Far from the Tree(47)

Rafe widened his eyes at her, then walked over and carefully put his hands on her shoulders. “Grace,” he said quietly. “Is this a cry for help? Just blink if you need me to make a call.”

She laughed again. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes,” he said, moving his hands from her shoulders and taking that warmth away. “Starving. I had to take a make-up quiz during lunch. Did you eat already? Please tell me your parents at least believe in eating lunch. Otherwise I might actually have to call Child Protective Services.”

Grace laughed a little less this time. It wasn’t as funny now that she knew Joaquin. “I’ll buy,” she said. “But I only have enough cash for me to eat.”

“You sweet talker,” Rafe replied, then started to take off his apron. “Give me two minutes.”

They ended up at a sandwich place just down from the store. (Grace tried to keep the distance short. The last thing she needed was to see anyone she knew from school.) “Can I ask you a question?” Grace said as they tucked into their sandwiches.

“No, you may not have any of my Doritos,” Rafe replied. “Get your own if you want them.”

Grace just wrinkled her nose. She’d never be able to eat Doritos again, not after what she’d read about preservatives and food dyes when she was pregnant with Peach. “I don’t want your Doritos,” she said. “Keep that fake cheese to yourself.”

“It’s not really cheese until it’s spelled with a z,” Rafe told her. “But I digress.”

“Are your parents divorced?”

“Yep,” he said before popping a chip into his mouth. He crunched. “Am I mutating yet?”

Grace threw a piece of lettuce at him, which he caught before it hit the table. “Masterful reflexes,” he said. “Just FYI.”

“Your parents?” Grace said.

“Yes, ma’am. Split up when I was five. I’m pretty sure the world is only turning because they got divorced. Otherwise their fights would have probably made the planet implode.”

The idea of parents fighting was so foreign to Grace. Her parents had always argued behind closed doors, whatever battle they had smoothed over by the time the sun rose next morning. She had never even heard them yell at each other.

“What about you?” Rafe asked.

“No, they’re still married.”

“Throw the rice.”

“But Maya, she—”

“Is that your sister?”

Grace paused.

“The sort-of sister?” Rafe amended.

“No, she’s my actual sister,” Grace said, and was surprised by the bristle in her own voice. “Maya’s not ‘sort of’ anything.”

“I’m sorry,” Rafe said, and he both sounded and looked sorry. “That was an asshole thing to say. Carry on with your tale of woe.”

Grace rolled her eyes. “Never mind.”

“No, wait. Shit,” he said, then set down his chips. “Okay, I’m really sorry. You were telling me something serious and I blew it. Let’s have a do-over, okay?” He pretended to hit a rewind button. “Aaaaand back.”

Grace had to give him points for effort. “Okay,” she said. “So Maya’s parents—”

“The parents of your real, true, actual, one hundred percent sister, yes, go on.”

“—are getting divorced.”

“Well, that sucks. Is she upset?”

“It’s hard to tell with her,” Grace replied, reaching for one of her apple slices. “She sort of plays it cool a lot of the time.”

“That sounds healthy,” Rafe said. “She’s probably super upset on the inside. You should talk to her.”

“I’m still trying to figure out how to talk to her. And Joaquin, too. They’re both just . . . They’re different.”

“Well, yeah, welcome to having siblings,” Rafe said. “My dad actually had two kids way before he met my mom, so my brother and sister are both in their twenties. It’s like having four parents. I don’t recommend the experience, by the way.”

“But do you think . . .” Grace tried to choose her words as carefully as she could. “Do you think that . . . like, okay, when your parents divorced, did it . . . Are you . . .”

“Did it completely fuck me up?” Rafe asked. “Is that what you want to know?”

“Yes,” Grace said with a sigh of relief. “Exactly that.”

“Well, you better hope not, since you’re the one who asked me to lunch.” Rafe reached over and swiped one of her apple slices. “Relax, I’m just trying to counteract the Doritos.”

“I don’t think that’s how science works,” Grace said.

“Whatever, Bill Nye.” Rafe stuck the slice into his mouth, then chewed. “And to answer your question, no, it did not fuck me up. It made things more difficult, of course, and I still get two Christmases, two birthdays, all of that good stuff, but I’m not fucked up.”

“But do you think that you could have had a better experience?”

Rafe was eyeing her carefully. “Why do I feel like you want me to say what you want to hear?”

“Because maybe I do,” she admitted, and then she realized that she had chewed the top of her straw into two separate pieces.