Page 219 of Tessa and Nash

I blink hard. “I know.”

“You love him.”

I laugh softly, shakily. “Apparently, I do.”

Her mouth curves. “Good.”

I give her a look. “That was not the reaction I expected.”

“Oh, I have had months to suspect it,” she says dryly. “The irritation was far too energetic to be ordinary dislike.”

A startled laugh escapes me before I can stop it.

Only Grandma could say something like that when my life is imploding.

The laugh turns dangerous halfway through. My eyes sting.

“Oh,” I say, annoyed. “I’m not doing this.”

“You’re allowed,” she says gently.

And that does it.

I sit on the edge of the bed and press the heel of my hand briefly to my eyes, furious at myself for crying, though the tears come anyway, hot and humiliating and impossible to stop once they’ve started.

Grandma sits beside me without a word.

“I didn’t think it would feel like this,” I admit. “I wanted to leave. I’ve wanted out of this house for years, probably. But now that I’m actually doing it, it feels…” I shake my head. “Wrong. Or sad. Or both.”

“It is sad,” she says. “That doesn’t mean it is wrong.”

I look at her, trying to memorize every line of her face in the low lamplight. “I hate leaving you.”

“And I hate that this house has become somewhere you cannot stay.”

The fresh ache of that nearly splits me open.

She takes my hand and squeezes it. “You are not losing me, Tessa.”

“I know.”

“You may come by whenever you please.”

“I know.”

“And if your uncle becomes unbearable, I may yet poison his coffee.”

That startles a genuine laugh out of me. “Grandma.”

“I said may,” she replies, dignified. “I made no promises.”

I wipe beneath my eyes and inhale carefully until the worst of it passes.

Then I stand.

“All right,” I say, squaring my shoulders. “If I’m doing this, I’d rather do it before I lose my nerve.”

“You won’t lose your nerve.”