Grace is trying to come to terms with her loneliness. It is not as clear-cut as being alone. She is not alone. But she finds herself missing the familiarity of Portland. She finds herself missing the rigidity of her academic schedule, the coziness of the White Pearl Tea Room. She misses the people that do not know Grace Porter taking a break and figuring things out, but Grace Porter in control, always in motion.
But she is taking a break, and she finds herself in NYC surrounded by people that do not judge her for it, no matter how much blame she aims at herself.
They’re in Sani’s bedroom. He’s icing bruised knuckles and trying to psych himself up to swallow down three ibuprofens.
“You just throw ’em back,” Yuki says. “We go through this every time!”
“And every time it’s traumatic!” he shouts back. “You’d think the billion-dollar pharmaceutical industry could make smaller pills. Some of us have delicate throats.”
Yuki makes a face at Grace, who’s trying not to laugh over her late-night onigiri. “Bet that makes you a hit in bed,” Yuki mutters.
Sani glares. “More than you,” he says, voice silky-smooth and dangerous. “Who exactly are you fingering with those ridiculous claws?”
Grace chokes. Yuki lets out an inhuman screech and launches herself across the room. She lands on top of Sani and they go crashing to the floor, while Grace watches from the bed.
“Is everybody okay?” Grace asks. “That sounded painful.”
Yuki sits up and lets out a long, anguished groan. “He started it.”
“Well,” Sani says huffily, not even bothering to get up, “you knocked over my pills and my water. Now I have to start that process all over again. It’s a very psychological experience for me.”
“I have no sympathy for you,” Yuki says, sending him a nasty glance. She checks over her newly painted pink nails. “I’m a femme who likes long nails, and I am very valid, thank you.”
“Hey, Yuki?” Fletcher calls suddenly. “There’s a guy at the door.”
“Does he live here?” Yuki calls back. “A lot of guys live here, maybe it’s one of them.”
There is just Fletcher’s pointed silence.
“No,” he says. “He does not live here.”
“Does he want to live here?” Sani yells. “Is he at least cute?”
“Can you assholes just—” Fletcher cuts himself off, murmuring low to whomever it is. “He says he’s here for Porter.”
Yuki and Sani look at her, and Grace looks back with wide eyes.
When she gets to the door, there is a guy waiting for her. A guy that smiles when he sees her, who has seen Grace at her very worst, snotty and bawling and angry. He smells like Portland redwoods and mamri tea.
“Raj,” she breathes out. She barrels into his solid frame and waiting arms. “What are you doing here? How did you even know where here was?” She burrows into his rain jacket and overflowing hair.
“You sent the address to everyone before you left, remember?” His fingers grip tight around Grace’s waist. “Just in case anything happened. The great Grace Porter, always prepared. Baba has the address printed out and tacked on the board in his office.”
She hides a smile in his neck. If she could get herself any closer, she would. Instead, she sniffs and clings and tries not to pinch herself in case this is a dream.
“Well, nothing’s happened to her yet,” Yuki says dryly. It hits Grace that all of them are in the living room watching. “Sorry you wasted a perfectly good trip.”
Grace pulls away when she feels Raj stiffen. Yuki stands like a small, angry dog, all puffed up and indignant.
“Yuki,” she says, unwilling to let go of Raj yet. One hand finds its way into his pocket, and she would try to fit herself in there if she could. “This is Raj. The one I told you is kind of like my—” She looks at Raj for help.
He pulls back his shoulders. Wet from the rain outside and challenging. “I’m her brother,” he says flatly. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Fletcher says, moving forward to shake Raj’s hand. “Shit, like, come in, man. Sorry for all the questioning.”
Grace pulls him inside. “Come in,” she says. “Sit down. Tell me everything. Why are you here?”
They sit on the couch. Yuki stands against the exposed brick and crosses her arms, and Fletcher pushes Sani out of the room. “The tension,” he whispers loudly. “Let’s go be bad people and text Dhorian about it while he’s at work.”
Grace grabs Raj’s hands as they leave. She can’t believe he’s here. She can’t believe a piece of her Portland galaxy navigated its way to New York.
“Why are you here?” she repeats. “How are you here?”
He shrugs. “I’m not really here,” he admits. “If Baba finds out I made a pit stop in New York on the way to my meeting, he won’t let me use his flier miles again.”
“What meeting?”
“It’s probably nothing,” he says, ducking his head. “But it’s to discuss opening another White Pearl Tea Room in Boston. So. I’m going to that. But for tonight, here I am.”
Her eyes grow big. Baba Vihaan has put his blood, sweat and tears into that tea room. Even when he was shrouded in grief after his wife died, Grace never doubted his dedication to his work.
“Holy shit,” she says. “You have to tell me everything.”
He laughs, a thing that’s mostly a shaky exhale. “Can we do it over a drink?” he asks. “I have to catch my next flight tomorrow morning, and I could really, really, use a drink with my favorite sister before I have to leave.”
“You know I’m telling Meera, right?”
He scoffs. “You think I didn’t tell her? You take me for a coward, Gracie?”
The banter hits her right in the chest. She is home, just for a little, with Raj here. She sees home in his wild hair and his dark eyes and his calloused hands. “Jesus,” she whispers, blinking fast. “I missed you. Yes,” she says. “Let’s get drinks. Let’s get drunk.” She gets up from the couch and looks back. “Don’t move, okay? I don’t wanna come back and you’re gone.”
“Little sister,” he says softly. “When have I ever left you?”
She nods, disappearing down the hall to change and grab her wallet. She hears Yuki’s soft bare feet behind her, little thumps that have become as familiar as the other sounds of the city. Grace drops on the bed and tries to untangle all the knotted feelings that have curled up in her chest. How strange it feels to have part of her orbit back in its place again.
Yuki leans in the doorway. “So,” she starts, and Grace looks up at her tone. “Going out?”
Grace blinks. “You should come,” she says. “Raj was just being protective. You’ll like him, I promise.”
Yuki crosses her arms. She’s in her pajamas: the same thin, white T-shirt Grace has, with BRIDE printed across the front and these frilly, yellow shorts that barely cover her ass. She looks dimpled and a little angry. She could make Grace do just about anything like this.
“Did I do something?” Yuki asks. Grace sits up straight and waits, curious. “Did your friends really have to come and check on you? Did you ask them to?”
“Yuki Yamamoto,” Grace says carefully. She studies the girl in front of her. “What are you asking me?”
Yuki huffs, pushing flyaway strands away from her face. “I know I don’t know you like they do,” she says, a little bit of a bite in her voice. “God knows half the time I don’t even feel like I get you, Grace Porter. But I’ve been trying. I’ve been—I’ve been trying, you know?”
“Trying to what?” Grace asks slowly.
“To take care of you!” she says, shutting the door. “I’ve been doing a terrible job. Go on, tell me.”
She stares, and she waits for Grace to tear her down. Terrible, scary Yuki. Soft, trembling Yuki. Yuki sprouting thorns and velvet petals.
“Okay,” Grace says. “Can you sit down?”
“Absolutely not,” Yuki says, covering her face. “Just send me a text message about it like a normal maladjusted person in this millennium.”
Grace smiles. “I’m not going to text you when you’re right in front of me,” she says. “But, Yuki, I don’t—” She shakes her head, as if that will help the words fall into place. “Being here with you is a good thing.” She takes a deep breath to steel herself. “You’re a good thing.”
“Okay.” Yuki blinks. “You’re. You know. Good, too, or whatever.” She grits her teeth and stares at her ceiling. No stars. Nothing to count and keep yourself grounded with. “It’s just that we’re married, and I’m selfish. I’ve had enough therapy that I can admit to that.” She looks down and gives Grace a small smile. “I want to take care of you, Grace Porter.”
“You do,” Grace says. Her fingers curl into the covers. “My friends know that. Everyone knows that.”
“And I want you to take care of me, too,” Yuki adds, like a challenge. “Isn’t that what married people do? I mean, you have people that fly across the country just to make sure you’re okay, and maybe I feel—”
“You feel what?”
“Lonely right in front of you.” Yuki’s laugh is dry. “I went to Las Vegas and got married in the middle of the desert to you. And I know this is—coming here is a break, a breather for you. I get that. But I want to—I don’t know, feel like a home for you, too. One day. Maybe.”
She’s breathing heavy by the end of it, chest heaving with the weight of what she’s just said.
“Yuki,” Grace says. That’s all that comes. Yuki, she thinks. I’m right here.
“Please don’t,” she says quietly. “I feel stupid, and you know as an Aquarius I can’t deal with that like a regular human being.”
“Stop joking,” Grace says. I’m right here, she says, in the silence. Don’t you see me? Don’t you hear me? Didn’t you say lonely creatures recognize other lonely creatures? “I didn’t just come here for myself. I came here because I wanted to meet you and know you and—” She takes a deep breath. “I’m listening to you. I see you.”
“I don’t want you to,” Yuki argues, “because this is ridiculous, and I don’t even know why I said it.” She flops on the bed. She is not a hazy champagne-bubble dream. She is real person, a girl, a mess just like Grace. “I’m sorry.”
“Please don’t apologize.” Grace’s hand hovers over her warm body. The creases and curves and bends.
Yuki lets out a breath. “Aren’t you supposed to be getting changed? This is New York, but I still think people will judge you for going to a bar in your pajamas.”
She looks down at her flannel pants and her NASA tank. “Be honest, would this be the craziest outfit I’d see tonight?”
Yuki’s mouth widens with a smile she tries to force back. “Probably not,” she admits. “You could say you’re making a political statement.”
“I could.” Her hand makes contact with Yuki’s. “Come with me. I want you to meet Raj.”
Yuki shakes her head. “I have plans to lie in the dark and try to disappear from earth,” she says. “Very busy, very booked.” She moves slowly, very slowly toward Grace and holds her pinky out. “You won’t disappear on me now that I’ve revealed this terrible side of me, will you? Pinky promise.”
“Yuki—”
“It was in our vows,” she says somberly. “I wrote it in. I have the right to invoke the pinky promise at any time.”
“I promise,” Grace says, wondering how she can find a way to keep it. She hooks their pinkies together and wonders if the universe will allow her to keep both: the galaxies and this girl born of their glittering dust. “Pinky promise.”
Grace finds a bar with cheap drinks and low music and a table for two. They order shots and stare each other down.
“Are you going to explain yourself now?” she asks. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming to New York? Plus, another tea room opening on the East Coast? I mean, what gives? How did you get Meera to keep this from me? Usually she can’t hold water.”
Raj runs his hands over his face, peeking through his fingers. “You’re asking me so many things right now, and I’m way too sober.”
“Well, answer one,” she presses. “Answer half of one. Why do you need to be drunk to answer my questions?”
“Because,” he says, “I’m jet-lagged as fuck, and I haven’t texted Meera or any of our friends yet to tell them I made it here. I need to be drunk for that, too. Where are our shots?”
“Relax,” she says. “So, was this, like, meant to be a surprise? You coming here? God, Meera must be pissed. You know she’s wanted to come to New York for forever.”
Raj shrugs. The bar’s poor lighting emphasizes the circles under his eyes, the lines in his face, etched in deep. “She’s giving me the silent treatment,” he admits. “Like it’s my fault she’s taking that summer class. What’s it in again?”
“Neuroethics,” Grace says. “I told her it seemed a bit much, but she’s—”
“Stubborn,” they say together.
“Plus, she has to cover the shop with Baba while I’m gone. She knows all of this, she’s just being difficult.” He sighs. “She knows how much I have to deal with, so I don’t know why she can’t just—”
“Hey,” Grace cuts in, leaning back as four tequila shots appear on their table. “She’s your sister. You know she has your back. Take a shot, please. You’re stressing me out.”
He does, taking them one after the other. He grimaces and turns toward the bar. “What do we want next? I’m trying to leave this astral plane.”
Grace grabs his hand when he signals for more. “Okay, let’s chat a little before we get blackout drunk, okay? You had your shots, now spill.”
In the moment, Raj looks way older than thirty-three. He looks tired and worn-out. Grace wonders how she forgot that other people could wither away from stress and anxiety and the weight of the world, too.
“Hardball, huh?” he asks. “Okay, well I’m here. Surprise. I told everyone, but I didn’t know if I could make it happen until the last minute, so I asked them to keep their mouths shut. I’m honestly shocked they all did.”
“Okay,” Grace says. “So, it was a surprise. I’m surprised. Tell me about the other tea room.” She leans back, squinting. “Why aren’t you more excited about this?”
He crosses his arms. “It’s nothing. I’m just a terrible son, I hate my life and I’m sacrificing my millennial dream of hitting the lotto and fucking off to travel the world in order to run my father’s tea room.” Four more glasses are set on the table. Raj downs one almost viciously. “Maybe I’ll even run two now. Fucking congrats to me.”
Grace blinks. “Okay,” she says carefully. “That’s a lot to unpack, but I see now why you wanted alcohol to do it.”
Raj gives a bitter smile. “Maybe you were onto something, Gracie,” he says softly, eyes hooded. “Maybe there’s something to running off when things get too hard.”
“Ouch.” She takes another shot, and both the words and tequila sting. “Tell me how you really feel.”
“You asked. Maybe I should fuck off to a new city and leave my friends to deal with all their shit, too. Ughhh.” He rubs his eyes hard and stares into an empty glass. “That tequila is gonna hit so hard.”
“You’re drinking too fast,” Grace says. “Also, are you, like, mad at me, or does drinking just make you point out my less than stellar coping mechanisms?”
Raj shakes his hair out of his eyes. “Mad? I’m not mad at you. Maybe I envy you. Did you ever think of that?”
She glares. “Do I even want to know what that means?”
“Did I ever tell you what I wanted to study?” he asks abruptly. “Did I ever tell you that?”
Grace is starting to get a headache. The bar starts to feel warm and too bright and too loud. “You have a business degree,” she says indulgently. “Maybe no more shots for you.”
He nods and wobbles in his chair. “That’s what I did study,” he says. “But not what I wanted to study.”
Grace waits.
“Medicine,” Raj says. He stares at her. He looks like the man who was wary of her when she first started working at the tea room. The one that hovered as she learned the different types of tea leaves and how to steep them and how to win over Meera. He looks less like the brother she has come to know, the one who is protective and safe and giving.
“I wanted to study medicine. Mama told me—” He inhales deeply. “She said Baba would understand in time. It was my dream, you know? Become a doctor, make my family proud, tell Baba he would never have to worry about that fucking tea shop again because I was going to take care of him. I’m the oldest, right? I have to take care of my family.”
Grace carefully places her hands across the table, close but not touching.
“You remember how fast Mama got sick,” he says, eyes distant. Raj Bhamra, both here and in the past. “It was like one day she was here, and the next we were barricaded in that house for two weeks.”
“Raj—” she starts.
“I never told anyone,” he admits. “Never said I was a coward who couldn’t look his baba straight in the eye, because I wasn’t sure I could keep the resentment off my face. Resentment, Gracie.” He grabs her hands too tight, like he’s anchoring himself. She lets him. “I resented him. Because I knew I couldn’t tell him I wanted to be a doctor when that fucking tea room was the only thing keeping him going. It was the only thing keeping him going, with us, after she died. You remember.”
She remembers. She remembers the stillness. She remembers how sometimes Baba Vihaan wouldn’t come out of his office at all, the whole day. It would just be Grace and Raj, struggling to keep up appearances so Meera wouldn’t burst into tears. So she wouldn’t start sobbing at the register over someone’s cup and have to apologize—Sorry, my mama just died. Here’s your ginger root tea.
“I hate that tea room,” Raj confesses. He smiles at Grace. “You should see how horrified you look right now.” He takes another shot and gags. “Fuck, that burns.”
“I didn’t know that,” she says quietly. “I thought—I guess I never thought about it. I just always knew the tea room was Baba Vihaan’s and one day it would be yours. I thought that’s what you wanted.”
“Nobody wants to inherit a tea room. But who else is gonna do it? Meera?”
Grace presses her lips together, quiet.
“The worst part is if I told her, she would. If I said, ‘Hey, M, I really, really don’t wanna run this place,’ she’d stop studying psychology. She’d fast-track a business degree, and she’d do it. And I’d win big brother of the year, right?”
“But it’s not fair—” Grace says, and he slams his glass down hard enough that it rattles.
“That’s the point,” he says. “It’s not fair, but that’s what people have to do. It’s life. Sometimes you don’t want to run a goddamn tea room, and in the end maybe you have to run two. We all have responsibilities, and we don’t just get to drop everything when they blow up in our faces.”
“Hey,” she snaps. “This isn’t my fault, okay? You don’t get to take your shit out on me. It’s not like I have it fucking easy—”
“How long are you going to do this?” he asks, eyes flashing with rare anger and upset. “You decided to study astronomy. You decided to get a fucking doctorate. You knew it would be hard, and now that it is, you want to leave us all behind and run away with some girl you don’t even know.”
Grace jerks back. The words come like a tangible slap across the face. “Okay,” she says, and it is a trembling, shaking breath. “Okay.”
“Shit,” Raj murmurs. “Shit, I didn’t mean that.”
She takes a shot. It burns in her chest, but no more than the burn behind her eyes or on her cheeks, incensed at what he apparently thinks of her.
Raj grabs her hands again. Soft this time. Gentle this time. She can’t look at him.
“Gracie,” he says. “This tequila is hitting at the absolute worst time. Listen. I’m an ass. I’m jealous and upset, but I didn’t mean that. Okay?”
“Okay,” Grace says carefully. “Then, what did you mean?” She snatches her hands away and puts them in her lap. Humiliation burns in her gut, and she finds herself digging painful grooves across her knuckles. “Is that why you’re so upset? Because I had the chance to study medicine like you wanted, and I didn’t? Because I left the tea room, and put my own dream on hold? Because I don’t know what I want or who I am or where the fuck I’m supposed to be? Because I’m realizing I don’t fucking fit?”
“No,” he breathes out. The room is so hot, and it starts to spin. “I shouldn’t have—”
“Because it’s not just hard, Raj. That job, the one my mentor told me had my name written all over it? They questioned every piece of my research. They insinuated that it was Professor MacMillan who had done the work and graciously allowed my name to be included. One of them wondered if my professional memberships with the Black STEM Group and Black LGBTQ Science were advocating division, and they made sure to mention division was not a part of their culture.” She closes her eyes, trying to get a handle on her emotions. “I’ve spent months fielding rejections, Raj, for all the various reasons that they deem wrong with me. I don’t expect to just be handed things, but why the hell not? I spent eleven years doing nothing else but chasing this. Sacrificing so much and running myself into the ground for this. Why shouldn’t it be handed to me now? Why should I have to fight? Haven’t I proved myself enough?”
Her tongue tastes sour from the tequila. “So,” she spits out. “What did you mean?”
He scrubs his hands through his hair. “I wasn’t trying to be the bad guy here.”
“Is that your explanation?”
“No, Porter,” he snaps. “It isn’t. My point is that this was never about you. You buried yourself in your work and your research just to prove Colonel wrong. Everything else, everyone else, came second to that. So, I’m sorry you didn’t get the job. I’m sorry they don’t see you for all the work you’ve done, because it’s good work. You’re a good goddam astronomer, just like you wanted to be, and it fucking sucks that it’s so hard. But, was it worth it? Was it the big fuck-you you wanted it to be? Or not, since everything else has always been less of a priority than breaking your back to prove you’re the best?”
It seems so absurd, but when you’ve known people so long, you know how to love them, and you know how to hurt them. You know all the soft spots where your claws dig in and press.
“Or was the fuck-you running off with a stranger you drunk-married in Vegas? You left us behind like we don’t have our own things that are hard. Like we haven’t spent years holding each other up, because that’s what we do. I can’t help you, I can’t support you, and you can’t support me, when you just leave.” He swallows hard, looking away. “Why do you always think you have to get through everything alone? It doesn’t have to be hard alone.”
Grace grits her teeth so hard, her jaw starts to ache. They shouldn’t be drinking. In the morning, or even in a few hours after he’s gotten sick, Raj will apologize. He’ll call Grace little sister, and they’ll hug it out. Now, though, he’s drunk, and his claws dig deep at the soft parts she forgot she had to protect. His words reveal a truth she’s tried hard to bury: Grace Porter is not as strong as she thought she was, and instead is the lonely, terrified creature she has yet to embrace.
“This is the fuck-you,” she says, throwing her next shot at Raj.
Tequila drips down his face and shirt. It seeps into his hair and his eyes, and she knows it must burn. He waves away someone when they come over to check if things are okay.
This is me, says the monster from the deep. Here I am.
They’re silent. She stares hard at the table, her fingernail digging into the grout.
“Well,” he says finally. “Since we’re drunk and getting things off our chests—is there anything else you’d like to share with the class?”
She can’t help it—she laughs. These tight giggles that offset the way she wants to cry. They laugh, and they’re going to feel this, all of this, in the morning.
“I miss you,” Grace says once they quiet down again. “I miss you and Meera and Ximena and Agnes so much, I can hardly stand it. I’m not alone here, but I am lonely. I don’t know how to be this Grace Porter that isn’t chasing something. I don’t know how to deal with my big, grand plan falling apart.”
Raj listens.
She takes a deep breath.
“I don’t know why I started studying astronomy,” she says quietly. The room sways. “Jesus—maybe it was a fuck-you to Colonel. Maybe I wanted to show him I could do something for me and still be the best. That first year after switching my major, everything just clicked. I was so certain it was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. And now I have to figure out how to make that happen, and it fucking sucks, okay?”
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I didn’t mean to—to diminish your shit just to talk about my shit. If I could, I’d make it better. I’d fix it.”
“I know.” She blinks down at her hands. “I have no idea how to fix it or make it better. I don’t know exactly what I want anymore. I just know that it includes Yuki. So, I’m here, and I’m trying not to think about the rest of it yet.”
Raj laughs softly. “She seemed a little vicious.”
“She is!” Grace exclaims. “She’s vicious and a little mean and kind and weird and patient and I—I got married to her. I want her, I know that. I just don’t know how to keep her and the rest of it. Eventually I’ll figure out where I need to be, and I don’t know how she fits into that. But I want her to fit. I want to keep her. I want to have one thing that’s just easy. That I don’t have to fight for.”
Raj holds his glass up. “Then we’ll drink to it,” he says. “To deserving things that are easy.”
They clink their glasses together like it is an intention. Grace closes her eyes and wishes for it like kids wish on stars.
Cheers.
Yuki wakes her up with toothpaste kisses all over her face.
Grace’s mouth tastes like cotton, tongue thick and swollen and a little sore. She blinks awake, and a sleepy Yuki hovers over her, black fringe in her eyes, metal piercings glinting, eyebrows raised.
“You cling like an octopus when you’re drunk,” she says. “And you smell like tequila, get up.”
Grace buries her face in the covers. “I don’t even remember getting home.”
Yuki narrows her eyes. “I had to come pick you up,” she says. “You and your brother owe me big-time. Why did you get that drunk?”
Grace sighs, the night coming back in pieces. “Sibling bonding.”
“Never been happier to be an only child. Now, get up.” Yuki shoves her lightly. “I’ll make you something to eat if you drink some water and take some painkillers.”
She moves to get off the bed, and Grace grabs her wrists and feels the small, delicate bones there. “Thank you,” she murmurs. “For taking care of me and getting me home.”
Yuki ducks her head. A rose flush blooms on her cheeks. “Anytime, Grace Porter.”
Grace follows her into the living room to find Raj buried under the covers on the small couch. All of Yuki’s roommates seem to be asleep or out, so Grace doesn’t feel subconscious pulling her hoodie up and hiding.
“Big brother,” she says, shaking him. “If you don’t get up, I’m telling Meera you can’t hold your liquor.”
An arm shoots out from under a thin blanket. It grabs Grace’s hand and squeezes.
“You wouldn’t dare,” he wheezes. “I’ll tell her about that time you smoked bad weed and spent the rest of the night trying to tightrope around the toilet seat.”
She shrieks and jumps on top of him, ignoring the way her stomach lurches. “You swore we would never speak of that again,” she hisses. “I’ll tell her about the night you finally got the nerve to ask Ximena out, but you were so drunk you ended up giving your whole speech to a mannequin instead.”
A sharp elbow knocks into her chest. “What about the time you accidentally took molly because the girl who offered it was so nice?” he counters. “You thought it was ibuprofen, and ended up getting stitches because you fell off a four-inch curb.”
He emerges from the blankets. Wild morning hair and bleary eyes glare at her. Grace says, “Like you would ever turn down a politely given pain reliever. Working in the lab gave me back pain, I thought it was obvious!” She shoves him, and he lets out a small oof. “Remember when you showed up to work drunk and Baba Vihaan thought you had a fever from how bad you were sweating?”
“I’m a lightweight,” he says. “Is it a crime? Is it an offense against humanity?”
“Wow,” Yuki says, and they turn. She looks unimpressed. “Is this what it’s like having a sibling?”
Grace collapses on top of Raj, ignoring his long, pained groan. “No judging,” she says. “I’m weak and hungover. Can’t take it.”
Yuki rolls her eyes and makes her way to the kitchen. She’s changed into a long T-shirt that says Some Girls Eat Girls. Grace feels unstoppered adoration flow through her.
“Do you two hungover people want breakfast?” she asks. “We have—” She peers into the fridge. “Rice and leftover pizza, but I’d put my money on the rice. I can make toast, too.”
“Riiiice,” Raj moans. He holds one hand over the top of the couch. “High five for the staple dish of the Asian diaspora.”
Yuki snorts, but she gives him a corny, terrible air high five, and Grace watches in wonder as her ears and neck flush pink, before she turns back around. “I always burn toast,” Yuki says. “So, look forward to that.”
“Let me do it,” Grace says. She shoves Raj again and gets up. “I grew up in a ‘no burnt toast allowed’ household. I got this.” She hip-checks Yuki out of the way and pauses. “Hey,” she says softly, and waits until Yuki turns to face her. “I’m going to kiss you, okay?”
Yuki makes a face. “You don’t have to announce it, Honey Girl.”
Grace crosses her arms. “Why not? Consent is sexy!”
“Um, yes,” Yuki says, “but if you make this a habit, I’m going to scream and probably, like, implode? So, I feel like maybe we can just assume unless I say otherwise.”
“That’s fair,” Grace says. She puts careful hands around Yuki’s waist and just—kisses her. Good morning, hi, I want to keep you.
Yuki curls her fingers around Grace’s neck, or rather, around Grace’s hoodie. She probably looks terrible right now: exhausted and bleary and a little sick, but Yuki keeps kissing her anyway. She pushes her hood back so she can see more of Grace, can see the bags under her eyes and her chapped lips and limp hair, free from its myriad of products.
“Rice,” Raj calls as they pull away. “Toast. I have a flight to catch, and I can’t show up to the airport like this. It’ll really ruin my whole vibe for the trip, which is already not great.”
At the reminder of last night’s drunken confessions, Grace feels herself tense. It’s ridiculous because they were both drunk and mean and bitter, but she still feels the words burn like the tequila did, right at the center of her chest.
“I’ll do the toast,” she says quietly, and slips out of Yuki’s hold. She hears a sigh behind her, before the microwave opens and starts to hum with warming rice. She turns to the toaster. This one simple thing, she can do.
She remembers making toast after Colonel’s surgery. He was aching and ill-tempered and snappy. He couldn’t move and with his meds couldn’t really eat, so Grace got up every morning before work and made toast with jam. The meds made his stomach upset, and the pain made him upset, and she remembers, too many times, the bread and plates that went flying.
Jesus, Porter, it’s burnt, while Grace got on her knees and picked up slices and crumbs and wiped at stains. I got one goddamn leg and a daughter burning my toast. Get off the damn floor, Porter. Just leave it, I said. I’ll have Sharone order something.
So, Grace knows how to make toast. Perfect toast.
She stands guard at the toaster because you can’t leave it too quick or too long, or the whole thing will be ruined.
“You’re watching it like it’s going to eat you,” Yuki says. “Or like it’s going to up and disappear.”
Grace leans on her elbows. “Habit,” she says.
The microwave dings, and Yuki pulls plates down out of the cabinets. Raj drags himself in and settles on the floor. “We’re eating here,” he decides. “This is where I deserve to eat right now.”
So, they eat rice and toast on the floor. Yuki can only find one clean fork. She and Grace share it, passing it back and forth between bites, and Raj digs in with his hands.
“Just like home,” he mumbles through a mouthful. “Meera says it’s ‘uncouth’ now, but that’s only because the white kids at her college told her it was weird.”
“Fuck white people,” Grace and Yuki say together.
“True that.”
Soon enough, he has to leave. Grace follows Raj down the steps, and they stand in the warm summer breeze waiting for his Uber.
“So,” he says, arms crossed. “Wild night, huh?”
Grace hmms. “Threw up twice this morning, but sure. Wild. Not disgusting at all.”
“Ha, I’m at three, probably more after airplane turbulence.” He raises his eyebrows at her. “I win.”
She crosses her arms, too. The little moving car on his screen says four minutes until his ride arrives. “What do you win?”
He doesn’t look at her. He’s held Grace up more times than she can count. Figures eventually he’d knock her down at least once, too.
“Maybe forgiveness?” he says. “For being a total and complete ass last night? Tequila really doesn’t agree with me.”
Grace turns to him. Her head is pounding; her throat is still dry. Somewhere, in the cavernous hollow cave that is her chest, drunk, angry words sit embedded in a perfect target. “You weren’t all wrong,” she admits. “I didn’t just spend eleven years sacrificing my own things. I also sacrificed so much time with you all. Being there for you. Drunk words equal sober thoughts, right?”
“Okay, first,” he says, “that sounds like a Pinterest quote. Never say that to me again. Second—” He takes a deep breath. “It’s in the big brother handbook to call you out on your shit. But your shit isn’t just hard, it’s a bunch of systemic bullshit. I know that. I was wrong to suggest otherwise. So, thanks for calling me out, too. Maybe little sisters know what they’re talking about, sometimes.”
Grace smiles, even though it hurts. The sun is too bright and the city is too loud and everything is too much. Everything has been too much for far too long.
She sniffles, and Raj freezes up. His hands hover somewhere around her shoulders, like he has no idea what to do. She wipes her eyes as she laughs at the absurdity. “I’m telling Meera you said that, too.”
They look at each other, hesitating like they never have before.
“Just hug it out!” Yuki yells from the window. “Who knew earth signs were so goddamn emotionally incompetent?”
“How do you know I’m an earth sign?” Raj asks.
“Broke into your phone while you were in the bathroom and added you on that astrology app,” she says, disappearing inside. “Your passcode is whack!”
He looks back at Grace. “You really picked one.”
She looks up at the window. “Yeah,” she sighs, unable to keep the affection from her face. “I really like her.”
“I like her, too,” he says. “She’s good.” He opens his mouth and takes a moment before speaking. “I really am sorry.”
Grace holds her arms out. He leans in, and she inhales his familiar scent. “I’m sorry,” she breathes out. “I’m sorry I didn’t know. I’m sorry I never asked. I would have—I don’t know what I would have done. But I could have tried.”
He laughs quietly. “I know you would, dummy. I’m sorry I never told you. I’m sorry I got mad that you’re trying to figure out your own shit, and I can’t figure out mine.”
“Not your fault,” she says firmly. “I love you.”
“Love you, Space Girl.” He pulls away. A gray Honda pulls up to the curb. “My chariot awaits. Next time you talk to me, I may be in the market for a new employee in Boston. Right up your alley.”
“I’m there,” she says.
“You ready?” the driver asks.
Raj nods, taking a deep breath. “Wish me luck?”
“Good luck, I guess. I’m conflicted about it.”
“Well, as long as you’re conflicted,” he says, climbing into the car. “Don’t miss me too much.”
“Impossible,” she whispers, and the car zooms off, into the busy streets of New York.
Later, while Clueless plays on Yuki’s laptop, and Grace nurses her second cup of hojicha, her phone vibrates.
She groans. Raj already texted that he arrived in Boston safe and sound. Ximena sent her photos of the therapy dogs in the hospital today, golden retrievers and German shepherds and little Yorkies with bows in their hair. Agnes sent a string of skull emojis, but she also had group therapy tonight, so it checks out.
Meera, the display says.
“Shit.”
Yuki makes a questioning noise, half asleep from half a bottle of wine. “Me or you?”
“Me,” Grace answers, rolling off the bed. She snatches the phone up and says, “Give me a second,” before she presses it to her chest. “Gotta take this. I’ll be right back.”
Yuki nods, rolling into the warm spot Grace has left. “Want me to pause?”
Grace shakes her head. “I’ve seen this movie like a hundred times. Please.”
She tiptoes out the room. Dhorian is in the living room, case studies and paperwork laid out in front of him on the coffee table. He’s in comfy clothes, sweats and a long-sleeved shirt that says Black by Popular Demand. He gives Grace a little salute when he hears the bedroom door shut.
“Is that Porter?” Sani calls. “Tell her and Yuki we’re having a Crash Bandicoot tournament once you’re done trying to save the world.”
She waves her phone, and Dhorian nods. “She’s busy,” he says. “Must be important, because who the fuck talks on the phone anymore?”
Grace shuts herself into the bathroom. She gets in the tub and pulls the curtain for extra privacy.
“Hello?” Meera sighs impatiently.
“Hi, Meera.”
“Finally,” she says. “It took you forever to say hello. What if it was an emergency? What if I was on that game show where you have to phone a friend? I would have lost.”
“Are you talking about Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? Is that what you’re talking about? Why would you be on that?”
“Have you ever heard of hypotheticals?” she asks. “Like, hypothetically, my brother is driving me crazy with his weird guilt over whatever went down with you two while he was in New York. So, spill. What did he do?”
Grace glares at the shower tile. Trust Raj to leave it up to her to fend off Meera. “It was nothing,” she lies. “We were just drunk.”
“He said he crossed some lines,” Meera says. “You know I’ll let him have it if he said something wrong. Love my brother, but he can be—well, my brother.”
“Seriously, M, it’s fine. He was just nervous about the meeting. The pressure was getting to him.”
She knows she said too much when Meera turns from protective to worried. “Pressured about what? Did Baba say something to him? I swear he lets that man guilt him into anything. I’m gonna call him back—”
Grace curses. “It wasn’t like that,” she says soothingly, voice quiet. “He just wants to do well. You know how much he loves the tea room. He wants to make a good impression. That was it. I probably shouldn’t have let him get so drunk the night before.”
It’s quiet for a moment before Meera speaks again, sounding small and scared, like a little girl. “You promise? You’d tell me if he said it was getting to be too much for him, right?”
If I told Meera I didn’t want to run the tea room, she’d drop everything, and she’d do it.
“Promise,” Grace says, the lie settling in with the rest of the sludge in her chest. “If he said anything like that, I’d tell you.”
Meera sniffs a little, but Grace hears the relief in the silence. “It’s good he has you,” she says. “He still thinks he has to protect me, but I’m glad he can be honest with you.”
“Me, too,” Grace croaks out. “But enough about that. Tell me about you. How’s that class?”
“Oh my God,” Meera says. “It’s seriously the best decision I’ve ever made. I love it. I can’t imagine doing anything but psychology. It just feels right, you know?”
She’d give up everything if I said I didn’t want to do it.
“That sounds so great, M,” Grace says. “You have time to talk? I wanna hear all about it.”
When they’re done, she creeps back into the bedroom.
Yuki’s eyes blink open, bleary and swollen, as Grace scoots closer. “There she is,” she says quietly. “The favored girl of the sun.” She reaches out and pulls Grace in. “Honey Girl.”
“Are you drunk?” Grace asks. “Or just sleepy?”
Yuki burrows into the covers. “Both. Are you done talking on the phone like it’s 1999?”
“Okay,” Grace scoffs. “Is that gonna be the new apartment joke? It’s already tired.”
Yuki hides a smile in her pillow. “Perhaps.”
She looks sleepy and giggly. No longer the lazy dream in Grace’s memories, but the real thing.
“Yes,” Yuki answers to a question unasked, looking back up at Grace. “You can kiss me, yes.”
Maybe Raj was right. Maybe Grace has been selfish. There are decisions to be made. She has a life to live and a home that waits. She cannot spend the rest of her days kissing a girl that tastes like tart red wine. She cannot stay huddled around a radio listening to the origins of misunderstood things. But she wants to. She wants to hold on to this just a little bit longer, before the universe makes her choose.
Soon, she will have to face the rejections in her inbox. She will have to apply for more positions and sit through more interviews. She will have to answer all their questions, and she will not give them the satisfaction of walking out. If there is anything she’s learned with Yuki, away from the constant pressures in Portland, it’s that it is okay to be the monster. To be the feared creature lurking in the dark with teeth and claws and blood.
She will embrace it. She will stare them down in their fear, and she will demand their time and their consideration and their equal opportunity. She will not let them spin her into a scary story, a thing whispered about and cast aside.
But Grace will also hold on to this good thing, her good thing, for just a little while longer. She has earned the right for something to be easy. She has earned the right to hold on to this place, this peace, this girl, this red-bricked home.
Just a little longer, she whispers to the universe. I will cling to it like stardust.