Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 103102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
And I head home, to face a conversation I don’t want to have.
…
I use the backyard entrance, shower, change into jeans and a T-shirt. The second I step into the main room, I feel like a little boy. Underdressed, under-informed, under-equipped to deal with the reality of this summer.
“Going out tonight?” Grandma asks as if she doesn’t know the answer. She’s sitting on the couch, sipping red wine, snacking on a homemade charcuterie plate.
It’s just us. Fern and North are already out. “In a while.”
“Anywhere interesting?” She pretends she doesn’t know my plans—as if Fern and North didn’t tell her everything—as she spreads fig jam over a cracker. “Or anyone?”
“What are you doing?”
“Sharing.” She adds white cheddar and offers the snack to me. “Your favorite.”
“What are you doing with the neighbors?”
“Plotting against you, of course,” she deadpans.
“Grandma.”
She sets the cracker on a small plate and pushes it to the other side of the coffee table. “Fern wanted to have a girls’ day. That’s all.”
“And you didn’t invite Deanna for some reason?”
“Yes. Some reason.” She shrugs as if she doesn’t know what I mean.
Which is bullshit. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Interfere.”
“The world doesn’t revolve around you, sweetheart.” She fixes herself a jam and a white cheddar cracker. “Did you eat dinner?”
“No.”
“Then come. Bring the bottle and the rest of the block.”
I bring the cheese but not the wine.
Grandma frowns as I take the seat next to her, but she doesn’t ask for alcohol again.
“You have a bad strategy, you know.” I take a bite of the cracker. Let the mix of rich fig, creamy cheese, and crunchy flour dissolve on my tongue.
“I do?”
“What do you think will happen if I fall for Deanna?”
She looks at me carefully. “I think she’ll break your heart.”
“Me, too.”
Surprise streaks her expression.
“Is that what you’re doing?” I ask.
“Orchestrating heartbreak?”
“Giving me a reason to go back to New York early.”
“Sweetheart, I’m not that conniving.”
“It won’t work,” I say.
“You won’t fall for her?”
“I won’t leave if you’re not doing well.”
The mood in the room changes immediately. No playfulness. No teasing. No fun.
We’re all business now.
Grandma is against this. I know she is. She’s clear about a few things in life: her love of work, her appreciation of sexual freedom, and her kids and grandkids flying out of the nest.
She doesn’t want this, but I need it. I need to help, right now. I didn’t help enough last time. I was too young to know how to help. I was too caught up in my own head, my feelings, my fear.
“Even if she breaks my heart,” I say. “Even if she never wants to speak to me again. If Lexi says the same. If Mr. Huntington comes over here with a shotgun—”
“A shotgun, really?”
“A vintage pistol.”
She nods. That is more realistic.
“If he challenges me to a duel. Says he’ll shoot if he sees the man who broke his daughter’s heart again.”
“Are you planning to break her heart?” Grandma asks.
It’s a good play. I almost latch onto the question. Of course not. Of course, I don’t want to hurt Deanna. And I won’t. Not intentionally.
I want to argue.
But this is all a distraction.
Grandma isn’t worried about Deanna or Mr. Huntington. She wants to keep me from making sacrifices for her.
It won’t work. “I want to tell you now,” I say. “So you know.”
“About you and Deanna?”
“I said I’d stay a month, but I’m not going back until September.”
“River.”
“No, Grandma. We agreed.”
“This isn’t what we agreed,” she says.
“I’m not fussing,” I say.
“You have a life there.”
“It’s only three months. And I have a job I can do anywhere.” Sure, I need to fly in for meetings every so often, but everything else is doable with email, chat, call.
“What about that promotion you mentioned?” she asks. “The one that will let you shape new artists? You’d need to be in the city to find people.”
Yes, and I’d love the opportunity, but I know what matters to me. This matters to me. “I’m not like you, Grandma. I don’t live for work the way you do.”
“You love the city.”
“I love you, too.” I’ll be back in the city eventually. That’s the part neither of us want to say. If she’s that unwell, she won’t be here long. I won’t stay long.
“River.” She packs a million pounds of intention into the word. Most of all: this isn’t our deal. But we didn’t agree to those terms, either. Grandma said one month, no fussing, take it or leave it.
Now, I’m proposing the entire summer, and fussing. But I’m working on the fussing.
Grandma swallows another sip of wine from her nearly empty glass. She speaks slowly. Carefully. “You need to think about your future.”
“This is my future.” I reach out and take her hand. “I don’t want to look back and think about what could have been.”
“But you will if you keep putting me first.”