She sighs. “I don’t hate you, Gracie. Just because I got angry doesn’t mean I hate you.” She sits down next to me and wraps an arm around my shoulders, squeezing tight. “What happened?”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “I don’t know. I just – I couldn’t breathe, and everything felt like it was just – just closing in. I had to get out of there.”
“Sounds to me like you had a panic attack,” she says gently. “I used to get them to, freshman year of college. It was so far away from home; I didn’t know anybody and didn’t know my way around anything. It was scary.”
I look at her. “Used to?”
She nods. “They went away after a while. Once I got my bearings and made a home there. Once I started focusing on my life together so I could enjoy it. You’re always cooped up in that apartment, or you go to the diner or meetings. You aren’t around a lot of people like this. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed. Especially since it’s your first one sober in a really long time.”
I nod and look down at my hands. “I really am sorry I’ve been a shitty friend, Marc. I want to be a better one to you. You deserve that.”
She squeezes my shoulders again. “I know, and I’m sorry I went off.”
“You had every right to,” I look over my shoulder as the gate hinges squeak and Landon steps out. “Don’t worry. I’m not stealing her from you.”
Marcy giggles and looks at him. “Gracie had a little panic attack. Huge crowd, first time sober.”
Landon nods in understanding, but I don’t think he truly comprehends it. I don’t think Marcy does either, but at least they’re being supportive. I feel like shit right now for taking them away from the BBQ. I stand up and brush off the back of my pants, trying to pretend I’m feeling a little better.
“Go and enjoy the BBQ. I’ll be okay. I think I’m gonna go inside and take it easy.”
Marcy hesitates but slowly stands and moves next to Landon. “You are sure, Gracie?”
I nod, forcing as kind of a smile as possible on my face. “Absolutely. Go enjoy.”
They both hesitate a little more but finally relent and go back into the yard. I draw in slow breath of air and brace myself, stepping to the gate, but Donna steps out before I can even push it open. She glowers at me, and I shrink back.
“Why’re you even here, Gracie?” she snarls at me.
I stare at her, unsure of what kind of answer she wants to hear or exactly what she means.
“Everybody was just so much happier when you weren’t in the picture. Especially Owen. He was happier thinking you were off dead in some ditch, but now he has to be reminded of the biggest mistake of his life every single day. Because little Gracie’s a baby and can’t live on her own.” She wrinkles her button nose. “Why don’t you just do everybody a favor and just disappear again?”
She turns on her heel and goes back into the yard, no doubt to whine about something to Owen. Probably how bored she is. I know she doesn’t like these functions. Plenty of people have told me about her antics. She hates coming around mine or Owen’s families and prefers hers to take precedence.
Squaring my shoulders, I push the gate open this time and slip into the backyard. Nobody blinks an eye in my direction, so I slide to the side of the house and make my way to the sliding glass doors that would lead me into the kitchen, where I suspect my mother is cooking. She knows I’m coming, which means there’s going to be a salad just for me. Because I don’t eat meat, and she knows that and won’t let me starve. I just have to get inside before I have another fucking panic attack. I don’t even know why it happened or how to explain it. But whatever, I don’t want it happening again. I don’t like feeling so empty inside afterward, so confused.
Chapter21
Gracie
Voices chatter, their words unintelligible as they drift through the kitchen.
“Daddy,” I sing, bouncing as I pop into their existence. “Oh, Daddy!”
He turns with a smile plastered on his face, wisps of red hair barely managing to grip his scalp jostling with the movement. Holding out his arms for my arrival and enticing a squeal of delight to escape from my lips, I hurl myself into his arms and bury my face into his chest, feeling the tight wrap of them around me. For the time being, everything else disappears. All my problems, the panic attack from moments before. Everything just vanishes. If I had to pick one person in the entire world as my favorite, it would be my dad. Even if it sounds childish, I can’t help it. The man and I have a bond I can’t explain and don’t even want to try to. He was the one I had called for in the middle of the night when I’d woken from nightmares as a child and the one I always looked for in the crowd at school concerts. I love my mother, too, no doubt, but it’s no secret that I’m much closer to my dad than I have ever been to her.
“Hey sweetie,” my mom greets, brushing her hand through my hair as she passes from behind. “I have your salad ready. I had to protect it from those savages out there, but I succeeded, and I’m still alive to tell the story.”
I giggle at her words and insistence on trying to be funny before pulling back to wrap my arms around her, behind her this time. “Thank you, mama.”
At the young age of nine, I had proclaimed being a vegetarian. My mother, the sweet woman, had turned around and switched my food, always ensuring I received whatever I preferred, no matter what anyone else was eating. Vaguely, I recall how she had claimed it was just a phase I would outgrow once I realized the difference between my food and everyone else’s. I would just eventually drop it as if it were no big deal. But that was thirteen years ago, and I’m still going strong, refusing to let up on my devotion to not eating meat, poultry, or fish. I absolutely refuse to be part of that sick human gene that just loves feasting on what had once been alive. Besides, for as far back as I can remember, the mere thought of eating any of that crap has always made me want to vomit.
My mother is and always has been a blessing for making sure I didn’t starve on the daily.
Moving to the only empty counter in front of the window that looks out over the packed backyard, I pull myself up to sit on it, swinging my legs.
“So, how’re your meetings going, Gracie?” It’s dad asking, pressing the most important question first and foremost.