“Works for me. Ryan?”
When I moved toward it, Grant pulled out a chair. “Works for me too.”
The hostess handed us our menus and waited for Grant to get settled before leaving. As I studied the name etched in gold leaf on the front of the menu, my forehead creased.
“I have no idea how to say it, but I think it’s French.”
Grant shook his head. “No clue. Let’s hope the inside’s easier to read that the outside.”
As we were opening our menus, a waiter approached the table to fill our water glasses, and he asked if we’d like to see a wine menu. Grant waited for me to answer.
“Um, I’m okay,” I answered, looking at Grant over the flickering votives scattered around the middle of the table. “Unless you’d like some.”
Grant’s head shook. “I’m okay too. I’ll stick with water.”
After the waiter left, I remembered how we hadn’t had a choice when it came to “sticking with water” on the few occasions we’d been able to eat out, since we’d barely had enough to pay for our meals, but I knew that wasn’t the case now.
“So you don’t drink at all at all anymore,” I said, remembering our conversation in my motel that night he and Charlie met for the first time.
Grant stared at the water cup for a minute before lifting it and taking a drink. “Not a drop.”
I lowered my menu. Grant had started drinking around the same time most parents finally let their kids have a full can of soda, and it had never exactly been an occasional thing. Being a big guy, he could hold it better than others, but I’d spent more nights than I liked to remember encouraging him to ease up and switch to water.
“When did this happen?” I asked finally.
Grant looked at me. “Not long after you left.” He looked like he was deciding what to say next. “Losing you . . . it put me in a bad place. Instead of dealing with it in a healthy way, I went with an unhealthy way.”
My eyebrow lifted. “Drinking yourself into a stupor?”
He rolled his head. “Pretty much. That was my life for the first couple of months after you left. I started drinking the moment I got up, and I didn’t stop until I passed out later that night. It was the only way I knew to block the pain, the only coping mechanism I’d learned.”
I took a breath. “From your dad.”
Grant nodded. “It took me longer to see that than it should have, but yeah, I realized I was becoming my old man, turning to the bottle to deal with my problems. I could have lost my football deal, my life, everything. I haven’t had a drink since that moment I realized who I was going to turn into if I didn’t stop.”
So much of the man sitting across the table from me was new, and yet so much of the boy I’d known was still there. The best of him remained; the rougher patches he’d left behind.
“I’m sorry,” I said again, wondering if those two words would ever feel like they were making headway in the forgiveness department.
“I know. Don’t worry. I have all kinds of ideas for ways you can pay me back.” He bounced his brows at me, the look on his face giving away some of what he had in mind.
It made my legs squeeze together tighter. Distracting myself, I got back to the menu. Only to realize, after scanning a few items, that I didn’t have a clue what anything was. Even the stuff written in English I didn’t understand.
“Menus like this were created to make people feel stupid,” Grant muttered, shaking his head.
“And inferior,” I added.
His eyes lifted from the menu, a playful look in them. “And angry.”
“And hungry.” For once I was hungry, but I had no clue if anything on this menu was capable of quieting a growling stomach. I’d heard portions in these kinds of restaurants were sized more for someone the size of a fairy. I was small, but I liked big portions, and I couldn’t imagine what Grant would do with a tiny meal.
“What the hell is . . .” Grant’s eyes narrowed on something in the menu. “Es . . . car . . . got?”
“The fanciest food I’ve ever eaten was the time I let someone convince me to try having an egg cracked over my pizza. I hated it.” I tried finding the menu item Grant was talking about, to no avail.
“Egg on a pizza? That’s just wrong. They used to burn people at a stake for that.”
“For good reason.”
That was when the waiter reappeared, ready to take our order. Grant looked at me, waiting. I looked at Grant, waiting. Then both of us started to laugh.
The waiter looked between us, confused. “Can I make a few suggestions? Or can I give you a few more minutes?”