thoughts.
I nod, my face heating up. Caffeine is exactly what I need right now. She gets up and leaves the room, tugging Grant along with her. I groan and bury my head in my hands. Does she ever let up?
“What is it?” Max asks, amused.
“You really didn’t catch that less-than-subtle yank at Grant’s shirt to let him know they needed to leave us alone?” I ask dryly.
“Honestly, no. I’m pretty sure guys don’t give shit like that enough thought.” He chuckles. “Maybe she just needed help.”
“To make a couple of coffees? Trust me, I know my sister.”
“So, how’s Tilly doing? Hasn’t beaten anyone to a pulp yet?” he asks, his voice light.
“You tell me. Though this Jimmy kid seems to have gotten the message not to mess with my kid.” I grin and he laughs.
“Yeah, I’ve been dealing with Jimmy’s mother all week. She wanted me to take stronger action against Tilly to ensure this type of thing doesn’t happen again.”
“Seriously?” I gasp. “Maybe she should have a word to her son about not picking on a little girl whose father is not well.”
“I’m sorry about your fiancé. Grant told me a little bit about what happened. I hope that was okay.”
I shrug. “He wouldn’t have said anything you couldn’t have found out yourself in the newspapers.”
“Three years is a long time, but I bet it feels like yesterday.”
“It does,” I say, surprised by his understanding. “Sometimes I catch myself going a day without thinking about him and I feel guilty about moving on.” I make a face. “And then I’m torn between my family thinking I’ve grieved enough for him, and his family, who thinks I should stand by him forever. It’s like they expect him to suddenly wake up one day.” I laugh, blinking back tears. “Their hope is what gets them out of bed every morning.”
“And you don’t have that hope?” he asks.
“Tilly is what keeps me going—nothing else,” I shrug. “How about we talk about something less tragic than my life?” I suggest with a smile.
“Sure,” he says, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Grant tells me you like art?”
“Yes,” I sigh, happy to be moving on to a subject that makes me feel good. “I’ve always loved it. Even as a little kid I’d spend all my time drawing and painting. I mean, I’m not very good, but it’s something I can do to help me escape when I need to.”
“What do you do with the things you paint?” he asks.
“Give them to family,” I blush. “I have a stack of my work in the spare room of my house, gathering dust.”
“Is there anything here you did?” he asks, glancing around at the various art pieces on the walls.
My face reddens as I point to a portrait of Cassie hanging on the far wall. “I did that one.” I point to another, this one a landscape painting that hangs above the fireplace. “And that.”
He gets up, and walks over to study them. “These are fucking amazing,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “And you don’t see talent in these?”
“They’re not bad,” I say, embarrassed. “But I’m by no means good in comparison to what you’d see in a gallery.”
“I’d pay for these.” I laugh, but stop when I realize he isn’t joking. “I’m serious. I want to see what else you have.”
“Okay,” I shrug, not sure what else I can say. “You can come over sometime and see them.” My stomach tightens. Why did I say that? I should’ve said I’ll give some to Grant to pass on to him, because now I’ve pretty much agreed to see him again.
“Great,” he grins, sitting back down next to me.
It’s after Eleven when I finally leave. Tilly’s long gone to sleep, and though I feel as though I could talk all night with Max, I know I need to take a step back. I say goodbye to Ellie and Grant, who suddenly have the urge to tidy the kitchen and suggest Max walk me out. I laugh helplessly at my stubborn, stupid, pushy sister who I love more than anything.
“Sorry if
I nod, my face heating up. Caffeine is exactly what I need right now. She gets up and leaves the room, tugging Grant along with her. I groan and bury my head in my hands. Does she ever let up?
“What is it?” Max asks, amused.
“You really didn’t catch that less-than-subtle yank at Grant’s shirt to let him know they needed to leave us alone?” I ask dryly.
“Honestly, no. I’m pretty sure guys don’t give shit like that enough thought.” He chuckles. “Maybe she just needed help.”
“To make a couple of coffees? Trust me, I know my sister.”
“So, how’s Tilly doing? Hasn’t beaten anyone to a pulp yet?” he asks, his voice light.
“You tell me. Though this Jimmy kid seems to have gotten the message not to mess with my kid.” I grin and he laughs.
“Yeah, I’ve been dealing with Jimmy’s mother all week. She wanted me to take stronger action against Tilly to ensure this type of thing doesn’t happen again.”
“Seriously?” I gasp. “Maybe she should have a word to her son about not picking on a little girl whose father is not well.”
“I’m sorry about your fiancé. Grant told me a little bit about what happened. I hope that was okay.”
I shrug. “He wouldn’t have said anything you couldn’t have found out yourself in the newspapers.”
“Three years is a long time, but I bet it feels like yesterday.”
“It does,” I say, surprised by his understanding. “Sometimes I catch myself going a day without thinking about him and I feel guilty about moving on.” I make a face. “And then I’m torn between my family thinking I’ve grieved enough for him, and his family, who thinks I should stand by him forever. It’s like they expect him to suddenly wake up one day.” I laugh, blinking back tears. “Their hope is what gets them out of bed every morning.”
“And you don’t have that hope?” he asks.
“Tilly is what keeps me going—nothing else,” I shrug. “How about we talk about something less tragic than my life?” I suggest with a smile.
“Sure,” he says, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Grant tells me you like art?”
“Yes,” I sigh, happy to be moving on to a subject that makes me feel good. “I’ve always loved it. Even as a little kid I’d spend all my time drawing and painting. I mean, I’m not very good, but it’s something I can do to help me escape when I need to.”
“What do you do with the things you paint?” he asks.
“Give them to family,” I blush. “I have a stack of my work in the spare room of my house, gathering dust.”
“Is there anything here you did?” he asks, glancing around at the various art pieces on the walls.
My face reddens as I point to a portrait of Cassie hanging on the far wall. “I did that one.” I point to another, this one a landscape painting that hangs above the fireplace. “And that.”
He gets up, and walks over to study them. “These are fucking amazing,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “And you don’t see talent in these?”
“They’re not bad,” I say, embarrassed. “But I’m by no means good in comparison to what you’d see in a gallery.”
“I’d pay for these.” I laugh, but stop when I realize he isn’t joking. “I’m serious. I want to see what else you have.”
“Okay,” I shrug, not sure what else I can say. “You can come over sometime and see them.” My stomach tightens. Why did I say that? I should’ve said I’ll give some to Grant to pass on to him, because now I’ve pretty much agreed to see him again.
“Great,” he grins, sitting back down next to me.
It’s after Eleven when I finally leave. Tilly’s long gone to sleep, and though I feel as though I could talk all night with Max, I know I need to take a step back. I say goodbye to Ellie and Grant, who suddenly have the urge to tidy the kitchen and suggest Max walk me out. I laugh helplessly at my stubborn, stupid, pushy sister who I love more than anything.
“Sorry if
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