Chapter 8

RHEA

Sage closes my bedroom door behind me and hurries over to put her arm around me. "Are you okay? I didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't," I assure her. "It's just a hard day." And Shiran makes things worse just by breathing, but I keep that part to myself.

"I still feel bad."

"Don't, Sage. The party's great. I promise I'm fine and I'll be back out to have fun in a second." And I mean every word. I plan on having a good time tonight.

The door creaks open.

Sage gets up and stands between me and the door, but not before I see who's there.

"Jack." My voice cracks.

"I came to see if you were all right," he says. "One of the others said this was your room."

Sage looks between the two of us, clearly confused. Probably because she's never met him before.

I take a deep breath. "This is Jack, from the grief support group. Jack, this is Sage."

Understanding dawns in her eyes. "Do you want me to stay?" she asks me quietly.

I shake my head. "Go enjoy yourself, I'll be out in a bit."

She nods and heads to the door, giving Jack a small smile as she passes.

"Where do you want me to sit?" he asks.

"Here is fine." I pat the bed beside me. Considering all the emotions he's been helping me deal with, I don't think there's any harm in him sitting on my bed.

"So there's not going to be a boyfriend storming in and getting jealous?" he asks.

"Definitely not. I don't think I have the emotional bandwidth to date right now, and I wasn't really trying before Granny died either."

He nods. "I know what you mean, I haven't tried dating at all since Mum died." A haunted expression enters his eyes and I almost ask him what it's about until he shakes it away. "What happened out there?"

I sigh. "Honestly?"

"As honest as you want to be about it," he responds.

"Someone I can't stand from home said something that made me realise this is the first thing I'm celebrating without Granny. And that there aren't going to be any more."

"Ah."

"She used the words very brave."

He grimaces. "That's never good."

"No. But it's not about her. I just miss Granny. I...have a present from her, but I haven't been able to open it." I get to my feet and head over to where the gift bag is sitting on my desk. "She gave it to me before term started again, but told me I couldn't open it yet even if I wanted to so she could see my response. But she insisted it's for my birthday, so that's when I should open it."

"Sounds like the kind of thing grandparents would say," he observes.

A smile spreads over my face as I pick up the bag. "It was just the kind of thing she always said. She always insisted on giving me presents before the event, but not let me open them until then." I take it back with me to the bed and stare down at the gift bag. "I know I shouldn't let opening a present get to me this much."

"It makes sense," he promises. "Once you open it, there's nothing else. It'll be the last thing she got you."

I nod. "At least I know it's not going to be food that goes rotten or something."

Jack snorts. "I'd hope not, anyway."

I take a deep breath and pull out the card. Tears start streaming down my face at Granny's handwriting on the outside and I touch a finger to it, trying not to feel overwhelmed by it. I look between the card and the present, not knowing which one to open first, or which one will be more emotionally devastating. I suppose it's going to depend on what's inside both.

I pick up the present first and start unwrapping it carefully. The last thing I want is to damage whatever is inside. The box beneath is pristine white and gives me no indication of what it might be. Jack doesn't say anything as he watches me go through this. I don't know if he's gone through something similar with his mum, but he certainly understands what's going through my head.

A half-laugh-half-sob escapes me as I lift the lid off the box, revealing a framed version of the gorgon painting Granny showed me when I was little. The same one that's copied in the museum bar. I lift it out of the box and hold it up. "It's perfect," I whisper.

"It's a gorgon," Jack says unnecessarily.

"It's the painting that inspired me to take art history," I say. "Granny showed it to me when I was little and told me that I could be as fierce as this gorgon and could do anything I set my mind to. She must have found a small print somewhere."

I turn it over and take the back off the frame. Disappointment fills me as I look at the empty back.

"What were you expecting?" he asks.

"I don't know. Something." I wipe away some of the tears, though they're replaced by new ones within moments. "I know that's dumb."

"It's not. I wish there'd been something from my mum. A letter, a voicemail, a message. Just something. But even though she knew she was dying, there was nothing. I don't know what I think I'd get from having something like that, but it's felt like something is missing because I don't have it."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too."

"We say that a lot to each other," I point out.

"Is it a surprise? We've both been through something horrible, and there really isn't anything else to say. I'm sorry you're hurting, you're sorry I'm hurting, but neither of us are in a position to actually help one another stop."

"Or maybe we are," I respond. "I mean, I think you're helping me."

"I'm glad you feel that way." He meets my gaze and there's a moment where everything feels quiet and settled. Like the pain isn't all there is for once.

I clear my throat and tear my gaze away, turning my attention to the card. I run my finger under the seal of the envelope and pull it out, immediately laughing at the snake joke on the front of the card.

Jack leans over my shoulder and chuckles as he reads it. "Gorgon humour?"

"We do love snake puns. Though I'm terrible at them. When Sage was getting together with her boyfriend, she said she was staying behind to clean and my reaction was to tell her that I was going out to find someone to snake my drain."

He groans. "How much had you drunk to think that was funny?"

"Enough that I thought it was hilarious, not enough that I didn't remember when Sage told me the next day."

"Ah, the perfect amount," he jokes.

"Apparently so." I open the card, clasping a hand over my mouth in order to avoid the sob.

Happy birthday, Rhea. Use the money to get a drink on me. Love you always, Granny.

There's no holding back the tears this time and Jack reaches out to pull me into his arms. I lean against his chest, grasping at his shirt and letting the sadness out. He doesn't say anything, just holds me and strokes a soothing hand down my back while there's nothing I can do to stop the torment within me.

"She's gone," I get out through my sobs, the words garbled and barely audible.

"I know," he murmurs, his voice cracking. I don't know if he's thinking about his mum, or if he just doesn't like seeing me upset, but I guess it doesn't matter. The warmth of his arms is more comforting than I expect it to be, and I'm glad he doesn't seem to want me to move.

Eventually, the sobs make way to silent tears, but I don't move, listening to the steady beat of his heart. I've never been this close to someone when I'm as vulnerable as this, partly because I'm always scared about what will happen if my glasses fall off, but it's nice.

More than nice. It's comfortable.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"Not really." I pull back and sniff.

"Yeah, dumb question."

"I'll be fine, though. I know that." I wipe away the rest of my tears, realising as I do that I've smudged my eyeliner. I'm going to need to redo it before I rejoin the party. "I should save this for next time we're at the pub," I say, putting the twenty-pound note on my bedside table.

He raises an eyebrow. "Not tonight?"

I shake my head. "I think Granny would like knowing I used some of it to buy a drink for someone helping me with all of this."

"If you're sure..."

"Definitely." I sniff, realising I feel a lot better than I did when he first came into the room. "I'm really glad you're here tonight."

"Me too," he responds with a genuine smile.

"You're coming to the club with us, right? Or do you hate dancing?"

"I like dancing," he assures me. "But I'm not very good at it."

"Great, because I'm not either. We can show each other our terrible moves."

He chuckles. "I look forward to it."

"But I need to fix my make-up before I go back out there. Otherwise people will start thinking I'm a panda shifter instead of a gorgon."

He cocks his head to the side and studies me. "Yep, I see it."

I swat his arm gently. "You're supposed to say I look fine."

"You look like you've been hard crying."

"So does your shirt." I grimace as I notice the wet patch I've created. "Sorry about that."

"Don't be, it's fine."

"At least I didn't get any of my mascara on it."

"See, could be worse. It'll dry quick enough, and it's not like half the people in the kitchen haven't spilt on themselves, they'll just assume I'm clumsy with my drink or something."

"Good point."

"I'll see you out there." He smiles at me and gets up, heading for the door with a surprising amount of comfortable ease, like he's been in my room dozens of times instead of this being the first one.

I watch him leave, feeling better after our talk and my cry. I knew inviting him was a good idea, even if I didn't actually intend to end up breaking down on him. At least he doesn't seem to mind, and I'm sure there'll be a point in time where I can return the favour.