“No,” I barked.
“Grace, I’m serious. Let me in . . . please.”
My eyes were watering and I was looking down when I finally let go of the door and let him in. He lifted my chin. His eyes were burning, like rum on fire. “Listen to me. I borrowed some money from my dad to help you get your cello back. I didn’t go into detail with him because I knew he wouldn’t fucking understand your circumstance. They don’t even deserve to know. You’re good and kind and pure, and you don’t need these people to tell you that. Let them think the worst. Let Monica unleash her judge-y bullshit. Let Alexander think we used the money for your fifth abortion. Let them all go to hell. I don’t care, and you shouldn’t either. They will never be satisfied in life because, no matter how much they have, they will always want more. Right now they want to strip some dignity from us because we have something they don’t.”
I sniffled. “What’s that?”
“This.” He bent and kissed me softly, slowly.
When he broke away he moved across the bathroom, opened the cabinet below the sink, and reached as far back as he could. “Got it! Naina never fails.” It was a bottle of tequila. He unscrewed the top and took a swig. “I have to drive, but you’re welcome to get blasted. It’ll numb the pain of being around my family, trust me.”
After three large gulps, I could feel the heat spreading over my face. I turned instantly pink-cheeked when I drank tequila. “I’m ready.”
He messed up my hair. “There we go. Now you look perfectly just-fucked. Let’s make them squirm.”
The group was in the living room standing near the gleaming grand piano when we returned. Monica look startled when she saw us. Alexander looked jealous, and Charles and Regina looked curious, as I fanned myself.
“Took you long enough,” Alexander said.
Passing Alexander from behind, I murmured, “Yes. Matt takes his time.” As I sat down at the piano bench, I made one last dramatic fanning gesture before placing my hands on the keys. “Can I play you all something?”
“That would be wonderful, Grace,” said Charles.
The tequila was blasting through my veins, working loose all the stressed-out muscles in my body. I began playing, first slowly, allowing the song to build. The music started swirling over and over, higher and higher, bringing every emotion to the surface like a spiritual experience. I felt like shouting, “Can I get an amen?!” I closed my eyes and played for five minutes without missing a single note.
When I was finished, there was silence. I nervously waited to open my eyes until I heard the sound of clapping. I looked to Charles first, who was beaming. “That was fantastic, Grace. Who was that, Bach?”
“Pink Floyd. ‘Comfortably Numb.’ ” I smiled.
“Well, it was beautiful at any rate,” Regina said.
“Thank you.” I stood and noticed that Monica was standing at Matt’s side, staring at him. He was unaware because his eyes were on me and he was grinning, a full, cheesy, million-megawatt grin full of pride.
As I walked toward him, he held his fingers up to his face like he was snapping the shutter of an imaginary camera and mouthed, “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
Monica saw the whole thing, but the best part was that Matt didn’t care whether she saw it or not. I’m not sure she even existed in his mind anymore. Just as I reached him, Alexander smacked Matt hard on the back. “She’s really talented, bro.”
Matt’s eyes went wide. He was shocked, clearly. Maybe it was the reminder of an old brotherly love they once shared, or maybe it was because Alexander was looking at me as a prize.
“Yeah, she is,” he said, still staring at me. “We have to go now.” Matt took my hand and pulled me toward the door then wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “Thanks Dad, Regina. Lunch was great. We have to get back with Mom’s van now.” Leaning over, he kissed my ear and whispered, “I want you all to myself.”
We turned back just before walking out the door. Matt gave a big, “Merry Christmas!” and we were gone, leaving behind a room full of gawking faces.
“What was that all about?” I asked as we pulled out of the driveway.
“That was me telling them you’re mine.”
I couldn’t stop smiling.
The Sex Pistols came back on. Matt turned it up and began doing his best Sid Vicious imitation, chanting something about holidays in the sun. I smiled and stared out the passenger window, watching the traffic on the other side of the highway blur into streams of red.
WE SPENT THE next three days at his mom’s, exploring the streets on Matt’s motorcycle. At a thrift store, I found a cool, square belt buckle made of black pewter with a gray owl in the center. I made Matt wait outside while I paid for it.
When I got out the door, he was in the parking lot, straddling his motorcycle, looking sexy as ever. His arms were crossed over his chest and he was wearing that cocky Matt smirk, his eyes squinting against the sun. A gust of wind blew my hair back as I came walking toward him. He held up the invisible camera and took a shot.
“Gracie, I hope you got me that owl belt buckle.”
I punched his arm. “You jerk. Why’d you have to ruin it?”
“Kiss me.”
“You ruined my surprise,” I whined.
“KISS. ME.”
On Christmas morning, we all sat around Aletha’s tree and exchanged our mostly homemade gifts. Aletha had thrown four beautiful mugs on her new pottery wheel and gave them to both of us.