25. Grace

Chapter 25

Grace

"Um so gluh we gah the goo pi," Mallory said around a full mouth.

"You're glad we got the good pie?" Kate translated.

"I took the leftovers to my place so Alex didn't sneak downstairs and eat it at midnight." Mallory speared a forkful and fed me as I drove, then stabbed another bite and let out a satisfied moan.

"Geez, Mal," Kate warned, "keep moaning like that and I'll assume that pie is your best orgasm this year."

Mallory slyly grinned, shards of apple between her teeth. "Nowhere close."

"So, in the end-of-year spirit," I asked. "Who was your best this year?"

"Rob. No, Tim. Maybe Kyle. No … Definitely Jeremy."

"Jeremy?" I stiffened.

"The engineer? Tall, beard, green eyes? He knew his way around a clitoris, but he was too serious," she shrugged. "Tim was an actor, I think he wanted access to Nick. Kyle wanted me to meet his mom after a week. Rob hated my weird hours, expected me to work 9-5 then make him dinner like a good little wifey."

Mallory acted nonchalant, but I could tell from her fidgeting this weighed on her today. "I'm curious, Mal … Sexual prowess aside, what are you looking for in a partner?"

"You want my MANifesto?" Of course she had a silly name for it. "A feminist, obviously. Can't be intimidated by my business success or sexual history — better if he's slept around, so he doesn't slut-shame me because he gets it. Hmmm," she pulled her blonde hair out of its messy bun to run her hands through it. "When I tell him that I don't want kids, he won't say, ‘You'll change your mind when you meet the right person.' And I'm not picky, but it wouldn't hurt if he looked like Jon Hamm."

"You don't think you're setting the bar too high?"

Mallory scraped her hair back up into a topknot.

. "My dad found my mom."

"Not everybody meets the love of their life and falls in love in five minutes like your parents," Kate said. "Sometimes you need to compromise."

"I refuse to settle for mediocre," she said in an accusatory tone. "Any progress with the cartographer, Grace? Was Operation: Mistletoe a success?"

Here was my opportunity … and my mouth turned to cotton. I met Kate's eyes in the rearview mirror. She pursed her lips in an ‘are you doing this or what?' face.

"I actually, accidentally, under the mistletoe kissed … your brother."

Mallory choked on pie. "I must have misheard, because I heard that you kissed my brother. But that can't be right."

"A few weeks ago, um, we needed a Santa at the hospital, so your dad and I convinced Alex to do it."

She fumbled for her water. "Wait, let me get this straight. My brother, who thinks Armani is slumming it, dressed as Santa? The red suit, the beard, all that?"

I nodded, still a little surprised that he agreed. "And you know Ruby from dinner last night? The nurses convinced her to lure us under the mistletoe. I was dressed as Mrs. Claus and I couldn't reject him, right?"

"Definitely not," Kate said, seeming to revel in my discomfort.

"But then he offered to do it again —"

"Voluntarily?" Mal asked.

"And he bought his own suit —"

"That snob."

"There was mistletoe again, and he guided me over …"

"Oh my God," Mallory said, her skull thumping hard on the headrest. "Alex kissed you. You kissed Alex."

"Twice," Kate said, voice edged with shock. And maybe awe?

"But that was it, right?" Mallory grimaced. "Two innocent pecks from Santa?"

The pause was so pregnant it had cankles.

"Um, not exactly."

With a resounding smack to Mallory's arm, Kate said: "You owe me 20 bucks."

My eyes darted to the rearview mirror. She wore a satisfied grin, relieved to not hold my secret. Or maybe simply enjoying Mallory's dramatic reaction.

"It was obvious at Cruz's self-defense class that he had a crush on you," she said as Mallory rummaged in her purse, slapping a bill into Kate's outstretched palm. "But I didn't think you'd bother. He's easy on the eyes, but nothing else about him is easy."

"Please don't joke about my brother being hard."

"You asked her to call him. You brought him to her yoga class, then happy hour. You dragged him to the tree farm. This is essentially your doing."

"Is this Stockholm Syndrome? Blink twice if he's holding you hostage."

"You asked her to defend the Pride Lands!" Kate fired back, and I felt a rush of surprised relief that she was backing me up. "You can't call her Nala and not expect ‘Can You Feel the Love Tonight'!"

Mallory emitted a long, pained groan. "I hoped she was social-working him. Nobody needs to be social-worked more than Alex."

We all hummed in agreement.

"Cut the crap, Mal, you told me that he was different around her," Kate said then told me, "She called me on her tipsy walk home when you told him you were transgender. She was worried he was going to freak out, and shocked when he just sat there mostly silent. She said he was so …"

"Anti-Lex," Mallory lilted in a mesmerized tone, then pulled her left leg onto the cloth seat. "He was softer with you. And so worried when you had your flashback. I thought he felt guilty, but …"

"He brought apology burritos and crashed on my couch that night." Or he planned to, anyway, until I asked him to stay and he held me while I cried … but she'd go apoplectic if I shared that.

"I didn't expect to like him," I whispered my confession. "He was a total jerk at first. But as Santa, he was attentive to the kids. He pays attention when I talk about work and my family. And you might not believe this, but he can be funny, in a self-deprecating way. And Mal?"

She curled up in the passenger seat, her expression an odd mix of disbelief and hope. I told her the one fact I knew she couldn't argue: "I feel safe with him. "

Silence descended in the truck as Mallory's experience of her condescending brother crashed into this portrayal of a compassionate man.

I considered whether to tell her about his notebook.

It was right on my table next to a shiny copy of The Body Keeps the Score , the go-to book about therapeutic treatments for trauma, with his chicken scratch notes along the margins. The bookmark was the receipt from the book purchased four days ago in New York City.

He'd barely slept, but he'd gone to the bookstore — or possibly sent an assistant, but the receipt also listed two candy bars and a fancy pen.

Then I picked up the silver-edged notebook, peeled open the cover, and turned the first thick page to find …

Legal notes. Why would these scare me off?

His slanted handwriting pressed hard into the paper, blocky and masculine. The right margins of most pages had blue ink in a feminine script.

I skimmed, not sure how these client notes were relevant, until …

‘Heart attack,' underlined, followed by bulleted questions, in the exact order he'd asked when I called back. Next came a list of additional research to complete, followed by the messy note he'd scribbled in my truck: ‘6-8 weeks of cardiac rehab.'

Legal notes again, but no blue commentary. A few lines about somatic therapy. More work. Sensory processing. More legal. Then …

‘Transgender,' circled, underlined twice.

My whole body tightened. I tabbed ahead. counting … 17 pages.

As I read, my nervous system relaxed. I sat on the loveseat, pulled a blanket over my legs, and relived his research, unraveling his self-education: words scrawled, defined, circled. Dead names, hormone therapy, gender-neutral language, surgery, cultural acceptance, bathroom legislation, vocal training … all with little questions that seemed to be about me. 'How did she choose Grace?' and 'Pill, patch, or injection?' he wondered. Arrows pointed, spinning into more circles and underlines. His handwriting grew sloppier. How long had this taken him?

The next few pages were legal again, with blue conversations in the margins. That must be his trip to New York, the blue script was probably Victoria. "Man up and finish this already," she'd scrawled .

Next came jotted steps to guide a person through a PTSD flashback, which I recognized from The Body Keeps the Score .

The final page was a simple list: my brother's names and estimated ages, with the question: birthdays? Foods I liked, with carnitas starred. Movies that Mallory and I had watched.

My eyes welled up.

I shot him a quick text that he hadn't scared me off, then picked up a purple pen and started writing. Before yoga class this morning, I'd left the notebook in the Clarkes' mailbox and texted him to check it.

But no, I couldn't tell her all that. I didn't want to betray his trust.

I simplified my explanation to his sister, enough to know he was serious: "He's reading The Body Keeps the Score."

Mallory's voice was hushed. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"Well, at first, I thought …" my voice trembled. "I thought a man like him wouldn't want someone like me."

A heavy silence enveloped the car, their unspoken responses speaking volumes. "I thought it was flirtation, an unrequited crush. When he left, I thought I'd never see him again."

Kate's curious eyes gleamed. "But something happened yesterday?"

"He took a cab straight from New York to my place, showed up at 3am. I told him I had to talk to you because your friendship —"

Mallory's forehead dropped against the dashboard, hard enough to bruise.

Ignoring Mallory's drama, Kate propped her elbows on the headrests and leaned so far forward that she might as well have climbed into the bench seat.

"Did he kiss you, Grace? Really kiss you?" Kate's eager voice brimmed with delight. Mallory's head tilted, caught between curiosity and dismay.

My cheeks flushed, heart pounding. Kate nudged my shoulder. "Come on, she'll survive. How many of her hookup stories have we endured? Tell me the truth. He kissed you, didn't he? How was it?"

"It felt like ..." my fingertips brushed over my bottom lip, "he somehow studied how I always dreamed of being kissed and wanted to ace the exam."

A low, pained moan reverberated from the passenger seat .

Satisfied, Kate ignored Mallory's reaction and leaned forward to grab the Tupperware. She scraped up the last remnants of caramel before posing the crucial question to her best friend. "Are you going to greenlight this?"

"Shit, do I have to?"

"Nope, because she's a grown-ass adult and doesn't need your permission, but she's courteous enough to ask for it. Plus you'll look like a real bitch if you don't, especially when you're always telling her to date more."

"I found her a hot doctor!"

"The heart wants who it wants."

"But does the heart have to want Alex ?" She jiggled my shoulder, trying to shake sense into me. "Grace, if you want to hook up with a Clarke so badly, we can be platonic life partners. I'll marry you and have your babies, as long as you promise to do all the child-rearing and let me have some D on the side."

I laughed. Kate pretended to be offended. "I thought that offer was only for me."

"You rejected me to marry Paul, I have to move on."

"Even if you don't approve, she should do it anyway. She somehow makes Alex … well, not exactly likable, but tolerable."

"But you've never liked Alex. Why the sudden defense?" Mallory asked.

I bristled, "You don't like Alex?"

"He's always rubbed me the wrong way. The day we met, he promised to buy some of my artwork ‘when he made his first million' like a pretentious snob and kept calling me Kayla."

"He called me Lacey on our first phone call," I confessed to her delight.

"But I'm not going to bat for Alex, I'm doing it for Grace," Kate leaned forward to squeeze my shoulder. "Did you see how he looks at her? Grace deserves that. Even if it comes from Alex."

Mallory unwound her leg as she pulled her thoughts together. "I've never seen him as emotional as he was last night. Ever. He's been wrestling with a lot of shit this past month. We all have. Seeing Dad …" she swallowed at the weight of what they'd been through. "But I'm not sure … he doesn't live here, Grace. I don't want you to get hurt. "

Mallory was right. He lived across the country. He was a workaholic and a terrible communicator. The obstacles loomed large.

But I still wanted him. "Don't worry, we pinky promised not to fall in love."

"Now I know you're shitting me," she muttered.

I held my pinky across the center console and she wrapped hers around in disbelief. We both kissed our thumbs, then I dropped my voice low and husky to quote him, "I'm not your lawyer and this pinky agreement is in no way legally binding."

She burst out laughing. I mustered the courage to ask the question running laps around my heart. "So if I were to give him a chance, would things change between us?"

"You mean, would I eventually overcome the nonstop nausea? Of course. Kate's living proof of that."

My head swiveled towards the back seat, where Kate's mouth hung open at the casual declaration of a long-buried secret. "That was in the vault."

"Wait, you and Alex?" I blurted out.

"No! Oh God, no, not Alex, never Alex," Kate said in horror before leaning between the seats with a mischievous grin. "Nick and I kissed at this cabin when I was seventeen ," she leaned on every syllable, as if decisions from before your prefrontal cortex developed shouldn't be held against you.

"We're still friends, aren't we?" Mallory said.

"Yeah," Kate said, gripping Mal's shoulder, a mixture of fondness and exasperation. "Sisters before misters."

"Chicks before dicks. Or, uh, shit. Whatever the gender-inclusive variation of that is." Mallory quipped, a playful glint in her eyes, then reached for my hand. "Take Nick's bed tonight in the attic. I figured it would be me up there since Alex and I both snore, but I'll gladly saw logs in Kate's ear."

Kate cursed as Mallory's expression turned uncharacteristically serious. "Really, Gracie: I'd be a hypocrite if I tried to legislate who you kiss, or told you not to fuck whoever you want to fuck. Have fun, be safe … but guard your heart and don't expect forever."