While I appreciate Shay’s concern, my dating life should be the least of her worries.
“Fine. I’ll drop it.” Fuzzy, pink slippers squeak as she shuffles to me, and I wince when she juts her chin into my sternum. “Can I sleep with you? I think we need cuddles and cartoons.”
“You just don’t want to deal with that mess you call a bedroom,” I counter. “Eventually you’ll have to deal with the laundry on your bed. You can’t avoid it forever.”
My best friend gives me a knowing glare as she grabs Winry. After a quick shower and skincare, I wrap my hair and join them in bed. Sleepovers are our love language. From pushing our twin beds together in the dorm to moving into this house, Shay will always take up three-quarters of the mattress. Her knee finds my hip bone, and Winry curls herself into my armpit.
While I’m sure there’s no significant other out there for me, I know I’ve found my person.
Chapter Six
Anyone need a grandma?Because mine is for sale.
Hell. Free to a good home if you take her off my hands right now.
My grandmother’s airy laugh fills the donut shop, pulling tired eyes to our table. I specifically chose the booth in the back to not bring attention to us, but it’s no use. I’d join in if she wasn’t laughingatme.
“Nan, it’s twenty-three degrees out. I could get a cold. Or worse! Pneumonia! Don’t you care about your grandson’s health?” I cross my arms, but not because I have an attitude. The AC is on full blast, and the two towels wrapped around me aren’t helping fight the chills.
“You’ve been swimming in that lake since you were born. A little cold weather hasn’t stopped you before! Remember when you lost that bet to Cade in seventh grade and skinny dipped in the snow?” She shivers. “Because I do. I saw threeverybright,verywhite half-moons that night.”
My cheeks warm when the man in the booth behind Nan chokes on his coffee and buries his head behind a newspaper.
“Nan!” I hiss, smacking her hand. “I was thirteen!”
“And? Next time, don’t stride butt naked across the dock with your grandmother in the kitchen.” She rubs a pale pink mark on her hand, a permanent reminder of seeing my bare ass and dropping a scalding potof tomato soup. “Anyway, I don’t want to hear any more whining. You’re the one who prioritized saving your phone rather than reaching for the ladder.”
Somehow that ladder is in even worse shape than the dock, but I’m not going to push that today considering I was supposed to fix it this morning.
“How is it?” Nan asks. “How’s home?”
It’s been eight months since Nan moved into Eberly Assisted Living and three years since she left our home, Lake Anita.
Every visit with Nan goes the same. I watch the sunrise at Lake Anita, my feet dangling over the dock’s edge as light peeks through the dense cedar trees, splaying shards of red, orange, and yellow across the black surface. Then I dust and water the plants. Right before I leave, I grab oranges from the sunroom. The orange trees Cade and I potted in tenth grade are still going strong. His trees are taller, but my harvest is kicking his harvest’s butt.
The difference between this morning and every other morning is that I fell in the lake. Hence the possible pneumonia.
“Good. We got a little bit of snow last night, so it looks like a Hallmark postcard.” I slide my phone across the table, and Nan takes it happily, scrolling through the photos with a wistful smile. “Cade and I will replace the ladder next weekend before coming to get you. And I refilled the bird feeders.”
A shaky hand rests on top of mine. “I missed you this week, Fishie.”
My cheeks burn at the nickname. It used to be embarrassing, especially when amplified through a megaphone at swim meets, but it grew on me over time.
“I missed you too, Nan. Now tell me how you convinced Dr. Hope to let you go on a walk after being on bed rest.”
Nan was ready to go when I arrived. Her coat was zipped up over a teal CLU Swim hoodie and instead of her usual Birkenstocks, heavy boots were laced tightly.
“I asked nicely and told her my precious grandson was looking forward to our walk, and that she didn’t want to disappoint you by forcing me to stay in bed.”
“So, you guilted her into it.” I push away my hot tea that tastes like soapy bath water.
“I wouldn’t say that,” she shrugs, finishing off her chocolate donut with sprinkles. “She only agreed because I promised to walk slowly and use that damned thing.” Nan snarls at the cane leaning against the table. When she picked it a year ago, she loved it because it reminded her of Gandalf’s staff. Within a month, the novelty had worn off.
“Good. Nobody needs to see you splayed out on the sidewalk like spilled milk.”
Nan flicks my hand. “Watch your mouth. Just because I have MS doesn’t mean I can’t whoop your butt.”
I laugh, loving that she always makes light of every situation. Even on her worst days, the only reason I didn’t fall apart was because of her warm smile and can-do attitude.
