Chapter 44

44

Annika

It doesn't matter that Mama's gone blind, she still knows something's wrong.

As soon as we're all back at Duh-Nuts, she asks if I'll take her home. She walks herself into the house with just her white cane and the railings for guides, and she easily maneuvers through the kitchen to the living room, where she calls for me to join her.

"Mama, I should get back to?—"

"Grady," she finishes for me.

The lump I've been holding back threatens to choke me and my eyeballs sting like my tears are made of battery acid. "I'm sure he's fine," I choke out.

"But you're not fine."

"I will be."

I know that frown.

It's the don't lie to your mother frown. I've seen it before. I'll see it again.

"I—need an afternoon off," I manage to choke out.

"Go. I'm fine. And the goddess of my loins will protect me from the cougar in the corner."

" Mama ."

"Yes, Maria, how may I help you?" her phone assistant says.

"Tell my daughter to take the afternoon off," Mama instructs, showing off more of her newfound technological skills with her phone, which unfortunately still only answers to Goddess of my Loins .

"I'm sorry, Maria, my programming does not allow me to issue orders to humans. I must wait until the coming of the computer overlord to follow this direction. Would you like me to google tell my daughter to take the afternoon off ?"

"Goddess of my Loins, call Bailey," Mama says.

"Dialing Bailey Williams," Mama's voice assistant says.

"Mama—"

She lifts a finger and puts her phone to her ear. "Hi, Bailey. Annika's taking the rest of the day off. Do you need me to come back? No? You're sure? And Amy can handle the donut dough for tomorrow? Ah, good. Thank you. Yes, I'll ask Roger to get you to volleyball practice. Bye, sweetheart. Love you."

She hangs up and turns a smile on me. "There. Now you can't go to work."

I should be grateful.

But I have questions. And I'm tired. And I don't want to go anywhere, but I also don't want to stay here. "Do you ever think about my father?"

"Beyond being grateful that he gave me you? No, generally not. He's not worth it."

"Because he abandoned us?" I whisper.

"Because I have very poor judgment in the men I've chosen in the past, and we're better off without their influence and their baggage in our lives. I was better without him. You were better without him. He wasn't father material. Not that I was mother material, but I didn't have much choice, and I had your grandmother's support those first few years."

I press my palms into my eyes to try to keep the tears from slipping out. "He pretended like we didn't exist."

"All the more reason we were better off without him. Annika. What's this about?"

"Nothing." I can't tell her I saw him. There's no point. "Nothing," I repeat, stronger. "I just—are you sure you're okay? I need some fresh air. Those lights—the cameras—the interview and the pressure?—"

" Go . I know my way around the house. I can work the microwave since you added those pads where the numbers and the start button are. And Roger will probably stop by and check on me."

"He's been a good friend," I say slowly, watching as Mama clears her throat and touches the collar on her Duh-Nuts T-shirt. "Or is he more?"

She takes a minute to answer. "It's possible that now that I can't see, I can… see him," she finally says.

"He's a very nice man."

"The world always manages to provide balance."

My eyes sting again, because I don't know where my balance is. "I'm going for a bike ride," I tell Mama.

"Take your time. I'm fine here."

I kiss her head. "Love you, Mama."

She fumbles a minute before she finds my arm and squeezes it. "You'll find your way, baby girl. Have faith."

I don't know if I will, but I know that I don't care that we won some stupid baking contest this morning. I don't care that Sue ate all the donuts I tried to ruin on TV. I don't even care that I'm almost positive someone paid off all the judges and crew because I'm fairly certain my donuts were awful, especially next to Grady's masterpieces.

I care that I've never felt more alone, and it's all my own stupid fault because I didn't tell anyone about us either.

Why am I keeping him a secret?

Because it's good for business?

Or because it'll hurt less whenever he realizes I'm not the same Annika I was?

That I don't know what I want to be when I grow up.

That I have no direction.

That my entire existence is being Mama's daughter and Bailey's sister, and beyond that, I'm just…lost.

So it's easier to be mad at him for keeping me a secret than it is to confess that I'm not really cut out for relationships after all.

Once again, I take my bike and head out of town. Out to the preserve, down the trail to the lake.

And once I get there, I toss my helmet, strip out of most of my clothes, and I dive into the lake.

It's cool. And some old fart will probably have a heart attack at me out here in just my bra and panties, but what's the difference between that and a bikini?

He can bite me.

And Grady Rock can bite me too.

He didn't keep me a secret in high school.

Being a secret means one thing.

He doesn't want to keep me.

Not forever.

And I probably don't deserve him, because did I fight for him?

No.

I didn't.

I cry enough tears to turn the lake into saltwater, but I keep swimming. Keep pushing myself until my lungs are heaving and my arms and legs feel like lead.

I'll probably have to call Liliana for a ride home, but not yet.

Because right now, I want to sit on the bank and ignore the storm clouds gathering overhead, and ignore the fact that Bailey starts school soon, and ignore the fact that Grady's whole family hates me and Bailey hates him and Mama probably knows I've been sneaking out to see him, but she lets me make my own mistakes.

Like falling for Grady again.

When I know we don't have a future.

Again.

I bury my head in my knees while I catch my breath, and I'm so focused on getting control of myself that I don't realize I'm not alone until too late.

"Go away," I force out.

Grady doesn't move. "Had a hunch I might find you here."

"Go. Away."

"Did…did I do something?"

God, I feel like such a brat.

Such a brat, and yet so hurt at the same time.

"No," I tell him honestly. "You didn't do anything . And that's exactly the problem."

"Ooo-kay."

"I'm not a dirty secret, Grady."

"Whoa, hold up?—"

"I know. I know , okay? I could've just as easily stood there in front of all those cameras and told the whole world I love you just as much as I kept hoping you'd finally claim me in front of your family, but I didn't. And you didn't either. How much longer does this go on? How much longer do we sneak around and pretend we hate each other in the name of making freaking money when I don't hate you at all until I think about how much I hate that we're fucking sneaking around ?"

"Annika—"

" No . Your whole family was there. All of them. All of them buying into the story that I'm a horrible person because I'm a Sarcasm asshole who came home to steal your sister's banana pudding trophies and your baking trophies and that I'm hiding behind my mama going blind to justify being an asshole. All while my fucking father stood there behind a camera like I was no one . I'm. Not. No. One. Just because I don't know who I am right now doesn't mean I'm no one. It means I'm someone who's a little lost. And if I'm not someone to you, if I'm not someone worth pissing off your family for, then get the hell out of my life. I don't need this."

He's blinking at me like I'm slapping him with a wet fish when it would be so much easier to just grab a dead branch to do the job, and I can't handle that bewildered, injured look in his eyes.

Not when that's exactly how I feel about our whole relationship.

Bewildered.

Injured.

A dirty secret.

To the best of my knowledge, my sperm donor's parents never even knew I existed.

They thought Mama was sleeping around with too many boys to know who my father was.

And here I am, sleeping with a man who doesn't want his family to know about me either.

And doing the same to him.

Best friends?

No.

We're not best friends.

We're each other's dirty little secrets.

"Annika—"

I shove to my feet and yank my clothes back on. "Would you tell them?" I ask.

He hesitates, his eyes dropping to the ground.

"That's what I thought," I whisper.

"I'll tell them. I will. I just need to?—"

He breaks off, and I pause.

"I need to warm them up," he finishes.

"If you need to warm them up to the idea that you've found someone who makes you happy, then maybe they're not the amazing, wonderful, awesome people you think they are."

"There's a line," he says, and the caution's gone from his voice.

His caution in saying something to upset me, that is.

That tone's full of all kinds of warnings for me to watch whatever I'm about to say next.

But I'm past caring.

Because if my choices are Grady or my own self-respect, I know which one I need to choose.

It's not the one I want , but it's the one I need .

"Don't worry," I tell him. "I won't cross your line. In fact, I'm walking away from it. Right now ."

Walking.

Biking.

Uphill. Five miles.

It's all the same.

"Annika," he says again, this time pulling out his you're blowing this out of proportion tone.

"And if you need to warm them up," I say, not turning around, "then maybe we're not actually good for each other, and we're just delaying the inevitable of having them point it out to us."

Maybe I am blowing this out of proportion.

I don't tend to do anything halfway.

And that apparently includes imploding relationships.