Page 84 of Grace & Henry's Holiday Movie Marathon
Meredith gives me a look that’s all question marks. There wasn’t enough time on the ride over here to tell her everything, I guess. I see her eyes go to Grace and Tim’s wedding photo now. Harry Styles headbutts her other boot.
“Your glasses are really pretty,” Bella tells her.
Meredith smiles and thanks her, and it briefly feels less tense in here, but then Bella says, “So, are you Henry’s girlfriend?” and it’s like she’s rolled a grenade of awkwardness into the living room.
Nadine play-swats Bella’s knee. “Bell Bell, that ain’t your business.”
Harry Styles settles onto Nadine’s lap now to stare at everyone, and Ian takes a stab at blending black and yellow markers on his scratch pad. Unfortunately, like most marker-blending experiments, the result is a dung-colored mess.
“I got an idea, buddy,” I say. “Your art stuff, where do you keep it?”
Both kids point to the corner at a giant white cabinet and say, “Chaos cabinet.”
The “Chaos cabinet” is at least a foot taller than me, and when I open the two big doors, I catch a falling pencil sharpener, a Nerf football, and an extension cord. The art supplies are in a box behind an abandoned Crock-Pot. I dig around until I find his paint set and a blank canvas.
“Forget markers,” I say. “There’s only one true way to blend colors. You know that.”
Ian sighs. “I’m not good at painting, though.”
“That’s not true at all,” I say.
“But I’ll mess it up, and it’ll be terrible.”
“It’s like the paintings at the Walters, remember?” I say. “One step at a time. You’re almost done with your sketch. Here’s your canvas, paints. You’ve got everything you need to crush this.”
Ian pulls his hair again, nervous, then he looks up at me. “Can you…can you stay and help me?”
I look at Meredith because I don’t think this is going to be a flyby after all. She nods a resolute little nod and takes her phone out. “I think I’ll get that Uber.”
“No, I can—”
“Henry,” she says. “It’s okay.”
Nadine seems to understand what shifting to a different artistic medium means. “Um, if y’all are gonna be here a while,” she says, “maybe I can head home?”
“Um,” I say.
“Does anybody want popcorn fish?” asks Bella.
Another drink, a “Take On Me” sing-along with Zoe and Hector, and a few chicken parm fingers later, and I’m back at the high-top with Dom again, standing close to him, our elbows on the table.
“You hit that high note well,” he tells me.
“My vocal range is unrivaled,” I say.
I eat one of the tiramisu shots. The food is amazing, but not enough to dull the warm rush of alcohol moving through my system. I let my cardigan fall open again and track Dom’s eyes, which move across my collarbones. Then I think,Fuck it,and take the dumb thing off entirely. It’s hot in Edgar Allan’s, but the new air on my skin makes me shiver.
“As I was saying,” says Dom. “Nice dress, Gracey.”
“Thanks,” I tell him and lick tiramisu off my upper lip.
“Listen,” he says. “I’m sorry I’ve been kinda distant this year.”
I scan Edgar Allan’s. There are people everywhere, but it feels like we’re alone. I touch Dom’s hand just long enough for the warm, knife-nicked roughness of his skin to register against my palm. “That’s okay,” I say. “I guess it’s complicated.”
“I haven’t really known what to say,” he says, “so I’ve mostly saidnothing, and that was shitty of me. I miss you, though. I liked it better when we were fr—”
The music cuts off—sudden silence—and Dom and I step away from each other. Zoe and Hector are at the head of the bar now, and Zoe shouts, “Your attention, please!”
