Gray’s POV
“You must be joking.”
“No, Mom,” I say tiredly as I fish through my closet, looking for a suit jacket. “I like her, and I’m bringing her. And I need you to be nice to her.”
“Grayson Gehrig, this is your sister’s piano recital, not some frivolous party. How well do you even know this girl? Where is she from?”
My suit jacket is a little wrinkled, but it’s pretty suave; my dad must have picked it out for me back when he still gave a s**t. “She’s from Brooklyn, and I know her well enough to know that she’s perfect for me, and I want to be with her.”
“Want to be with her? Does that mean you’re not?”
I’d rather jump off a cliff than admit to my mother that I haven’t so much as kissed Mem yet. “Of course, I am, Mom. I’m just saying—oh, what does it matter? She’s coming, end of st
