I skipped the part where my hands were shaking so badly that Alex told me to pull over at a gas station, then jogged around the truck and held me while I sobbed. How he’d run his hands over my back and promised I was safe. How once I could breathe normally, he’d kissed my forehead, loaded me into the passenger seat, bought Gatorade and granola bars, and waited until I finished before he pulled back onto the highway. How he’d pulled me into the center seat so that our hips touched, and whenever he wasn’t shifting gears, his reassuring hand rested on my leg.
I skipped the part where I realized that I’d been dreading this confrontation for years, and even though it had ended in bloodshed, I was still relieved to have gone. My hope for a reunion was trampled, but maybe it would give me the closure I needed to stop looking back, romanticizing my childhood, and wondering ‘what if?’ while ignoring the bigotry and closed-mindedness that I left behind.
“Then Alex dropped you off and left?” Kate said in confusion.
“No, he tried to apologize, but I … I told him I needed time. And quiet. And food. Greasy food, to eat all my feelings. So he went to get some.”
Mallory’s face twisted into astonishment. “You sent Alexander James Clarke, who has legal interns cut his toenails so he doesn’t have to bend over, on a McDonald’s run?”
I smiled softly. “Yeah, I guess I did.”
“And he didn’t protest?”
“He asked if I liked pickles.”
“The man has a vendetta against pickles,” Mallory laughed, then dropped her voice in a solid impression: “Why ruin perfectly good cucumbers with vinegar?”
“One more thing he’s wrong about,” Kate muttered. “So what happens when he gets back?”
“I’m not sure." As a social worker, I always hoped for a peaceful solution. But as a trauma survivor, seeing my bully bleeding at the hands of my lover gave me a perverse sense of justice. "I’m livid that he burned that bridge, but it was hanging by a thread. It was satisfying to see my father’s stunned expression and Levi’s bloody nose. I don’t want to endorse violence … even though he deserved it.”
“Here’s the thing,” Mallory said. “Alex has been rewarded for this hyper-masculine bullshit for 30 years, swimming in a toxic masculinity fishbowl.”
“Plus he’s a lawyer,” Kate continued the thought. “When he sees wrongdoing, he wants to bring them to justice.”
“In this case, without a courtroom,” Mallory picked up the thread, “his sense of injustice led to knight-in-shining-armor savior bullshit … but his intentions were good.”
“And he tried to apologize instead of defending himself.”
“He shut up when you asked him … which has never happened in his life.”
There was a gentle knock. Helen said, “Hate to interrupt, but Alex is back with lunch.”
Before we went downstairs, Mallory caught my bicep. “He fucked up, but he was acting in good faith. Make him sweat for a bit, because that’ll be fun,” Mallory smirked, “but give him a second chance.”
Downstairs, the dining room table was covered in brown fast food bags and drink carriers. Dozens of them. Alex rubbed his neck, “You didn’t say which kind of cheeseburger you wanted, or the flavor of shake, so ...”
Just like the burritos … when he wasn't sure exactly what I wanted, he got one of everything.
“Did you buy the restaurant?” Kate said. “How much did all this cost?”
“Not enough,” Mallory said. “Makes you wonder what’s in those burgers.”
“Alex,” I said, having trouble forming words as I looked over dozens of sandwiches. Had he never been to McDonald’s before? “I wanted a cheeseburger.”
“Well then you get first pick, and they can eat whatever is left.”
“Don’t pick the Big Mac, Grace,” Bruce stage whispered.
“Bruce …” Helen chided.
“Fine,” he conceded in mock defeat. “Don’t choose the grilled chicken.”
I walked past the table straight to Alex and took his hand, dragging him into the kitchen for a bit of privacy. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and murmured, “Thank you."
“If this is your reaction to somebody buying you fast food, you need to raise your standards, Gracie.”
“No, thank you for today,” I leaned back to look at his face. “I don’t love that you acted like a possessive caveman who resorted to violence … but I’m glad he got punched.”
“I’m protective, not possessive. I’d hit anybody who talks about you that way. Though I wish I hadn’t had to because my hand still hurts.” He released my waist to shake it out.
I lifted his hand to gently kiss the knuckles … then I pointed my finger at his face. “In the future, you try for a peaceful solution.”
His cocky grin may as well have said, ‘It’s cute that you think I wouldn’t do it again.’
“This is sweet, Grace,” Mallory said, poking her head through the kitchen door frame, “but I’m hungry.”
I got an ice pack for his hand as he rifled around in a brown paper bag, then lobbed a container at his sister’s head. “Here’s your stupid salad with no cheese, flavor or commercial appeal, Shrimp.”
I reached for a quarter pounder and the chocolate shake, waited for everyone else to gather their meals, said a silent blessing, and sat down for a salty, greasy, delicious meal with my family.
Chapter 32Grace
New Year's Eve
“Grace, why aren’t we in bed?” Alex complained, lugging groceries into his aunt’s kitchen.
“You insisted that we use this kitchen,” I said, turning on the lights.