Page 81 of The Art of Almost Losing It
“Graham,” my dad prompts him gently.
Graham doesn’t look away from me. “Dani…” he says, and my name sounds different in his mouth. Slower. Careful. “When I saw her—”
I brace myself for a joke, for an underhanded comment, for deflection. He exhales, just once.
“I thought she was… nice,” he says.
That’s it?
Not pretty. Not smart. Not impressive.
Just—nice.
“Nice?” Gran scowls. “Nice tits, you mean.”
“Well, that too.” Graham smirks at me. “Especially when she’s wearing nothing but my shirt. But nice… I mean, she’s kind and funny and easygoing, and she was so gracious with my siblings.”
My chest tightens. I don’t know why that’s the thing that does it.
“I remember thinking”—he continues, still watching me—“‘That’s the type of woman you could easily spend a hundred years with and then at the end think,God, that went by fast… I could do a hundred more.’”
The room is quiet again.
My dad clears his throat, soft but pleased. My mom smiles into her wine.
I can’t quite breathe.
Because I didn’t think Graham noticed me like that.
I didn’t think he noticed me at all.
But the way he looks at me now, like he’s said exactly what he meant and nothing more…
A thought comes to me.
Something unsettling.
Was he answering honestly?
16
GRAHAM
“Who else did you tell?”
“Tell what?” Dani’s playing dumb.
“You know.”
“All your brothers know. I can’t tell one person? Piper’s my ride or die.”
“And who else is she going to tell?” I demand.
“No one.”
“What about your crazy granny?”
“I don’t tell her anything important.”
