Honey Girl(46)

When she gets to the door, there is a guy waiting for her. A guy that smiles when he sees her, who has seen Grace at her very worst, snotty and bawling and angry. He smells like Portland redwoods and mamri tea.

“Raj,” she breathes out. She barrels into his solid frame and waiting arms. “What are you doing here? How did you even know where here was?” She burrows into his rain jacket and overflowing hair.

“You sent the address to everyone before you left, remember?” His fingers grip tight around Grace’s waist. “Just in case anything happened. The great Grace Porter, always prepared. Baba has the address printed out and tacked on the board in his office.”

She hides a smile in his neck. If she could get herself any closer, she would. Instead, she sniffs and clings and tries not to pinch herself in case this is a dream.

“Well, nothing’s happened to her yet,” Yuki says dryly. It hits Grace that all of them are in the living room watching. “Sorry you wasted a perfectly good trip.”

Grace pulls away when she feels Raj stiffen. Yuki stands like a small, angry dog, all puffed up and indignant.

“Yuki,” she says, unwilling to let go of Raj yet. One hand finds its way into his pocket, and she would try to fit herself in there if she could. “This is Raj. The one I told you is kind of like my—” She looks at Raj for help.

He pulls back his shoulders. Wet from the rain outside and challenging. “I’m her brother,” he says flatly. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Fletcher says, moving forward to shake Raj’s hand. “Shit, like, come in, man. Sorry for all the questioning.”

Grace pulls him inside. “Come in,” she says. “Sit down. Tell me everything. Why are you here?”

They sit on the couch. Yuki stands against the exposed brick and crosses her arms, and Fletcher pushes Sani out of the room. “The tension,” he whispers loudly. “Let’s go be bad people and text Dhorian about it while he’s at work.”

Grace grabs Raj’s hands as they leave. She can’t believe he’s here. She can’t believe a piece of her Portland galaxy navigated its way to New York.

“Why are you here?” she repeats. “How are you here?”

He shrugs. “I’m not really here,” he admits. “If Baba finds out I made a pit stop in New York on the way to my meeting, he won’t let me use his flier miles again.”

“What meeting?”

“It’s probably nothing,” he says, ducking his head. “But it’s to discuss opening another White Pearl Tea Room in Boston. So. I’m going to that. But for tonight, here I am.”

Her eyes grow big. Baba Vihaan has put his blood, sweat and tears into that tea room. Even when he was shrouded in grief after his wife died, Grace never doubted his dedication to his work.

“Holy shit,” she says. “You have to tell me everything.”

He laughs, a thing that’s mostly a shaky exhale. “Can we do it over a drink?” he asks. “I have to catch my next flight tomorrow morning, and I could really, really, use a drink with my favorite sister before I have to leave.”

“You know I’m telling Meera, right?”

He scoffs. “You think I didn’t tell her? You take me for a coward, Gracie?”

The banter hits her right in the chest. She is home, just for a little, with Raj here. She sees home in his wild hair and his dark eyes and his calloused hands. “Jesus,” she whispers, blinking fast. “I missed you. Yes,” she says. “Let’s get drinks. Let’s get drunk.” She gets up from the couch and looks back. “Don’t move, okay? I don’t wanna come back and you’re gone.”

“Little sister,” he says softly. “When have I ever left you?”

She nods, disappearing down the hall to change and grab her wallet. She hears Yuki’s soft bare feet behind her, little thumps that have become as familiar as the other sounds of the city. Grace drops on the bed and tries to untangle all the knotted feelings that have curled up in her chest. How strange it feels to have part of her orbit back in its place again.

Yuki leans in the doorway. “So,” she starts, and Grace looks up at her tone. “Going out?”

Grace blinks. “You should come,” she says. “Raj was just being protective. You’ll like him, I promise.”

Yuki crosses her arms. She’s in her pajamas: the same thin, white T-shirt Grace has, with BRIDE printed across the front and these frilly, yellow shorts that barely cover her ass. She looks dimpled and a little angry. She could make Grace do just about anything like this.

“Did I do something?” Yuki asks. Grace sits up straight and waits, curious. “Did your friends really have to come and check on you? Did you ask them to?”

“Yuki Yamamoto,” Grace says carefully. She studies the girl in front of her. “What are you asking me?”

Yuki huffs, pushing flyaway strands away from her face. “I know I don’t know you like they do,” she says, a little bit of a bite in her voice. “God knows half the time I don’t even feel like I get you, Grace Porter. But I’ve been trying. I’ve been—I’ve been trying, you know?”

“Trying to what?” Grace asks slowly.

“To take care of you!” she says, shutting the door. “I’ve been doing a terrible job. Go on, tell me.”