Page 58 of The Boyfriend Boycott
“Oh. Yeah,” Ally concedes. “That was one time.”
“And Jeremy?” I say, referencing a date that Ally set me up on a couple years after high school. Some guy that she met in her biology class. That was a special one because it is simultaneously one of the worst dates I’ve ever experienced and one of my best anecdotes to tell at parties. “The guy sat facingawayfrom me the entire dinner. He didn’t ask me one question and answered all of mine with one word. It was like he was terrified of women.”
“Okay fair enough. But Spencer, isn’t this what everyone wants?” She gestures at the cozy cabin around us. “I mean, notthis exactly. Don’t get married and don’t have kids if you don’t want to, but wouldn’t you want a life where you aren’t running anymore? Where you aren’t fighting for your life to have something stable?”
“Yes. I do. That’s what I have been working towards. That’s why I need this job. Relationships are risky, Ally. You’re putting your life in someone else’s hands. I’ve worked too hard for far too long to throw it all away for some guy.” I catch the words as they come out of my mouth.Some guy. It’s how I would have described all the other guys I’ve been with, but it is not how I would describe Grady. In all honesty, that’s what makes the risk even scarier. I wouldn’t just be betting my livelihood now, I’d also be betting my heart.
“That’s where trust comes in. Do you trust Grady? I can tell you with absolute certainty that man would do anything for you,” Ally says. The word ‘trust’ snags on a memory I’ve tucked away. The day I asked Grady to trust me implicitly with hisproject. He extended his trust to me so easily, so why can’t I do the same?
Poppy nods in agreement with Ally, and I catch my mother doing the same. Great. They’re all ganging up on me now.
“This is girls’ night, not an intervention,” I remind them, excusing myself to refill my wine glass and hide the flush still staining my cheeks. If this is how tonight is going to go, I may as well just start drinking out of the bottle.
“It’s true though, Spencer. Just the other day, Grady came into the café and there was something … different about him. Like he was taller, if that’s physically possible. He wanted a bag of coffee beans, specifically ones with the most caffeine. He said if he couldn’t give you coffee in an IV drip, he could at least make sure the house was stocked with the best beans. So, I gave him my favourite blond roast.”
Fuck.Grady has broken the rules more times than I can even count.
“I also see the things he does for you around the house,” Marla chimes in again. “Yesterday I came upstairs and found him staring at your underwear, a puzzled look on his face because he had done laundry for you and was trying desperately to figure out how to fold them.”
Jesus. Doing my laundry and folding my underwear? That’s not even boyfriend shit, that’s like, husband-level shit at this point. I bite the inside of my bottom lip, contemplating how I might still be able to make a clean break without shattering Grady—or myself—to smithereens in the process. We’ve somehow become intertwined, connected in a way that I never intended on happening. Now the idea of leaving feels daunting. No, impossible. The thought of being away from Grady, being away from here, makes my heart ache.
My mind drifts back to this morning, being up in the hot air balloon with him. The exquisiteness of that moment, the warmthof the sun dawning on me. It found its way through the cracks and lit up the dark corners of my heart. That golden, healing light caressed my face as if to say,Today is a new day. You are a new you.As if I have the choice to wake up and choose the path for my life. It didn’t feel like a coincidence that the person standing next to me in that moment was Grady.
Then we landed, and the reality of my life snapped me out of whatever delusion I had let myself live in for that moment. I am choosing my path. I’m choosing the path that feels safe, where I have control, and I still have so much work to do.
Grady isn’t homewhen we get back. The house is quiet. I give my mom a hug when we say goodnight and hold onto her a little longer, a little tighter than normal. She looks back at me, her eyes misty, before retreating down the stairs to the guest suite.
There’s a note on the counter when I go upstairs and into the kitchen for a glass of water.
Won’t be home until late. Feel free to enjoy some “self-care” in the meantime … You deserve it.
I have a feeling I know what’s waiting for me in the bedroom, but a flutter of excitement still ripples through my chest when I see it. Grady has left me a box of bath bombs, and a vibrator. One of the little ones that’s designed to apply suction precisely where you want it.
But his words lodge in my chest, emptying me from within.You deserve it.
I don’t deserve anything, certainly not Grady.
First the dress, then the camera, and now this. If he’s trying to win me over with gifts, I should tell him that he doesn’t have to. My heart is already his, and I’m going to have to rip it out so he can keep it when I leave. That’s what I deserve. I deserve to feel every bit as broken-hearted as I know he will.
I’m in and out of sleep after having a relaxing bubble bath, half aware of the front door opening sometime after midnight, the sound of Grady’s movements through the quiet house soothing, comforting. I feel my body slacken into the mattress, relieved that he’s home.
He shuffles around the kitchen before padding down the hall to the bedroom. I turn over, curling the duvet up under my chin and drifting off momentarily when Grady leans over me. He brushes my hair off my face and leans down to place a featherlight kiss on my forehead. I’m about to turn over, to pull him into me, when he whispers into the dark.
“I love you.”
I keep my eyes shut tight and pray that he can’t hear the way my heart is thundering in my chest.
I wake up early,before the sun starts to stream through the curtains, and silently make my way out the front door. I let it gently click behind me, and pull my hood up around my neck against the damp chill of the morning. The sky is just starting to brighten, the sun not quite visible over the mountains, leaving the town cold in their shadow.
I get into Grady’s car using the key I took off the hook by the front door. My eyes catch on something that wasn’t there before. A little hula girl on the dash. I know Grady put her there for me, and it tugs on my heart thinking about him going to pick it out.
I turn the key in the ignition, and Grady’s car rumbles to life. I wince a bit, hoping that the noise isn’t enough to wake him. He was still asleep when I left, and I hope he’ll still be asleep when I get home.
The streets of Heartwood are becoming familiar to me now, especially this route. I would know my way to Ally’s even if she lived halfway around the world. She’s the one person I will always find my way back to. Except now, I think that statement is true about Grady as well. A feeling nags at the back of my mind, that this is part of what I’ll be missing out on when I leave. The ability to just go over to Ally’s on a Sunday morning.
Ally answers the door when I knock on it, pulling a plush robe around her swollen belly. Her blue-green eyes are still sleepy, strawberry blond hair unbrushed and wild instead of in her usual tidy ponytail.
“Spencer? What time is it?” she says in a hushed voice, glancing back over her shoulder to where Mason is still in bed, his soft snoring audible from here.
