Begin Again(96)

I’m eating them on the rocking chair by the front door when Grandma Maeve walks into the hall to join me and says, apropos of nothing, “I hope whatever got fucked up feels less fucked now, chicken.”

I finish chewing on the cookie, not quite finished chewing on the massive pile of regrets I’ve been ignoring all day. “I’m glad I’m home.”

She pats my cheek. “And we’re glad to have you. But also, it’s a damn Tuesday.” Her penciled-in eyebrows fly up on her wrinkled forehead, filled with more laugh lines than anyone I’ve ever met. “Smells like some conflict avoidance, if you ask me.”

She cushions it with an offer of her last pizza crust and the tub of butter, knowing full well how I love to dip my crusts in it. I accept them both with narrowed eyes.

“I’m guessing my dad already told you the gist of what happened,” I say. I can’t even pretend to be annoyed about it. It’s actually kind of nice, the normalcy of it. A parent being overly involved in something for once.

“Sure did,” says Grandma Maeve with a broad grin. “And can I just say, from the bottom of this feeble old heart . . .” I brace myself for some candid, sassy end to that sentence. But my grandma’s eyes lose their edge and keep all their sparkle. “You were always miles above that Connor Whit.”

Gammy Nell walks over, holding up a mug of tea. “Hear, hear.”

My eyes widen enough to rival planetary moons. “Wait. How did you know about . . . I mean, I haven’t even mentioned him.”

Gammy Nell winks. “We have our sources.”

“Sources that asked for our address approximately two hours ago,” says Grandma Maeve, glancing at the door expectantly.

As if on cue, there’s a knock.

“Hmm. Better go get that,” says Grandma Maeve with a wink.

I take my emotional-support pizza crust with me, trying to think of who it might be but drawing a complete blank. I don’t get much time to guess, because Valeria’s already talking before I fully open the front door.

“We fucked up,” she informs me, looking windswept and agitated, her usually sleek hair in tangles and her chic red coat buttoned up unevenly.

Grandma Maeve lets out her signature cackle. “I knew I liked you. Come on in.”

Valeria’s eyes widen in mild alarm—she’s met my grandmas twice now from their campus visits, but she’s always been at her utmost polite self for the occasion—but before she can sputter an apology, Gammy Nell has already started wrestling her coat off her, and Grandma Maeve has shut the door.

“What else did I mess up?” I ask. “Also, how are you here?”

She looks me up and down like she was half expecting to find me in pieces. “Um, where’s your phone, Andie?”

Tucked so far deep into my backpack that it might as well be in the earth’s molten core. “Kettle corn,” I mutter at myself, crouching down to wrestle it out. “What did I miss?”

The phone screen answers that for me before she can. Four texts and a call from Milo. Are you around? the first one reads. Sean says you took off the whole week?? says another. Seriously, though, where are you? Did you leave campus?

And then the fourth text, just before the call: Let me know when you get these, you’re freaking me out, new kid.

My face burns hotter than the aforementioned molten core.

“I texted Shay—”

“Yeah, uh.” Valeria winces. “Shay’s with her sister.”

I set my backpack down. “Is she okay?”

Valeria blows out a breath, shifting her weight between her feet. “So, um. I may have confessed my feelings for her out in the quad this morning. And she just kind of like—bolted?”

My grandmas have already vacated the premises, taking their tea and wine out to the back porch where my dad is still frowning methodically over his puzzle. I usher Valeria into the living room, which is every bit at odds with itself as my grandmas: half dainty florals, half flashy hot pinks and jet blacks, like the cozy love child of several eras of Taylor Swift mashed together.

We take a seat on the old pink velvet sofa, Valeria too distressed to notice me subtly moving the LIVE, LAUGH, FUCK OFF throw pillow to the side. Now that we’re sitting and the shock of her being in my house has worn off, I see her eyes are puffy and bare, like she must have cried her mascara off a while ago.

“What exactly did she say?” I ask.

Valeria sinks into the sofa looking more miserable than I’ve ever seen her. “She, um . . . said she couldn’t handle the whiplash of the whole thing. I don’t know if she believes me. And after I shut her down last week, I guess I don’t blame her.”

The gears in my brain are already starting to grind when Valeria says something that slows them to a temporary halt.

“Also, Sean told Milo he saw you at Bagelopolis with a suitcase? I called him in case he knew where Shay went, but he was already freaking out because he thought you were like, full leaving Blue Ridge State.”

Ah. That explains why Valeria used “we” when she showed up at the front door. I’ve officially run out of choice foods to cuss with today, so all I can do is put my face in my hands and try not to groan.

“Which—you’re not, right?” Valeria asks cautiously.

I snap my head back up. “No. I . . .”