It’s the most boring conversation I’ve ever heard in my life, and it doesn’t take me long to zone out of the entire thing. My mind wanders to the woman who should be my grandmother. If she wasn’t a frigid bitch who talked her own son into denying me, would we have gotten along? If I had the right blood for her, would she have been a kind and caring grandma? I wonder if her own grandchildren like her or find her to be a nag?
I’ve never met a grandmother who bakes chocolate chip cookies — my experience in grandmotherly figures comes from TV — but as a kid my dreams were filled with them. They’d bring me warm chocolate chip cookies and do the stuff grandmothers were supposed to enjoy. I didn’t know what any of those activities were, but I remember being fairly certain grandmas all over the world were doing special things for their grandchildren. And I missed out.
A cool Grandma Cunningham would call me once a week to discuss the price of gas. I’ve heard that becomes more important as you get older. Neither Drew nor I were able to experience a relationship with a grandparent-type person. You don’t age out of the San Francisco foster care program if you have any relatives, anywhere, to take you in.
“We should go down to the center and volunteer with Clare,” Maureen says speaking to her husband.
“That would be great,” Grant answers for me.
“We’d have to run your checks.” Even if they’re rich and old, I still have laws to follow.
Maureen’s face falls a fraction. “Oh… I didn’t know. What about Grant’s arrest back in the seventies?”
I sputter, thankful I wasn’t taking a drink. The table would be soaked. I shouldn’t ask but I do. “You’ve been arrested?”
I glace at Grant’s grandfather again, longer this time. Maybe I missed something the first time. I’m the first person to tell you not to judge a book by its cover, but someone in Grant’s family having any arrest record at all is unexpected.
Older Grant laughs like it’s no big deal he’s spent time in the back of a police car. “It was the seventies, and I was best friends with Roland Ashwood. It would’ve been odder had I not been arrested.”
Oh… well then. “It would depend if you were convicted and of what.”
“Oh we were convicted.” He laughs, his eyes searching a far corner of the room lost in a memory.
Now it’s Maureen’s turn to laugh. “Grant’s father was so angry he refused to hire him an attorney. The public defender negotiated the charge down to disorderly conduct with six months’ community service.”
“A few years later I hired him and now he’s the director of the law department with Moore Investing. Rupert got me out of a serious charge. The least I could do was give the man a job.”
My Grant leans into the conversation. “You always told me it was a misunderstanding, and you weren’t even there.”
His grandfather hits him on the back. “Of course I did. That’s what you tell your grandchildren, but you’re old enough to learn the truth now.”
“Older, but not prepared.”
“It was the seventies,” he defends himself.
“I’m honestly not sure what a forty-year-old disorderly conduct charge would return, but if you’re interested in volunteering we can get you started in the process,” I blurt out. Someone had to say something before family drama broke out.
**
“You know what we should do?” I ask as Grant leads me out the front doors of the mansion.
“What?” He takes my arm, helping me down the marble steps.
“Have sex in the limo,” I whisper.
“Shhhhhh.” By the way he shushes me I gather my whisper wasn’t much of a whisper. He tips his head to two men on the side of the steps and I giggle at the laugh they give us. “Goodnight, Teddy.” Grant tilts his head at the man.
“No,youhave a great night, Grant,” Teddy responds.
“Doesn’t it sound like a great idea?” I ask again in case Grant forgot already.
His grip on my arm increases as I stumble over a step. The warmth of his touch heats my exposed skin and my heart skips a beat. It’s nice to have someone to catch you. “It sounds like a great idea if you weren’t drunk.”
I stop walking in the middle of the sidewalk. “I am not drunk.”
“How many Long Island iced teas did you let my grandmother feed you?”
I think back on the night, but I’m not sure. The wait staff here are amazing. Every time my drink reached half full someone brought me a new one. Thank God there’s not a bar tab to pay. “Three,” I guess when he keeps looking at me.
