All's Fair in Love and Las Vegas

Chapter Sixty-Three

        "Good morning," I said, coming back into the room, now holding a tray loaded up with food. Grayson sat on the edge of the bed, mildly disoriented and his hair rumpled. He looked up, a confused expression on his face.

        "You made breakfast?" he asked as I cautiously sat down across from him on my own side.

        "Yeah. I'm not much of a cook," I said sheepishly. "Sorry if it's a bit burnt in places."

        "No, no, don't apologize; this is sweet, Jacks," he said, helping me sort out the dishes and glasses so that I wasn't such a hazard waiting to happen.

        I shrugged. "I figured that you could use a homemade meal. Even if homemade means questionable."

        Grayson smiled, and for a second, I thought he was going to say something, but then he apparently changed his mind and helped me set up the bed for breakfast. I'd made bacon (overdone), toast (overdone), eggs (probably overdone), and poured juice (was it possible? Absolutely). 

        We ate, and the food helped my nerves. I watched Grayson out of the corner of my eye the entire time, noticing that he acted normal. I didn't know what or how he was feeling, but I liked to live by Nina's motto: food makes everything better.

        "Thanks, Jackie, that was delicious," he said once we were done.

        "I'm glad you liked it," I said, taking all the dirty dishes and putting them back on the tray, which sat on the dresser. 

        "What are we doing today?" he asked, sitting cross-legged now.

        I hesitated. "Well...I'm not sure yet. Um, I wanted to...sort of see how you are."

        Grayson looked down at his fingernails before saying, "You're worried about me."

        "Yes," I confessed.

        He sighed, dropping his head into his hands. "I appreciate it, I just..."

        Quiet, I sat down next to him, copying his cross-legged pose. I wouldn't say anything, not until he fully closed the matter. Or fully dismissed it, but that was the worse of two options.

        "I think I realized when I was four," Grayson said, pulling his pillow into his lap to hug. "How she wasn't so nice. Because when you're four, y'know, it's your mother. She's the one who is always there, helping you get a bandage or giving you cheerios for breakfast. Back then, I was the light of her life, her little angel. Clay hadn't been born yet, obviously. One day, she took me to a fancy restaurant. Just the two of us. I wanted to have grilled cheese, but they didn't have that, so she offered to order me a bowl of pasta with a special sauce. I was painfully shy, so bad that I couldn't talk to people. A lot of my relatives thought I was mute, no matter how many times she told them I could talk to her all day long. And I did."

        "You sound so cute at four," I said with a smile.

        Grayson laughed a little. "I was. I'll have to show you a picture sometime. Anyways, I ordered the pasta, and I liked it, so we ate together, and it was all fine until I hit my elbow on the table and the bowl went flying. I was also a bit clumsy. So I was sitting there, covered in sauce, waiting to get in trouble for ruining my clothes. But instead she chose to take her anger out on the waiter. She yelled at him so loud. It must've been quieter, since things seem loud when you're that age, but I remember everyone looking at us, which was horrible considering my shyness. The poor waiter looked like he wanted to melt into the floor. I never got in trouble, something that I was relieved about but didn't find quite right. Over the years, it got worse and worse."