Her face when I’d held her on the highway. The way she’d broken down in my arms. The sound of her voice when she called me out for my bullshit. The way she looked at me like she could see past all the armor I’d built.
I hit a wrong chord, the sound jarring and ugly.
“Fuck.”
I set the guitar down on its stand and rubbed my face. I needed to get her out of my head. This was supposed to be a favor for Rashid. Nothing more. But every time I closed my eyes, I saw her. Every time I tried to focus on something else, my thoughts circled back.
I couldn’t afford this. Couldn’t afford to care about someone who had secrets stacked on secrets. Someone who was clearly running from something. Someone who looked at me like I might be the answer when I was just as fucked up as she was.
My phone buzzed. Grandma Rita. Serenity had taught her how to use the voice memo feature.
You better not be thinking about standing me up, boy.
I smiled despite myself and replied back:On my way.
I’d promised her I’d be more present. That I’d stop disappearing for months at a time. And taking her to the farmers market on Sunday mornings was her favorite thing.
So that’s what I was doing.
I grabbed my keys and headed out.
Grandma Rita was waiting on her front porch when I pulled up, dressed in a flowing African print dress and a wool shawl that made her look like she was going to a party instead of a farmers market.
“You’re late,” she called out as I got out of the car.
“Only five minutes.”
“Which means you’re late. I said be here at nine. It’s 9:05.”
“I had to drive here, Grandma. I can’t teleport.”
“Excuses.” She stood, grabbing her cane even though I knew she barely needed it. It was more of a weapon than an aid. “And don’t think I forgot about next week. You promised you’d come to church with me.”
“I got you unless I have to work?—”
“Work, work, work. That’s all you ever say. What kind of work you doing that you can’t take two hours on a Sunday morning to sit in the Lord’s house?”
“The kind that pays for this house.”
“Boy, I bought this house before you were even born. Don’t play with me.” But she was smiling as she said it, reaching up to cup my face. “Let me see you.”
I bent down so she could trace my features with her fingers, the way she always did now that her sight was mostly gone.
“Still handsome,” she declared. “Still look just like your daddy. Still breaking hearts, I’m sure.”
“Grandma—”
“Don’t ‘Grandma’ me. When you gonna settle down? Give me some great-grandbabies?”
“Storie and Dream are your great-grandbabies.”
“Two’s not enough. I want a whole pack of them running around before I die.”
“You’re not dying.”
“I’m eighty-three years old and going blind. I’m on my way out, baby. Gotta make peace with it.”
“Stop talking like that.”
