Page 16 of The Family Friend

You settle for her when it isn't.

All those summers, all those careful conversations and shared jokes and moments when I thought maybe, maybe he saw me the way I saw him—I was never the choice. I was the consolation. The backup plan. The girl who was there when the real one wasn't an option.

We never talked about school, Heath and I. Never mentioned the different crowds we ran with, the invisible lines that kept us separate from September to June. Summer was its own world, and in that world, we could pretend that ten months of social geography didn't exist.

But it did exist. Ten years later, I'm watching the proof of it unfold on Gram's lawn.

The worst part is how it reframes everything. Last night in my bed, this morning in mine, all the careful touches and stolen glances I thought meant something.

All of it takes on a different shape now. Not chosen, just available. Not wanted, just willing.

That was why I ran away from him during our last summer together. I thought things were different now. Apparently not.

I turn back toward Heath and Penelope, and that's when I see Heath hug her. His arms wrap around her small waist, her face turned up toward his. And when they pull apart, he smiles at her—soft and genuine and sweet.

The tears come from nowhere, and I have to turn away before anyone sees. My hands shake as I pretend to adjust a flower arrangement, and I realize I need to get away from this lawn, away from the evidence of my own stupidity, before I do something that will make the rest of this weekend unbearable for everyone.

Gram's gift. I still haven't given Gram her birthday present. It's up in the loft, wrapped and waiting, and retrieving it gives me a reason to disappear that doesn't require explanation.

My feet carry me toward the house before my brain fully commits to the plan, but once I'm moving, it becomes the only possible course of action. Get the gift. Pull myself together. Come back down and play the part of the cheerful granddaughter for the rest of the evening.

I can do that. I've been doing it my whole life.

The house feels blessedly cool after the afternoon heat, and the relative quiet is a relief after the chaos of suppliers and setup. But as I head toward the stairs, I pass the guest bedroom on the second floor, and I halt.

The door is fully open, revealing a perfectly made bed and untouched linens.

I stand in the doorway for a long moment, letting the implications settle. The room Gram swore was occupied. The reason I got shunted to the loft with Heath in the first place.

Nobody has been staying here. The bed hasn't been touched. The surfaces are dust-free but clearly unused.

Gram lied.

I continue up to the loft, grab the gift from where I tucked it beside my suitcase, and try to decide how I feel about being manipulated by an eighty-year-old woman.

Angry seems like the obvious choice, but what rises in my throat feels more like gratitude mixed with devastation.

Gram wanted this for me. Wanted Heath and me together badly enough to lie and scheme and orchestrate an entire weekend around making it happen.

The problem is that Heath isn't a thing you can engineer. He's a person with his own wants and history, and apparently what he wants is the same thing he's always wanted. The same person he's never been able to have.

Until now.

Gram's door is closed when I reach the second floor, but I knock softly and hear her voice telling me to come in. She's sitting in the chair by her window, still in her robe, and she looks smaller than usual in the afternoon light.

"I wanted to give you your present before the party gets crazy," I tell her, settling on the edge of her bed.

But instead of taking the wrapped package, Gram studies my face with the sharp attention that makes most people nervous. "Did you have fun last night?"

The question catches me off guard, direct in the way that only Gram can be. "I don't know what you mean."

"Course you do."

"So why was there an empty bedroom?"

She doesn't even pretend to misunderstand, which is somehow both irritating and reassuring. Gram has never been one to dance around uncomfortable topics.

"Gram, you lied to me."