Grace (BWWM)

Chapter Ten

"You thought it was necessary to make yourself scarce for two weeks? Just all of a sudden showing up less and less, and leaving earlier, without telling me why?" Her voice rises and she fixes me with a glare.

"I realize that may not have been the best thing, but—"

"Ehn? So now you realize?" she asks sarcastically, and an eyebrow of mine raises. Sure, her anger is attractive, but I'll only take so much. "But you didn't realize before, ehn?"

"Grace," I say, my voice low. She stops, catching my tone. She blinks, and then those full lips of hers settle into a slight pout. My jaw works as a want comes over me to run my thumb under them. Watch yourself, Joe. Come on, she's a lot younger than you. That's right. That's the excuse I've been trying to tell myself . . . but it's not working. I don't just want her physically, I seem to want her in another way as well, a much deeper way. I want her the way that I wanted Sherry and that's why I felt the need to try to spend less time here.

"If you want to decide to make yourself scarce like that again, alright." She hits the back of one hand to the palm of the other then raises them up. "That is on you. I am just saying, next time let me know. That is all I'm saying. You made us worried and had us wondering if things were fine." She frowns, looking away.

"Who did I worry?" I ask. She shrugs, still not looking at me.

"Us," she simply says. I continue staring at her.

"You know I talk to the kids too, right?"

She doesn't respond.

"Because they've never mentioned that to me."

Still she's silent.

"And while we're on that topic, you could have called and spoken to me," I say.

She snorts. "When you don't seem to want to be here?"

"But you always call me," I say. She shrugs.

"I've been busy with work," she mutters.

"Work, huh? You too?"

"Yes."

What a coincidence.

"That's odd because I believe you were off a few days these past few weeks."

"There were the kids too."

"I've been coming by less, but I've still been stopping by when I'm needed, Grace. So what do you mean about the kids?" Her lips purse at my words as if she realizes she doesn't have any other excuse she can toss at me. She inhales sharply and then looks my way, crossing her arms.

"We talk every day, and we don't often talk that long on the phone," I add. If her arguments have to do with time, a short call shouldn't be too hard to do. "I've been the only one out of the both of us doing the calling." Usually we'd just ring each other up when we want to, but she hasn't done that at all these past few days. The combination of not seeing her as often and not talking to her as frequently had me yearning for her more than I already did. It became apparent rather quickly that my little plan would not work.

"Alright. Maybe I also had things I wanted to figure out," she finally admits.

"Did you figure it out?" I ask, my tone flat. She looks away again before replying.

"No."

I shake my head with a sigh, running a hand through my hair. I don't even know what to do with the elephant between us, but I know what we should avoid doing.

"Obviously neither of our terrible solutions worked. I'll admit that it wasn't my brightest idea—"

"It was not," she cuts in. I give her a look before continuing.

"So I won't do that again. And my apologies. I hadn't thought before as to how selfish of me that was."

"Right, you don't want them missing you," she says, and I give her a look as flat as my voice.

"Including yourself. That's why you're so upset, anyways," I say, and she looks at me sharply.

"Who said that I am upset?"

"You."

She blinks and frowns. "Me? And when did you hear this?"

"Your body language and words betray you, Grace. Even though you're incredibly stubborn, you're also honest with your mannerisms," I explain.

She doesn't say anything, and we gaze at each other awhile.

I get this want in me to bring her close and hold her. I wonder what kind of expression she would have then. How honest would she be with herself in such a moment?

Stop it, Joe.

"I don't know about that, but I also will not do what I did before. I'll start to call you again."

A corner of my mouth turns up.

"Starting tonight," I say, and her frown lightens up, but she gives me a look.

"It's already three in the afternoon; if you're staying for dinner, you'll probably leave late. That means we'd talk incredibly late. No, I'll call you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow it is," I agree, and she gives me a small smile. I return it. She hesitates but then speaks, tapping on my chest.

"Next time, if you want to figure things out like that again, just let me know. And . . . please don't do that again," she says, murmuring the last part. Her words soften my heart.

"I'm sorry," I say, my hand covering hers. "And I don't want you to stop calling me. You know that I like to talk to you." Perhaps more than I should.

"I know," she says and then takes a breath. "I'm sorry as well." She stops and her expression changes to one that has my heart stuttering. That pout is back and her eyebrows stitch together lightly as she adopts a vulnerable expression. This doesn't happen often so I find myself moved. You have to truly trust someone before you can be vulnerable with them. I don't take this lightly.

"I was just reacting to what you were doing, but that didn't help or solve anything. It was also a petty thing to do."

"Why'd you do it?"

"I didn't like what you were doing."

"You didn't like it?" I ask softly. It's not that I'm confirming what she said, rather I'm urging her to delve deep with what she was feeling. I want to hear what she truly felt. Her mouth thins a bit, and she lets a minute pass before she speaks. I wait.

"It. . ." She pauses, struggling. "Upset. Me," she bites out.

"Why?"

"Because we're friends."

"We are friends," I confirm. But it was more than friendship upsetting her. Same with me.

"Yes." She seems to settle with.

"Grace."

Her mouth works, and I can see her inner turmoil. I wonder if she will be truthful, and for a moment, it seems like she'll say it, but then I watch as that expression changes.

"We are friends, Joe. Just friends."

It's a reminder. I look back at her, frustrated, but she's right. I release her hand and she holds it in her other one. No longer does she look vulnerable and willing to talk about what has been bothering her. But I don't blame her, I didn't explicitly say why I was bothered as well, even though we both know. I shouldn't push like this.

"Right. Just friends," I confirm, and she nods.

May the Lord help us in being just friends because I'm feeling things I shouldn't towards a friend.