“Enough business talk,” says Cheryl, with another chiding cluck of her tongue. “That’s enough. In fact, no more business talk at all today.”
Charlie tells her, “We’re meeting with the client at noon.”
Don says, “Listen to your mother. If she doesn’t want business talk at the breakfast table, then we won’t have it.”
Charlie makes an unhappy sound in the back of his throat, but he doesn't bring work up again after that. His mother leans to the side, looking towards the entrance to the restaurant. There’s no sign of Grant.
My stomach is in knots. I can’t shake the feeling that by being honest, I’ve actually managed to ruin a really good thing. The best thing. The thought haunts me throughout the meal. I don’t actually have any interest in eating. No appetite at all. But I power through it like that’s my job, because, for the moment, it is. I’ve got to keep up the act, right?
Especially since Grant isn’t around to do it.
We make it through the whole meal without Grant showing up. When we finish, Don stands up and says, “I’m going to go find the kid. I don’t know what he’s thinking. Whatever business he’s running out of his pocket, it shouldn’t have a bearing on missing meals and skipping out on his family.”
“It doesn’t,” I tell him, hoping that I can convince Don not to go up to our room. Mostly because as far as I can tell there’s no way that Grant’s gone up there.
“It better not,” says Don, looking unhappy. He also looks like he’s still thinking about going up there and just storming into the room to demand to know what Grant might be doing.
I look to Charlie, trying to convey to him with my eyes that I need some serious help. Charlie looks at me for a moment with his deep gray eyes and then gives out the biggest sigh in the world, standing up and looking just like a younger brother who was told to go clean up after his older sibling.
Charlie says, “He’s not going to be late to the meeting, Dad. You know Grant. When was the last time he was late for a meeting?”
Don shakes his head. “I suppose that you’re right.”
He’s still looking towards the elevators. Cheryl reaches out and puts a hand on her husband’s arm. She says, “Don, you have an hour. I’m sure that he’s going to be off the phone by then, and he’ll be there.” And then, without missing a beat, “Charlie, why don’t you go up with Ashley, and check on him?”
Charlie looks at his mother and for a moment, I think that he’s going to protest. But then he shakes his head and sighs again, saying, “Fine. Because he needs a babysitter.” And then sarcastically, at his dad, “At least you think that I’m responsible enough for that.”
Don frowns. He opens his mouth, but Cheryl speaks louder and says, “Thank you, Charlie. Your father and I both appreciate it.” She turns to her husband. “Come on, dear. You promised me another hour before you start work, and I expect to actually get it.”
Don is clearly not happy about this, but he keeps his thoughts to himself and lets Cheryl lead him out of the restaurant. Soon as they’re gone, I reach out and grab onto Charlie’s arm. I grip it with one hand, and I tell him, “We can’t go up there.”
“Why?” Charlie asks, looking unimpressed with the protest.
“Because Grant’s not there.” I look around, just to make sure that there are no chances of their parents lingering within earshot. I’ve messed up enough with that for one week. When it’s clear that they aren’t coming back in or lingering to catch the dirty details, I say, “I don’t know where he is.”
Charlie pauses. There’s a beat of silence, and then he lets out this huff of laughter. “What are you talking about?”
“He left last night, and I haven’t seen him since,” I tell him. The words make that knot in the back of my chest twist up that much tighter, making me want to just turn away and say nothing else at all.
“Were you two fighting?” Charlie asks.
I don’t say anything. I can’t say anything.
“Shit,” says Charlie. “Did you tell him?”
“I told him,” I say, softly. “I told him. And clearly it went terribly. As soon as I said it, he left. And… I’ve tried calling him, last night and before I came down here, but he didn’t answer me.”
“Fuck,” says Charlie. He rakes his hands through his hair. “Okay, look don’t get all up in your own head about it. This doesn’t mean anything.”
“What do you mean? Of course it means something,” I say, heat in my words. “It means that I ruined everything!”
For the first time, tears burned in the corner of my eyes. I didn’t cry last night. I didn’t cry this morning. I guess I’ve been in some kind of shock. But standing here in this fancy restaurant, looking at Charlie, actually saying these words out loud, I think that I might start to do exactly that.
My throat is tight. My mouth is watering. And the only thing that I want to do is go to bed.
“Hey, hey!” Charlie throws his arms around me, pulling me in for a hug. “Don’t cry!”
My face presses against his shoulder, and my arms curl around his waist. I don’t cry, but my eyes are misty. My throat is tight. I want Grant in my arms more than anything else, to just hold onto him and feel as comforted as I had before.