Page 204 of The Art of Almost Losing It
We hadn’t talked at all about his relatives not wanting him at the party. At the end of the day, we’re not really dating. We’re not really friends. I don’t actually know his situation, and I’m not sure he wants to let me in enough to find out.
That’s probably the not-fun part of being in a relationship: dealing with all the emotional baggage the other person brings in.
And while, sure, I have my own stuff to deal with, Graham’s is a whole other level. Even if he did open up, I just don’t know what to say or do to make it any better. And Graham doesn’t seem like he wants me to, so I just try to be nice to him—pet his hair, rub his back, make him the foods he seems to like. Let him sleep with me as much as he wants, though that one’s maybe for me.
“Sorry, I know you don’t care. It’s just dumb girl stuff.”
“No, I want to hear about it. I like hearing about your life.”
“It’s not even my life—it’s Colette’s!” I throw up my hands. “Maybe Piper is right, and I should just quit, but then my mom will kill me, and that’s not going to work.”
“Just take her to St. Moritz.”
“That is way too expensive. Also, do you really think I should be skiing?”
“Put it on my credit card.” He kisses the top of my head.
“Absolutely not. Colette does not get to reap the benefits of my fake relationship that I had to struggle and sacrifice for.”
Graham snorts. “I think you would be reaping the benefits, since you wouldn’t have to spend any more time spreadsheeting potential trips.”
“This isn’t your problem.”
“I have to deal with horribly difficult problems at work all day—ones that cannot be solved by throwing down a credit card. So let me have the win. Let me save you.”
“Save me from the bachelorette party from hell?”
“You’re not hiring a stripper, are you?” He frowns.
A laugh escapes me, and I clap a hand over my mouth. “Oh, you’re serious. Um, no. I think I would die if I had to see a stripper. Besides, Gran dated a stripper once and just—no. What if he shows up? That would be so awkward. Besides”—I wrap my arms around him—“none of them would be as amazing as you. Or as sexy. And I’d also say as rich, but I’m trying not to objectify you too much.”
Graham spins me around in the sun-filled living room.
“And we don’t have to use your money.”
“Use it.” He slips the credit card down the front of my shirt then kisses me there. “That money’s not free. I’m going to make you pay for it later.” He winks.
The doorbell gongs throughout the house.
“Probably much later.”
“That’s fine. I charge interest.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask as he follows me to the door. “I should have asked you if Piper can come over before inviting her. I can tell her not to—that we can plan elsewhere.”
“I don’t want you elsewhere. Don’t leave your cousin waiting.”
“Piper!” I hug her. “Crisis averted. Graham’s come through with a miracle.” I wave the credit card at her.
“Are you sure we don’t have a limit?”
Graham shrugs as he picks up his laptop from the table to head to his study.
“I’d rather you spend more money than go somewhere potentially dangerous. Besides”—he smirks—“I don’t think Colette’s going to be that impressed with something on the level of a homemade pickle fountain.”
“You watch. That’s going to be your mom’s favorite thing about the party.”
He kisses my cheek. “Of that I have no doubt.”
