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“What was the nickname?”
I puckered my lips but didn’t say a word. I couldn’t get the nickname out.
“Come on, Grace. You can tell me. What kind of nickname did he conjure from a sweet name like Grace Sweeney?” He leaned back and took a bite of his dessert.
I opened and closed my mouth, pressing down on my lips, battling between telling Omar the nickname and realizing it was silly. I gave up and told him. “From my freshman year to graduation, everyone called me Meany Sweeney.” I’d even pronounced the words in the same taunting voice the kids at school had used.
Omar nearly choked on his cake and gently put his fork down. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Did you say ‘Meany Sweeny’?”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “I’m telling you this in the utmost confidence. No one has called me that in nearly ten years.”
“Ah, honey,” crooned Omar, rubbing my arm. “You can’t still hate him for that after all these years?”
“You don’t understand. It wasn’t just the name. Everyone adored Luke. Everyone wanted his approval. If he hated you, then you were like a disease that no one wanted to catch. No one talked to me except for the new students until they realized they had to ditch me or die a social death. You’re the first person I’ve trusted and gotten close to in a long time.”
“Well, I’m irresistible and nothing would keep me from you. Not even a horrible nickname like Meany Sweeney.”
I groaned. “Please don’t say it again. I beg you.”
“I won’t,” he said. “But you can’t still be angry with him?”
I wasn’t angry at him just because of the name. Luke Crawford had abandoned me when I needed him the most. But I couldn’t tell Omar that.
When I didn’t respond, Omar grabbed my hand. “Grace, you’re a beautiful, successful, intelligent woman who’ll be a partner in the largest accounting firm in the city one day. You can’t still be mad at some guy from high school.”
“Oh, I am,” I laughed without humor. “If I ever see Luke Crawford again, he will regret the day he ever met me.”
Omar’s eyes widened and he looked at me sideways. “I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”
“I—”
A chime from my phone interrupted me. It was a message from Lorna: Grace, you need to come home quickly.
“I’ve got to go,” I said, pushing back my chair and grabbing my jacket next to Omar.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, standing up with me.
“Something happened at home. I’m sorry to cut this short, Omar, but I’ve got to take you home now.”
Omar shook his head. “I’ll take a taxi. Go. Don’t worry about me.”
I reached over and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you,” I whispered. Then, pushing past the crammed bodies next to the elevator, I made it past the entrance and into the parking lot.
Clenching my fist, I tried to calm my fears. Lorna hadn’t mentioned what had happened and perhaps I was overreacting.
When I reached the foyer of my condo building, I cursed the slow elevator and the long ride up to the ninth floor. It felt like an hour had gone by instead of fifteen minutes when I finally opened my front door.
“Lorna!” I shouted.
“In here,” she called from the bedroom.
Racing through the tiny apartment, I stumbled when I reached her bedroom door. “Mom,” I said, breathless.
“Oh, Grace. I told Lorna not to call you.” I knew my mother smiled to make me feel better, but it didn’t distract me from the bruise forming on her left cheek.
“What happened?” I asked, turning to Lorna.
The petite brunette wrung her hands, but the concern in her eyes comforted me. “She was already in bed when I heard a crash,” she said. “I ran into her room and found her on the floor bleeding. I’m so sorry.”
