Chapter 4 - The Truth Neither of Them Had Said
“For tonight?”
“No.”
I closed the door quietly.
“Why?”
She looked toward Noah.
“Can we talk somewhere else?”
We went to the small sitting room across the hall.
I remained standing.
Grace sat.
The red mark on her cheek had darkened slightly.
My anger returned.
I pushed it down.
“You’re quitting.”
“Yes.”
“Because of Vanessa?”
“No.”
“My mother?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
Grace looked at me.
“Because I should have left months ago.”
I stared.
“What?”
“I love Noah.”
“I know.”
“That’s the problem.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Her voice stayed gentle.
“I came here to be his nanny.”
“You became more.”
“I know.”
“Then what’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing.”
I couldn’t understand.
Grace looked tired.
“Adrian, when Noah first called me Mama Grace, you told me not to correct him.”
“Yes.”
“I understood why.”
“Good.”
“But nobody ever asked what that would mean when he got older.”
“We’d explain.”
“When?”
I had no answer.
“When he starts preschool and draws his family? When someone asks why Mommy Grace doesn’t have the same last name? When you marry Vanessa and she becomes his stepmother? When he wants me sitting beside you at school events?”
She looked down.
“Children can love complicated families. But adults have to tell the truth about them.”
I sat opposite her.
“What truth haven’t we told?”
Grace met my eyes.
“That I’m not only attached to Noah.”
Everything stopped.
She looked away.
“I tried not to be.”
“Grace.”
“Please don’t.”
“What?”
“Make me say it while you’re engaged.”
I looked at my hands.
“I don’t think I am anymore.”
Her eyes returned to mine.
“What?”
“I haven’t ended it yet.”
“Then you are.”
Fair.
“I’ll talk to Vanessa tomorrow.”
“Because she hit me?”
“Partly.”
“Don’t.”
I stared.
“You want me to marry her?”
“No.”
“Then—”
“I don’t want to become the reason you didn’t.”
That silenced me.
Grace continued.
“If your engagement is wrong, it needs to be wrong without me.”
I had never loved and hated someone’s logic so much.
“You already packed.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Last week.”
My stomach tightened.
“Before today.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She hesitated.
“Your mother told me you and Vanessa had chosen a wedding date.”
I frowned.
“We hadn’t.”
“Vanessa told Elena.”
“Vanessa and my mother chose a date.”
Grace almost smiled.
“That sounds healthy.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
Then stopped.
“Where will you go?”
“My sister has a spare room.”
“Where?”
“Fort Lauderdale.”
“You’ll take Noah?”
Her face broke.
“No.”
I immediately hated myself for asking.
“Sorry.”
She nodded.
“I’ll give you whatever notice you need.”
“No.”
“Adrian.”
“Noah can’t wake up and find you gone.”
“I know.”
“You promised him tonight.”
“I know.”
“How long?”
“As long as we need to make the transition healthy.”
The word transition made me sick.
“You’ve thought about this.”
“For months.”
“And you didn’t tell me.”
Grace’s eyes flashed.
“Tell you what?”
“That you were leaving.”
“That I had feelings for my employer? The grieving widower whose son calls me Mommy? The man engaged to someone else?”
I looked down.
“When exactly was the appropriate moment?”
Fair.
Again.
“Why didn’t you tell me about my mother?”
“Because she apologized.”
“She tried to buy you.”
“She was afraid.”
“That doesn’t excuse it.”
“No.”
Grace leaned back.
“But she listened when I said no.”
I stared.
“She did?”
“Yes.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That if she ever tried it again, I would leave and tell you why.”
“And she never did.”
“No.”
My mother had respected Grace’s boundary after crossing it.
Vanessa hadn’t.
I didn’t know what to do with that.
“Did Margaret ask you to support Vanessa?”
Grace was quiet.
“Grace.”
“Yes.”
My jaw tightened.
“How?”
“She wanted me to help Noah become comfortable with her.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
“It was.”
“But?”
“She also wanted me to stop responding when Noah called me Mama Grace.”
My chest tightened.
“What did you say?”
“No.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because every problem in this family becomes a referendum on loyalty.”
That sentence stopped me.
Grace looked at me steadily.
“I didn’t want you choosing sides. I wanted you paying attention.”
I thought about all the signs.
My mother correcting Grace.
Vanessa interrupting routines.
Grace becoming quieter at dinners.
Noah becoming clingier whenever Vanessa visited.
I had seen everything.
I had interpreted nothing.
Because work was easier.
Work came with enemies.
Numbers.
Leverage.
Family required noticing things I couldn’t order into place.
“Grace.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t leave tonight.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Tomorrow?”
“No.”
“This week?”
She almost smiled.
“Are you negotiating?”
“Yes.”
“Stop.”
I exhaled.
“Sorry.”
She looked toward Noah’s room.
“We need a plan.”
“We.”
“For Noah.”
Not for us.
I understood.
“All right.”
“We tell him I’m getting my own apartment.”
“You don’t have one.”
“I found one.”
That hurt more than it should have.
“Where?”
“Coconut Grove.”
“Safe building?”
She gave me a look.
“Sorry.”
“It is.”
“Good.”
“We explain I’ll still see him.”
“How often?”
“We decide that together.”
I stared at her.
“You’d stay in his life?”
Her eyes filled.
“If you let me.”
“Grace.”
My voice broke.
“You think I would take you away from him?”
“I don’t know.”
I stood.
Not angrily.
I simply couldn’t sit still.
“You are his family.”
Her eyes closed.
“Don’t say that because you’re scared.”
“I’m saying it because it’s true.”
“Then you should have said it before Vanessa hit me.”
That stopped me.
Grace wasn’t cruel.
That made the truth worse.
I had let her do the work of family without giving her the security of being named as family.
She could be dismissed.
Replaced.
Paid.
Corrected.
Because I had never forced myself to define what she was to us.
I had benefited from the ambiguity.
Grace had carried its cost.
“I’m sorry.”
She looked at me.
Not impressed.
Good.
I continued.
“I asked Vanessa to marry me because my mother said Noah needed stability.”
Grace’s expression tightened.
“I know.”
“I thought a wife would make us look like a family again.”
“You already were one.”
The sentence almost broke me.
“I know that now.”
“No.”
Grace shook her head.
“You know you’re afraid of losing it.”
I stared.
“That’s different.”
She was right.
I sat again.
“What do I do?”
It was possibly the first time in years I had asked anyone that question without already knowing what answer I wanted.
Grace looked surprised.
“About what?”
“Everything.”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because then you’re still letting someone else choose.”
I laughed softly.
“You are incredibly inconvenient.”
“I’ve been told.”
“By me?”
“Frequently.”
I looked at her cheek.
“Can I get you ice?”
“I already used some.”
“Doctor?”
“No.”
“Grace.”
“It’s a sore cheek.”
I nodded.
No argument.
Progress.
She stood.
“I’m going to sleep in Noah’s room.”
“Okay.”
At the door, she stopped.
“Adrian?”
“Yes?”
“Whatever happens with Vanessa, don’t humiliate her.”
I frowned.
“She hit you.”
“Yes.”
“She hit you in front of my son.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re protecting her.”
“No.”
Grace looked at me.
May you like
“I’m protecting who you become when you’re angry.”
Then she left.
