I hang my head, not knowing what the fuck to say. Only that she’s right. Absolutely right.

And not just about the damn piano.

“Well, y’all keep eating. It’s delicious, Grady,” she says. “I’m just going to powder my nose.”

“Um, it’s—” I start to direct her.

“I’ll find it,” she snaps.

“Wow,” Gil says when she disappears into the house. “I’m liking her more and more. Think I still have a chance, or did you fuck it up for both of us?”

“Chance at what?” Marigold asks, face pinched with confusion.

“A chance to be more than friends with Marnie,” Gil says.

Marigold looks from him to me. “But you said you were just friends, and you’re an old man.”

Gil laughs. Marigold’s ability to remember everything a person says is endearing, but not always. “Remember how you said you didn’t like Peter Pike? Things change.”

Her lips pinch as she considers this. Then, she nods. Marigold may not always understand social shit, but she’s extremely logical. “Peter Pike is two years and three months older than me. We’re all adults. Age differences don’t matter.”

“Marnie would agree, I think,” Gil says. “Grady’s the only one who cares.”

“I don’t care. It’s just… I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” I rise, bumping the table. I grab my plate and hers, as my siblings give me their adult versions of stink eyes.

I go inside, balancing dirty dishes and not expecting to see her. If it were me, I would’ve bailed the moment another car appeared in the driveway.

She stayed, anyway.

For them or me, I don’t know. Maybe both. But after what she said, I’m sure this marks the bitter end to any ideas about us. Why would she want to be with someone she believes prefers misery? And if that’s true about me, why would I wreck her with my miserable life?

I pile dishes into the sink, expecting to hear the front door slam and her truck revving in the driveway. But I don’t.

I only hear her voice, soft and upset, behind me. “Grady.”

33. Marnie

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Marnie

“Grady.” My voice sounds weak, annoyed, sad—a mishmash of emotions that I can’t seem to hide now that I’ve had my outburst. Dang it, Marnie. I never have outbursts. It’s just not a Marnie thing to do. Even at The Sound of Music, when everyone expected me to lose my cool, I held myself together.

Held her together, eventually. I couldn’t salvage us, though. Mom left the next day, and I haven’t seen her since.

There’s nothing to salvage between Grady and me, just feelings I shouldn’t have, and he clearly doesn’t want.

He turns, leans against the sink, and dries his hands on a dishtowel. “Marina, I’m sorry.”