with mine, narrowing my eyes at him in question. Grant doesn’t say anything, just momentarily widens his eyes as if to silently say, “Not right now.”
“Lina, are you going home for the break?” she then asks, and I’m almost certain my face falls in the same way Grant’s did a few moments ago.
“Yeah. I’m going to my aunt’s house,” I choke out.
Abby, thankfully, doesn’t seem to pick up on the shift. She smiles and grabs another cupcake, pulling it apart with her fingers.
“Maybe you can bring your mom a cupcake,” she suggests. “I bet she’d freak out if she knew she was almost a pretend grandma.”
The words hit like a slap. I freeze, and Grant stiffens beside me.
“Abby,” he says sharply, before I can even open my mouth. His voice is low and rough, and it’s pretty clear that he’s pissed.
“It’s okay,” I mumble quickly, because I can see Abby’s face already crumpling in horror. “She didn’t know.”
“No, it’s not.” Abby’s hand flies to her mouth. “Oh my god, Lina, I’m so sorry—I didn’t know, I swear?—”
“I know,” I tell her, trying to sound sincere while nodding frantically. Forcing a small smile, I look down at the towel still clutched in my hands. “It’s okay.”
For a second, no one says anything. Then Abby exhales loudly and falls back against the chair.
“I suck,” she moans, tossing her head dramatically against the back of it. “And this kid is already sucking the life out of me. My feet hurt, my back hurts. I swear to god, Grant, I would payanyamount of money for you to live with me so you can scratch my back until I fall asleep and make me grilled cheese.”
Grant pretends to be annoyed. “Have you forgotten you have a husband?”
“He’s not as good at it. Bless his heart, he tries so hard, but I hadyearsto train you.”
