"These plans," Grandma began to pace, "they take months to come up with. I can't simply snap my fingers and fix it."
She stopped pacing and smiled, the same one I had come to recognize as the all-knowing smile. People should run when that smile appears; countries should just give up — it's not worth the bloodshed.
"Do you love her?" she asked simply.
It should have been a simple question; instead, the question made me get itchy and squirmy as if I wasn't comfortable in my own skin. It made me afraid and made me feel stupid. Saying yes seemed too hard. Saying no? Too easy.
"He does." Jake sighed irritatingly.
"How do you know?" I snapped.
"Because you're itchy."
"Huh?" Char and Grandma said in unison.
"Players, we know the game well. Believe me, he's all uncomfortable with his feelings. It's why he's so twitchy. His mind is manifesting a physical response to his inability to commit emotionally."
Something happened that night.
Something I'm not sure any of us were willing to purposefully talk about.
Jake Titus, manwhore of the century, not only found his heart, but somewhere deep inside that brain, he found psychology.
It scared the shit out of me.
"Are you drunk?" Char whispered under her breath.
"Admit it." Jake ignored his wife and crossed his arms. "What I said made sense."
"I—" Sweating. Definitely sweating.
"Jace, if you like her so much, why are you hesitating?" Grandma asked sweetly.
"Because I want to get it right." I sighed. "I want to be what she deserves, and I don't think I am. I know I'm not, because if it was her or my future, I think I'd still pick me. Okay? Are you guys happy that you've just discovered what a selfish bastard I can be? I choose me! I don't choose the really pretty girl with bright green eyes. I choose what I've worked years for. I want a second chance. I guess I just wanted it on my terms."
The room fell silent.
"Oh, honey," Grandma pulled me into a tight hug, "it's good for you to admit that."
"It is?" I pulled back.
"Yes." Grandma patted my back. "It's only when we admit what scares us the most — we can conquer our demons. You're afraid of failure, but most importantly, you're afraid of success."
"Success?" I snorted. "I already have that."
"I meant emotional success. Nothing scares you more than knowing, in the end, you are the reason for your own unhappiness. Not some woman, not your career, not anything but your own stubborn self. I believe, Mr. Senator, that you've made your choice. I just hope, in the end, it's worth it."
"A reflection doesn't keep you warm at night," Jake said, all teasing gone from his voice.
"You're right." I hung my head defeated. "But the risk is nothing."
"I'm sorry." Grandma wiped away a tear.
"Grandma, it's fine it's—"
"Not you." She turned. "Her. I'm sorry, Beth."
It was then that I looked at the door. It had been cracked open the whole time. Beth stood there, bags packed. And she'd heard the whole damn conversation. So she'd run, but it hadn't been to the airport. She'd run to the woman who'd brought us here in the first place. She'd run to Grandma, hoping she could fix it, fix me. And she'd failed.