She struggles as she tries to sit up and get out of bed.
My smile fades. I want so badly to jump up and help her, but I’m already going to be overstepping. When she finds out I’ve moved into her apartment, she’s going to freak, then tell me all the reasons she can take care of herself and that I need to get out. She’ll try to push me out, but at least I’m prepared this time. I’m also not going to listen. So I let my proud queen wiggle her cute, frustrated ass all over the hospital bed until she gets both feet to the floor.
She shoots me a self-conscious glance as she moves about the room like a wobbly penguin with her crutches, grabbing every little thing she doesn’t want to leave behind and throwing it into her bottomless purse. I’ve already taken the flowers and gifts from her friends and family to her house, allowing me to move in a few extra things of my own.
The nurse comes in with a wheelchair that Grace reluctantly sits in, letting the nurse wheel her out.
“See, that wasn’t so bad, now was it?”
“It was damn right excruciating, Sally Ann, but you're a doll, thank you. I can take it from here.”
The older nurse, Sally Ann, laughs at Grace being dramatic as she helps her into the bed of my hummer. My phone chimes with a text message, but I ignore it in favor of watching Grace’s body move into the seat ass first. Is it wrong to admire a body that’s still healing? If it is, I send up an apology. Grace catches me and glares, assuming I’m staring at her because she’s awkwardly adjusting to the seat, wincing despite her confident bravado, when the fact is, I just like looking at her.
She’s always been this larger-than-life bright light, always doing or saying something to cheer me up or make Harmony laugh. Seeing her like this is so different, like hearing the Pope swear or seeing Superman bleed. Our superheroes never show that kind of vulnerability, and now I understand why. It’s painful to watch.
We drive home in silence, her chin tipped in defiance the entire way. As if to tell the world she’s fine even though she’s anything but. Every muscle in my body wants to reach for her. Hold her and tell her it’s all going to be ok, praying she’ll be vulnerable with me. I crave it. It’s been six years since she put those solid walls up around her heart, and I’ve longed to tear them down ever since.
But I stay on my side, and she stays on hers. When we reach her apartment, I park in guest parking and grab her bags while she steadies herself on a pair of crutches. She hates them. I can tell by the deep crease in her sandy brown eyebrows and that adorable fucking pout.
“You know you’re cute when you pout.”
She rolls her eyes at me, but I don’t miss the light pink that touches her cheeks.
We make our way up in the elevator, and as soon as I open Grace’s front door, we’re greeted by a sound comparable to a screeching pterodactyl.
“Mommy! Daddy!”
Harmony barrels into us.
“I missed you so much little cub,” Grace tells our daughter, smoothing back her dark hair in a gesture I’ve seen her do a million times, but this time, I capture it with my phone.
“Missed you too, Mama Bear.”
“We’re you good for Grandma Nora?”
“Of course, I’m an Angel.”
We all laugh as she refers to herself by the nickname my mother always calls her.
“Dinner’s ready. I hope you guys want lasagna.” Declan comes around the corner to greet us. He takes me in a tight man hug, letting me know he’s here for me too, not just for the girls. I appreciate the warm gesture more than I can express, but the way he tilts his chin and steps back makes me think he knows exactly how I feel. If anyone knows how hard it is to love a stubborn woman, it’s my stepdad.
“Oh, me! I do! I’m so hungry I could eat a whole horse,” Harmony says and runs off to the kitchen table.
Mom comes up with open arms and a dish towel over her shoulder. She probably cleaned the entire house so Grace wouldn’t worry about a thing.
“I’m not actually hungry, but I appreciate everything. Thank you both,” Grace says, stepping back from my mother’s hug. Mom’s hand lingers on her cheek, and I watch as an unspoken conversation passes between them.
“Marcus, help Grace upstairs to a bath, please.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“No, I am perfectly capable, thank you.”
Mom and I don’t listen, already accustomed to Grace trying to do it all herself and not accepting our help, but I’m already heading upstairs to drop off her bags. When I come back down, Grace is still struggling on the first step, trying to drag her crutches up with her.
I sigh heavily and pick her up behind her knees, my other arm wrapping around her back. She doesn’t protest or push me away. She doesn’t say anything. Grace seems defeated, a total one-eighty from her usual persona, and I know I will have to be strong enough for the both of us.
“You don’t have to be strong today, baby,” I tell her as I lay her down on top of her blue comforter. Our eyes lock, and her lip trembles. Still, she doesn’t say anything, just stares back at me, those baby blues filled with so much she’s not saying.