chapter EIGHTEEN

Grace

The next day, I stay inside my room, waiting for Nix to knock on my door to tell me either we are not going to Joe’s house or he is leaving for work. When the knock I’ve been waiting for does not happen, I tippy-toe my way to the kitchen like a mouse. I am about to take a sip of the still hot coffee when an unwelcome greeting comes from behind me.

“Good morning, Grace.”

“Ah!” I spill the coffee all over me, and now, I am nothing but a drenched mouse, thirsty for coffee.

I stay facing the coffeemaker, too much of a coward to look Nix in the eyes. It’s hard to pretend like I am not upset.

I mock myself, thinking such thoughts because I know better.

What happened to turning the other cheek, Grace?

I am human; that’s what happened!

I shouldn’t have made that painting of his parents. But seeing a picture of them proudly displayed on the mantel in Nate’s living room gave me the stupid idea to surprise Nix.

“I know you’re mad at me.” An audible groan sounds from behind me. “Shit! I’m mad at myself, to be honest. I didn’t mean to leave and make you feel like crap. That painting of my parents…fuck!” he yells, making me jump. “Seeing it…seeing them was too much, Grace. There’s a reason I don’t have pictures of them anywhere in my house. I hate how they were taken away from me and my brothers! They weren’t bad people, Grace! They loved us! But the fucker who decided to drink one too many beers and then drive took that love away from us!”

“Nix”—I turn to face him, and the look of despair in his eyes hurt my soul—“some things are just destined to happen.”

When Nix’s face hardens and his soothing honey eyes turn dark, I know that what I just said hit a nerve.

“Of course, you feel that way! You think, just because you pray all day, you have a clear understanding of life! That, somehow, forgiveness is as easy as pie and that acceptance is a piece of cake! Well, I’m fucking pissed at the bastard who killed my parents.” He points at me with eyes burning in anger. “You should condemn the fuckers who killed yours!”

“You will never understand me because we move in two different worlds,” I say more to myself.

He scoffs loudly. “So, now, you’re insulting me. I knew it! You think my world is full of degenerate, gun-toting, killing machines while yours pray for people like me! You’ve judged me already. So, what is it, huh?” he says through clenched teeth. “Every time you look at me, what is it that you see, Miss Holier Than Thou?”

“You want to know what I truly see?” I lean closer, holding his stare. “I see a man whose heart is damaged by death.”

“Oh, so I’m damaged goods on top of being a sinner. Is absolution even possible for me?” He cocks his head and glares at me.

“No!” I throw my hands up in the air. “We’re all sinners, okay? All…” I pause to reel in whatever patience I have left. “All I’m saying is that death is part of life. There’s no way around it. None, Nix. What happened to our parents couldn’t have been controlled. Someone plotted for mine while someone totally disregarded his responsibility for yours. But, if I can stop someone from dying, I would. That is why I don’t want you or anyone else to die from trying to save me.”

“You can’t have it both ways, Grace! You just said that death was part of life. There’s no way around it, right? So, how in the world could you stop death from happening? Your father died from saving you. Your mom died, doing the same. They didn’t give up their lives for nothing, Grace. They gave it up for you! I do what I do because I want to make a damn difference! To make up for the fucking assholes who make life miserable for so many! There are fuckers out there who even prayers couldn’t save!”

For ten years, I have bottled up the real me to fit the mold of a postulant. Now, I am nowhere near the convent, and my feelings are most definitely hurt by his words. Why my heart is drawn to him defies logic, but what do I really know? All I know is, I’m done with hiding my feelings. I’m done with accepting someone else’s narrative. I’m done with staying mute.

I. Am. Done.

I take a step closer to my judge and jury. “Yes, I pray because, for the past ten years of my life, it has kept me afloat. It became a part of me! Just like how your sharp tongue has helped you drive a point home in a harsh enough way to bring me to my knees!”

“Yes, those people who killed my parents are perhaps the worst people on earth, but bathing in my anger and hurt caused by them would only chain me to them. Just like how your anger toward the person who killed your parents is controlling you. That person is occupying so much of your head and heart that you can’t even stand seeing a picture of your parents. There’s no amount of explanation that could make you understand me.” I pause to catch my breath.

“And, despite you lashing out at me, I pray for you every night. When I close my eyes, I see a protector. I see the willing heart of a savior! I see you!”

His angry scowl disappears.

I blink twice to stop my tears from falling. “Now, I only see an angry man who is worthy of all the accusations I can throw at him. But don’t worry; I won’t fester in my anger. I’ll just forgive you again.”