“Neither are you,” he says, holding me tighter.
“I’m more than a little messed up. You’re the only one I’ve ever let in.”
“And I’m still here. But you also let your mom in, and your therapist. That’s huge.”
“And what did I do tonight? I turned off my phone,” I say heavily.
“And that’s awesome.”
I snap my gaze up. “It is?”
“Yes. You needed to disengage, but instead of just shutting down, you let me know you needed to go dark, so I wouldn’t worry. Dude, you handled it great.” He rubs his hand up and down my arm as if warming me. “Look, my parents are out of my life, but I have my grandparents. The only reason you think you’re messed up is that your father is still an addict. That doesn’t make you messed up and me not. It just makes you human.”
“But what if I mess things up with our kids—like he did all the fucking time?” I ask.
Grant sits up, squeezes my hand tighter. “We’ll deal with it together.”
“Will we?” Maybe this is what I’ve needed—his assurance that he’s entirely in this with me. That he’ll be my parachute if I need one.
“We will,” Grant says, then adds, “when and if you’re ready, and only then.”
I let out a long, grateful sigh. I get it now. I understand what’s been taking me so long. Fear has been holding me back. But I don’t have to be afraid. Or at least, I don’t have to worry alone.
Still, all this talking has me ready to downshift to a lighter subject. “Want to know what I was doing right before you got home?”
“I know it wasn’t getting naked and lubing up,” he says with a pout.
“Don’t worry. The night is young.” I reach for my laptop, flip it open. “Looking at places in Hawaii to buy.”
“Show me,” he says with eager eyes.
I click on a browser window. “I thought I could get us a place in Hawaii instead of Miami. When we go in November, do you want to look for a place together?” I ask.
Maybe I’m asking too much. Buying real estate in Hawaii is a big step when I haven’t committed to a family someday. But perhaps I need to know if it’s one he would take.
Rubbing his palms together, Grant chuckles as he checks out the pictures of a beach home with a gorgeous ocean view. “We’re so domestic. We’re going to Hawaii for a vacation, and we’re going to look at real estate.”
“That is kind of domestic,” I agree.
“I like it,” he adds.
“The Hawaii home or being domestic?”
“Both,” Grant says, kissing my forehead.
I put the computer away and cup his cheeks so I can say something hard. “Talking to you about this is easier than thinking about it on my own.”
That’s what I should have been doing all along. But I’m glad I started tonight.
27
Declan
Later in September, the Dragons clinch a playoff spot. A few days later, the Cougars, reigning World Series champions, do too.
Grant and I celebrate in style that night. We screw all over the house, hard and well, the only way we know how.
But the playoffs are a hell of a hill to climb. Grant’s team makes it through the wild-card game, then is eliminated in the divisionals, and he’s not happy about that.
The Dragons continue on to the championship round, but we lose four to one. No one is in a good mood in our house that night.
But the great thing about baseball is there’s always next year.
Until then, there’s the off-season.
I’ve been waiting six years to spend an off-season with Grant Blackwood. I don’t plan to squander a second of it.
In late October, River sends a group text inviting a bunch of us to a picnic at his family’s home in Petaluma. Reese, Holden, Owen, Grant, and I all say yes. It’s the day before we leave for Hawaii, so the timing is perfect.
“Why don’t we go see my grandparents later that day,” Grant suggests over coffee and everything bagels.
I declare myself in, and a few days later, Grant and I drive up the winding highway toward his hometown, leaving the city and the baseball season behind. We listen to a new playlist, a mix of my 90s tunes and his pop. A Nirvana song for every Sam Smith one. Bruno Mars for Pearl Jam. Grant even lets me play “November Rain,” and I break out my air guitar too.
When we reach Petaluma, we pull up in front of the Michaels’ family home, perched at the end of a long gravel driveway and atop green rolling hills. I grab the food we picked up along the way at a trendy gourmet store—a tofu dish, a kale salad, and some locally-grown peppers.
River meets us on the porch—for a bar entrepreneur, Grant’s business partner looks comfortable in the country.