“I don’t mean to be rude,” he said at last. “But I’d really rather you didn’t.” He shrugged one shoulder, apologetic. “I’ve been down that road before.”

I swallowed and bit back the swell of emotion that was threatening.

“Finley?” I looked up and found him watching me intently, as if there was more he wanted to say. But whatever it might have been, he changed his mind and instead smiled, a real smile, not big and cheerful, but nonetheless sincere. And it brought about the adorable cheek dimple that was my Kryptonite as he simply wished me a “Happy Christmas.”

Twenty-Four

Grandma Jo looked like shit.

We stared at each other without saying a word for a good ten seconds before she waved for me to come all the way inside her cottage, which I did. She closed the door behind me and followed me into her living room, which, for the record, looked like a Pottery Barn showroom done up for Christmas.

I’d debated a while after Arthur left before I came over to her cottage, intending to let her know that I’d seen her and Esha the night before, that I knew . . . well, something. I wasn’t sure exactly how far into identity politics I wanted to go with my grandmother.

This already felt like the world’s most awkward minefield.

But the moment she opened the door and our eyes met, I knew that she knew that I knew. What came next, I did not know.

I stood by the fireplace mantel, like I had with my mother. Grandma Jo was by her own Christmas tree, which was elegantly beautiful, her hands on her slim hips and her face unnaturally wan. The true giveaway, however, was her hair. Grandma Jo’s hair was always perfect. It was important for her to look polished and professional. Now, though, it seemed as if she had run her hands through it without thought, strands going in every direction.

I bit my lip and laced my fingers behind my back.

“Well,” she said at last, her voice haggard. “This conversation is a long time coming.”

It took every ounce of self-restraint not to respond with an extremely sarcastic Ya think?! But she already seemed so demoralized and hurt. I wanted to hug her but I sensed she needed to say some things first.

She cleared her throat. “First of all,” she began stiffly, “I’m sorry. I should have been forthcoming with you a long time ago.”

That made me feel a thousand times better. And yet . . .

“Grandma, you can’t possibly think I’d care.”

“No. But . . .” She shrugged, unconsciously rubbing her wrist. “It would make you see me differently.”