The Lies That Bind(33)

“What reason is that?” I say.

“I mean—Grant wouldn’t introduce a random girl to his dying brother.”

“Then why would he say we’re just friends?”

“I don’t know,” Scottie says. “Maybe he was trying to protect Byron? He doesn’t want to wave around that he’s falling in love—so he downplayed it?”

I nod, as Scottie continues. “Think about it. They’re twins, living two extremes. The best a person can feel—and the worst. And it’s kind of a crapshoot which brother got which fate, right? Like falling in love is always sort of a fluke—same as getting that bad gene.”

“Wow,” I say, thinking this is Scottie at his insightful and empathetic best. “I didn’t think of that. And Grant did have a guilty look on his face.”

“Hopefully that’s all it is,” Scottie says. “But remember—that’s a best-case scenario. Worst case—he’s telling his brother the truth, and you’re not all that important to him.”

“Harsh,” I say under my breath.

He shrugs and continues, “Either way, you need to play it cool. Starting now.”

I look at him, thinking about how I vowed not to play games with Grant. And I won’t. But I do need to give Grant plenty of space during such a painful, complicated time. And maybe I also need to protect myself if this relationship isn’t what I think it is. I express all of this to Scottie, who agrees, then smiles and says, “Soo…does this mean you want to hang out with me and Enrique later?”

    I laugh and say, “Really? You’re seeing him later?”

“Yeah,” he says, smirking. “I mean, you never know. We could have both hooked up with our soul mates last night.”



* * *



—

The rest of the day is a blur. Scottie and I hit the Tate and Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre before meeting up with Enrique for dinner. His real name is Noah—and he is the absolute British version of Scottie, funny and charming and unfiltered. But even as I pretend to have a good time, all I can really do is think about Grant, praying that I have the chance to talk to him before Scottie and I leave London.

As it turns out, he comes to my hotel very early the next morning, calling my room and asking if I can come down to say goodbye. My heart pounding, I say yes, I’ll be right there.

A moment later, I am sitting across from him in the lobby. Before he can say anything, I ask how his brother is doing.

“A little better,” he says. “We have a plan.”

“And what’s that?” I say. “If you don’t mind sharing?”

He tells me they’re leaving London and going to Jerusalem, then Venice. “Those are the two places he wants to see before he dies.”

I shiver, trying to imagine my siblings in this situation. “God,” I whisper. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he says. “Just…believe in me.”

“I do, Grant,” I say, trying so hard to be brave, not to cry. “But let’s put us on hold right now.”

    “What does that mean?” he says, looking worried, but also relieved.

“It just means…that I see how hard this is on you,” I say, choosing my words carefully. I don’t want to call it a breakup, but also want him to be off the hook in terms of any relationship duties. I clear my throat and keep going. “I know you need to put your brother first right now. Not just as your first priority, but as your only priority. For as long as you have left together….You can’t be worried about emailing me from Internet cafés and calling me from hotel rooms.”

He stares at me, but doesn’t protest, confirming that I’m doing the right thing for him. I just hope it’s also the right thing for our long-term relationship.

“Thank you for understanding, Cecily,” he says. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”





I hear from Grant only two times over the next six weeks—which is brutal, but honestly two more times than I’d prepared myself for when Scottie and I boarded our plane at Heathrow.

The first time is in mid-August, and comes in the form of a postcard from Venice. On the front is a photo of the Rialto Bridge at sunset, a backlit gondola being navigated under the iconic stone arch. On the back is Grant’s message in boxy print: Dear Cecily, I hope we come here together one day. I miss and love you. Always, G.

I keep the card next to my bed and read it every night, his words sustaining me until the next time I hear from him, which happens to be on Labor Day. He calls me right as I’m about to head out the door for a barbecue with Jasmine’s family.

“Hi. It’s me,” he says.

“Hi!” I say, my heart racing. “Where are you?”

“We’re back in London now,” he says, the connection filled with static. “But I’ll be home in a week…next Monday…I think we land around six.”

I hear his we, and am overcome with relief. “How’s Byron doing?”

“He’s hanging in there, I guess….How are you?” His voice is flat and so distant.

“I’m fine. The same. Nothing new to report…What about your travels? Has it been…” I struggle for a word that doesn’t sound completely inappropriate. “Satisfying?”