Page 116 of Faking All the Way
I try to push those thoughts aside as I get out of the car and head up the walkway.
My grandmother opens the door a few moments after I knock, her face lighting up when she sees me. “Kat! What a wonderful?—”
But then she really sees my face, and her excitement shifts to worry, her smile dropping away. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
I open my mouth to speak—to say something normal and fine, to pretend everything is okay. But instead of words coming out, all that emerges is a sob, loud and ugly, breaking free from my chest.
My grandmother lets out a soft, empathetic gasp, then pulls me into a hug, wrapping her arms around me as if she can shield me from whatever’s hurting. We stand in the doorway for a long moment, me crying into her shoulder while she rubs my back in slow circles.
When we finally separate, she gestures toward the living room. “Come in, sweet girl. Let’s talk.”
She settles me on the couch, then puts coffee and Christmas cookies on the coffee table in front of me. She sits down beside me, reaching over to take my hand. Her skin is soft and papery with age, but her grip is strong as she squeezes my fingers. “Now, what happened? What’s going on?”
I swallow hard, my throat raw and tight. I should’ve known she’d have questions, should’ve prepared some kind of explanation, but I didn’t really think ahead about how I would answer them.
“It all happened so fast,” I say slowly, speaking around the truth as well as I can while still summing up where I’ve found myself now. “Things… developed between me and Asher really quickly. This spark of chemistry between us, you know? It was intense and overwhelming. But then it all fell apart just as fast.”
It’s not entirely a lie. The feelings developed fast, even if the relationship itself was built on a foundation of pretending. But it’s nowhere near the full truth either.
My grandmother winces, sympathy clear on her face. “What happened? You two seemed so good together.”
I shake my head, fresh tears threatening to spill over. “We’re just from different worlds. It was never going to work long term.”
“What do you mean?”
Alexis’s words flash through my head again, as sharp and cutting as when she first said them. They’ve been on repeat for three days now, a constant loop that I can’t seem to shut off no matter how hard I try.
“Asher is a pro athlete.” I shrug, gesturing helplessly. “He’s about to join this successful team in Denver. A major NHL team with millions of dollars and media attention. He’ll be surrounded by glamorous women who fit that world, who knowhow to dress and act at fancy events. Who look like they belong there.” I swallow hard, the words painful to say out loud. “But I’ll never fit in there. I’m not that kind of woman. It will never be my place.”
More tears seep out, hot on my cheeks, and I brush them away.
Sadness crosses my grandmother’s face, but it’s mixed with something else. Something that looks almost like frustration. She squeezes my hand tighter. “First of all, that’s not true. Your place is any-damn-where that you choose to make it.”
The sass in her voice, the firmness of it, catches me off guard, and I let out a watery laugh despite the pain crushing my chest.
Then she gets more serious, turning to face me more fully. “Did you know that your grandfather came from money?”
I frown, shaking my head. I knew my grandfather’s family was well off, but the way she’s describing it makes it sound like a bigger deal than I was aware of.
“Well, he did.” She purses her lips. “Old money. The kind with trust funds and country clubs and expectations about who you marry. His family had been wealthy for generations. I was a secretary when we met, working at his father’s law firm in Richmond, typing up contracts and making coffee and answering phones.”
I stare at her, my eye brows rising. “I never knew that. You never told me.”
“We didn’t talk about it much. It never seemed important after we were married, after we’d built our life together.” She smiles softly, then chuckles. “But when he first asked me out, I turned him down flat. I thought he was joking or maybe just looking for some fun with the help. Kept turning him down for months, actually. Every time he’d ask, I’d make some excuse.”
“Why?”
“Because I was convinced he could never be serious about me. That someone like him, from his world, couldn’t really want someone like me. Our places in society were too different. His family had expectations, and I knew I’d never meet them. I was too plain, too poor, too ordinary.”
Her words hit close to home, echoing my own fears so precisely that I wince.
“What changed?” I ask, leaning in a little.
“He wore me down with persistence.” She smirks, and I can definitely picture my grandfather doing just that. He died about ten years ago, but he was a stubborn, charming man. “He kept showing up at my little section of the office with coffee. Started timing his lunch breaks to match mine so we’d run into each other. Sent me flowers with notes that made me laugh. His family was horrified, of course. They made that very clear. But he didn’t care.”
She pauses, her gaze growing distant as she gets lost in the memory. “But more than his persistence, I realized I was being foolish. That I was about to let fear rob me of years of happiness. Decades of it, potentially. All because I was scared.”
“What made you realize that?”
