How to Love Your Neighbour(83)
No pressure. Why not? He could handle pressure. Besides, he liked Morty and his fiancée. And he was crazy about Grace.
Noah
I’d love to join. See you soon.
Grace Awesome.
Good luck.
He hated that he felt like he needed it.
38
Grace wasn’t the best cook, but she could follow a recipe, even adding some extra spice without killing anyone. When she’d first worked for Morty, he’d been on a bland diet that consisted of a lot of rice, bananas, and pasta. She was a pro at those.
As she slipped the lasagna into the oven, she wondered if it was normal to feel this nervous. If she’d grown up, the way so many people did, with one or two parents who took care of her, guided her, and had expectations of her, would she be introducing them to Noah? Would her mom have cared? There was no man before him who had made her wonder.
For a variety of reasons, she hadn’t had many boyfriends growing up. She kept her eyes on the prize—getting away from her mom. Not every memory was bad, but their life, as a whole, was something Grace had always known she wanted more than. Despite her mother’s rotating door of men, they weren’t all bad. But Tammy found reasons to push them away regardless. It wasn’t until she was older that Grace realized the real flaw Tammy saw in every man was they could never live up to Grace’s biological father. That confused Grace, since he’d taken off right after Grace’s birth. Whatever the reason, her father was Tammy’s bar and no man measured up.
Part of her could understand, since she knew that if things didn’t work out with Noah she’d measure all others against him. She didn’t need Noah in order to be happy. She wanted him as a partner by her side. Yes, she wanted Tilly and Morty to like him, enjoy his company. Approve of him? So damn what. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s normal. Was it? Her former employer turned surrogate grandfather and his soon-to-be wife were coming to dinner with her now boyfriend-neighbor who not so long ago had been her sort of nemesis. Yeah. So many shades of normal, Gracie. Way to go.
The doorbell rang, and she breathed a loud sigh of relief to no longer be alone with her thoughts. Walking from the kitchen through the living room, she smiled at her own additions. She’d been plugging away at her own décor and design while working on Noah’s.
When she opened the door, Morty and Tilly stood on her stoop. He wore a bowler hat, which made Grace think of Noah and his grandfather. Tilly wore a pretty patterned dress with a heavy white cardigan. She carried a large, rectangular dish.
“You didn’t have to bring anything,” Grace said, taking the dish from her.
“People say that but it’s just rude if you don’t. Besides, I haven’t baked my apple-peach crisp for you in far too long.”
“Mm. Well, I’m not saying no to that. Come on in. Hang your purse and hat on the coatrack.”
“Well look at this,” Morty said after shutting the door and seeing the antique rack. “This here is a thing of beauty. I think we may have had one just like this when I was a boy.”
“You find it at Mi Casa?” Tilly asked, hanging her purse on it.
“I did. I just love it there. Come on in and see what I’ve done with the place.”
Like a sunflower turning to face the sun, Grace felt herself bloom. She stood taller, felt proud.
“Oh, Grace. I love this couch.” Tilly sat down on the slightly curved sofa. Grace had fallen in love when she saw it in Home and Heart magazine. It had been her only real splurge so far with the money she was earning for designing Noah’s place. It looked like a shallow U, like something someone would see at a swanky nightclub. It was silvery gray, and she’d added teal cushions to each end for pops of color.
“Isn’t it awesome? I actually thought of going with one the color of the pillows but decided to be a bit more subtle.”
Morty stared at it, standing in front like he didn’t understand. “How’s a man supposed to stretch out?”
“What are you talking about?” Tilly scooted over a bit so he could sit, but he didn’t.
He gestured to the couch, waving his wrinkly hand from one end to the other. “A man wants to lay his feet at one end, his head at the other. What’s he supposed to do? Lie on his side and curl up?”
Tilly’s gaze locked with Grace’s, and they both laughed at the same time. Tilly grabbed his hand, pulling him down beside her. “Like your body would take up this entire couch. You’re shrinking, old man. There’s no reason to worry.” She moved back and forth on the cushion. “Admit it. Cozy as a bed, isn’t it?”
Morty shrugged, settled in a little. “Not bad, I guess. What other weird furniture did you get?”
Grace shook her head, pointed to her two perfectly normal armchairs. They were darker shades of gray, each holding a slightly different throw pillow with splashes of white and teal. Over the fireplace, she’d hooked up the television, and because she wanted to change the mantel, there was nothing under it.
Tilly rubbed her feet on the rug. “I like this, too, honey. It’s all coming together so nicely. You’re making a home.”
Grace spent a lot of time thinking about that word: “home.” Her whole life, she’d imagined it to be somewhere to come back to, a constant, a North Star with sturdy construction and no wheels. She hesitated, her hands and heart momentarily frozen. The definition had shifted, morphed into something else that included someone rather than something. Rolling her shoulders, she huffed out a breath. That’s fine. She could adjust her perception without changing her life for a man.