“Why? It’s the truth. Now help me to the car before I change my mind about this whole trip.”
I offered her my arm and she took it, gripping tighter than necessary as we walked to my Bentley.
“How much was this car,” she complained as she settled into the passenger seat.
“I worked hard for it.”
“All that money. You boys buy these cars as an extension of your dick, to show how much you workin’ with.”
I choked on air. “Grandma!”
“What? You think because I’m old I don’t know what men do? Your grandfather had a sports car, too. Bright red. Thought he was hot shit.” She clicked her seatbelt. “I made him sell it after a year. Kept hitting his head getting in and out. Looked like a fool.”
I was still laughing as I pulled out of her driveway. “You’re something else, you know that?”
“I’m honest. There’s a difference.” She settled back in her seat, turning her face toward the window even though she couldn’t see much through it anymore. “Now tell me what’s really going on with you.”
“Nothing’s going on.”
“Liar. I can feel it. Something’s different. You’re wound up tighter than usual.”
“I’m fine, Grandma.”
“You haven’t been fine since you were a kid. Don’t insult my intelligence.”
I didn’t respond. Didn’t know how to explain that she was right without getting into things I couldn’t talk about.
She let it drop. For now.
The farmers market was packed. Vendors lined the streets with their colorful tents, selling everything from fresh produce to handmade jewelry. A band was set up in the central square, playing some old-school R&B that had people swaying as they walked past.
I guided Grandma Rita through the crowd, her hand on my arm, her cane tapping ahead of us.
“Describe it to me,” she said.
“There’s a tent to your left selling strawberries. They’re huge. Probably the size of your fist.”
“Are they organic?”
“Does it matter?”
“Everything matters. Pesticides are poison.”
“Yes, Grandma. They’re organic.”
“Good. We’re getting some. And what else?”
“There’s a woman selling soap. Lavender, I think. You can probably smell it.”
“I can. Smells like my mother’s garden.” She squeezed my arm. “What about people? Who’s here?”
I scanned the crowd. Families with strollers. Couples holding hands. Vendors calling out their specials. And then?—
My jaw tightened.
“Your mother’s here,” Grandma Rita said before I could say anything. “I can feel you tense up. Where is she?”
“By the main stage. Doing meet and greets.”
