Page 62 of Fake It Till We Fall
I folded the paper over the box and reached for the tape. “What do you mean?”
“I tried to warn you away from all of this.” My brother sighed. “But since that clearly isn’t going to happen, I’m just going to say one more thing.”
“Why do I doubt that?”
He ignored me. “Just shoot your shot, Gray,” Reid said. “I mean, we’re not kids anymore. What’s the worst that could happen? She doesn’t feel the same way?”
“No,” I said after a moment. “Worse would be telling her, and she leaves again.” I yanked a piece of tape from the roll and stuck it down with more force than necessary.
“Right,” Reid said. “But what if she stays?” He waited a beat before grabbing a bow and sticking it on the box I’d just wrapped. “Think about it, brother. But nothing changes if nothing changes.” He gave me a knowing look, grabbed the present and left, leaving me staring after him.
And thinking.
Because, as much as I hated it. He wasn’t wrong.
I’d already put it out there when it came to the store and Ollie. Why not go all in?
Later, when the last gifts were wrapped and stacked and the suit and beard were ready for me to change into, I slipped out of the community hall and headed down the street toward my house.
At home, I went straight for the top drawer of my dresser.
Behind my socks, it was still there. The little velvet box I’d never been able to part with.
Inside, the promise ring glinted in the dim light. Simple silver with a small amethyst stone. I could still see Harper’s tears of happiness when I’d given it to her, and then the tears of her heartbreak a year later when she’d hurled it at me after I told her I didn’t love her. After I’d told the worst lie of my entire life.
After she’d fled the gym, I’d dropped to my knees and scooped up the ring, unwilling to leave it there.
Now, I turned it over in my fingers, my chest tight.
Maybe it was foolish. Maybe I was setting myself up for even more heartbreak.
But I wasn’t eighteen anymore. I’d lied to her once, to make her go and live her dreams. Maybe this time, if I told her the truth, she’d stay?
I put the ring back and snapped the lid shut.
There was only one way to find out.
Harper
The kitchen wasalive with noise and motion: The scent of sage and butter thick in the air. Pots clattering; steam rising from the stove top. Christmas carols playing from a speaker in the corner. And laughter and easy chatter on top of it all.
Kevin manned the carving station, slicing turkey with laser focus while Erin and two high school volunteers assembled take-out boxes down the line.
Grandma and I worked side by side at the big prep table. We stuffed dinner rolls into bags and scooped cranberry sauce into tiny containers. It felt like the old days, the two of us moving together in rhythm without even trying. It was moments like this as a teenager that made me want to be a chef in the first place. I’d forgotten.
“This reminds me of when you were little,” she said, her cheeks pink from the heat of the kitchen. “Always underfoot, stealing cookie dough from the bowl, and wanting to stir the pots.”
I laughed. “I still want to taste everything,” I said. “But I don’t think I’m quite as in the way as I once was.” I reached for a finger full of cranberry sauce as she swatted me away with a spoon.
It felt good. Really good.
For the first time in years, I wasn’t trying to build a menu among wild guest requests and dietary restrictions, trying to balance in a rocking galley as a boat rode the swells, or trying to source rare ingredients in exotic ports. I was at home, in the kitchen, cooking familiar dishes with my grandma.
And for the first time in a long time, it was enough.
More than enough.
I swallowed, lowering my voice as I reached for another tray. “How do you think it’s working out?” I used my head to gesture to Kevin, who was pulling another roast turkey from the oven. “He’s pretty great, isn’t he?”
