Colton squeezes my hand and leans into me, pecking my cheek. “You have to do this on your own, but I’ll show up on my bike later on if you’d like. I’ve known dads to freak when I pop up on it.”
I giggle. “Oh, definitely. Daddy’s going to freak when he sees you on that.”
Colton chuckles and lays back, staring up at the sky with squinted eyes. “Their expressions are always one to put in the memory banks.”
I turn my body to lay on my side, scoot so close to him, our bodies pressed together, and bury my face into his neck. I don’t want to talk anymore. I just want to enjoy the moment. I’m so tired.
As if sensing it, Colton reaches ho with his free hand and strokes his fingers through my hair. I feel his lips on top of my head, and then he lays his chin there. His heart thumps in my ears, so soothing. I don’t want this moment to go away. I want it to last forever.
Chapter42
Gracie
Itug at the sleeves of my shawl, once more self-conscious about being out in public, exposed. I hate it. I hate being in front of anyone, let alone complete strangers who will judge me with a glance. If they see the scars of the track marks, they’ll stick up their noses and sneer at me. They’ll silently reprimand my parents for raising me to be an addict, and they’ll whisper to their loved ones how nasty I am and throw side glances our way. I want to melt away, to sink into the ground where nobody can see me. I don’t want them to know I’m my parents' daughter simply to save my parents the shame.
But everything is covered up. They can’t see, so they can’t judge. Still, I feel so damn exposed being outside of my comfort zone.
My parents have always deserved better. Even when I was clouded with drugs and drowning in booze, I knew that in the back of my mind. They deserved so much better from me, and I gave them so much crap.
I wish I could take it back. I wish I could go back and change things, but I can’t, and I know that. No matter how badly I want to change things.
“Heidi?” a voice calls, drawing me from my thoughts and our attention to a heavy-busted woman.
Beads, diamonds, and jewels adorn her neck, jangling as she moves. Even her hands are covered with stones that glitter in the low light of the restaurant. Her dress reminds me of old-timey movies I watched with my parents growing up. The woman is all decked out, intent on showing off her obvious wealth. I feel underdressed now. A shirt, jeans ripped for design, a pair of black crocheted boots, and my shawl to cover my arms. It’s a simple outfit I thought was cute, and even Devon agreed. But compared to this woman, I look like a fucking homeless person wanting a handout. I don’t remember brushing my hair, but I’m sure I did. Still, I reach up nervously and pat at the straight strands of black hair.
My mother’s even dressed up a bit more than I am in a nice dinner dress, navy blue that goes well with her complexion, and one diamond-studded necklace to match her earrings. She even has her hair pulled back nicely. It’s nothing like the woman who obviously knows her, but at least she tried. Even my father is wearing a decent outfit, no straight jeans though he prefers them over anything.
The woman casts me a glance as she bustles up to the three of us, her puffy lips pressing together. The judgment is there. Her eyes sweep down my outfit before looking pointedly at my mother, a little more satisfied by her dinner outfit. I shrink back a little, shifting behind my father to hide myself a little.
“Oh, Jenna, how’re you?” my mother chirps, and I detect the falseness in her tone.
It’s the tone she uses when she secretly hates someone, griping about them in the privacy of her home. The smile remains plastered on her face until the person is gone. I’ve never heard my mom snarl at anyone before.
“Well,” the woman swells up, showing off the jewels slung around her neck. A smile curls up the corners of her lips, her eyes glistening as she shoots me another look. “And who is this?”
“This is Gracie,” my mom introduces me, her voice lighting up happily. As if she’s proud to be doing so. “Our baby.”
My father nods, but since he’s behind me, I can’t tell if he’s smiling or not.
“Your baby?” the woman sounds genuinely shocked. “Forgive me”—she puts a hand to her chest in feigned exaggeration—“I truly thought I had met all your children. We’ve known each other for five years, after all, Heidi. You’ve never mentioned this one.”
I flinch. Her words are a slap to the face. I drop my gaze to the ground, no longer wanting to look at the woman. Five years. For the last five years, I was shooting up, guzzling booze, and living on the streets. Of course, they hadn’t mentioned me. They were embarrassed and didn’t want people to know they were related to a junkie and an alcoholic. I can’t blame them, and I won’t.
“I’m sure we’ve mentioned her, Jenna,” my mom says casually. “We told you we have four children, and you’ve only met three of them and their families until now.”
Jenna hesitates, her eyebrows scrunching together as her lips purse while she eyes my mother, thinking over her words. “I must’ve forgotten then,” she finally says a little airily, trying to brush it off. “And does she have any grandchildren?”
“No,” my father finally pipes up. “She’s getting her life together and doing very well on it.”
His words make me want the ground beneath me to open up and swallow me whole. He glossed over the words, careful not to give away exactly why I must get my life together. He doesn’t want her to know; neither one of my parents do. It means they’re ashamed of me.
I feel the tears burn the corners of my eyes and tug at the sleeves of my shawl again, staring at the ground to keep myself as composed as possible. Besides, if I’m looking directly at the woman and start crying, she’s going to press, and I suspect that my parents won’t want to explain.
“We’re here to have a family night, Jenna,” my father finally tells her, sounding a little sharp. “We’ve barely had time with Gracie since she got home, and we want to spend some time with her.”
“Oh, of course,” Jenna chirps, and when I glance up again, her eyes flash to me before laughing and giving her goodbyes to my parents.
As she scuttles off and back to her table, we notice the waiter at our table, patiently holding our menus. We approach the corner table, and I sit on the far side while my parents make sure they face me. I choose my seat to keep an eye on anyone approaching us. I don’t want to be talking with my parents about something and then have someone pop up and hear something they aren’t supposed to.