Page 132 of Someone Like Me
Her hand squeezes mine. “Why?”
My eyes bug. “Why? Because I love her? Because I don’t want to lose her?” The words spill out of me almost without my consent. “Because she and Annie are the only members of my family who’ve never given up on me—”
I have to stop here and swallow hard. She waits, her face open and patient while I clear my throat.
“Because she has done nothing but love me. Me. Of all people.”
Evie’s smile stretches wider. “It’s not so hard to do, you know,” she says gently.
I look at her askance. “You realize you’ve just met my mother, right?”
She huffs a laugh, but she quickly dismisses it. “Okay. How do you feel right now? After telling me that?”
Frowning, I stare at her. I take a breath, filling my lungs and turning inward. How do I feel?
My throat’s still a little tight from trying to keep my emotions in check. But—
“I’ll be damned,” I swear, looking at Evie like she’s a twenty-first century witch. There is sadness, but more than anything else, what I feel right now for Grandma Quincy is love and gratitude. “If I think about it… if I turn to it…”
Evie’s head bobs in understanding. “The worry is still there if you reach for it, but—” she says lifting the hand that isn’t gripping mine, turning her palm up, and letting it rise through the air, “if you let it go and feel what’s underneath the worry — the love, the grief, whatever — that’s authentic. That, to me, is being more present. More alive.”
I blink at her, a calmness coursing through me. An awed sense of feeling…blessed. “You are fucking amazing.”
Evie leans into me, her smile shining like a beacon, and I wrap my arms around her. Why is this woman with me? She just has to open her mouth, and my life changes for the better. What can I possibly offer her?
She presses a kiss to my cheek and draws back. “I need to go in and get ready, but—” She stops and looks at me, indecision playing on her face.
“What?”
Evie stares at me for a minute before shaking her head. “Never mind.”
My left brow arches. She did this in the car a few minutes ago. “What’s bothering you?”
She blows out a breath. “I talked to my parents today.” As she speaks, her light dims. Just a little. I hate that. “They heard the ambulance this morning and were worried.”
Something passes over her face, and I know without needing to hear it. They were worried about her. It’s like a punch to the jaw. But can I really blame them? If I had a daughter who was sleeping with a guy who just got out of Angola?
Shit, I’d lose my fucking mind if I heard sirens pulling up at his place.
What the hell is she doing with me?
“I do things that drive my parents crazy,” she says with a little wince. But her eyes are trained on me watching me so closely. “Do you think…”
Out of nowhere, I get the feeling this is some kind of test, and I’ve missed the lesson.
Or have I? Whatever’s going on in her head is making her uncomfortable.
Worried.
I turn the tables on her. “You’re worried.”
She blinks at me, surprised. “What?”
I lower my brows and duck my head toward her. “You. Are. Worried. What are you worried about?” I ask, and then grin because I can’t help it. “And what’s underneath the worry?”
Her smile is back along with the sweetest of blushes painting her cheeks. “You learn fast,” she says softly. Then she clears her throat, looks down for a moment, and meets my eye. “I’m worried that… the way I am… will start to annoy you. Like it annoys my family.”
The way I am.
