My mouth is off and running, my nervousness growing when I can’t read his expression. “I’m sorry I can’t offer a speaking fee, and as you saw, the sex seminar was a little rocky, but I’ve made strides”—and accepted bribes—“and the body positivity presentation went much better. Plus, attracting new residents equals job security, and if we invite the larger community, it’ll also foster a better relationship between them and Lakeview’s residents.”
Firm fingers wrap around my shoulders as he meets my eyes. “Relax, I think it’s a great idea.”
Being told to relax isn’t my favorite, as if I wouldn’t love to be able to do exactly that. Much like “stop stressing,” or “calm down,” those aren’t options installed in my mainframe. “How do you feel about a week from Saturday?”
His grin melts my insides. “It’s a date.”
Chapter Seventeen
By the time I return home, Grandma Helen and Wanda have already heard about me and Doctor Dimples “getting snuggly on the tennis court.” The entire group chat is abuzz with the news, my notifications as relentless as when I worked for the biggest drama queen there is—a king.
Due to the reminder of King EZ, I also skim through my texts to ensure there’s nothing urgent that needs my attention, because I learned my lesson.
“Actually,” I say with a long exhale, crossing the living room to plop on the loveseat next to a silk-robed Wanda, “Carlos was teaching me to play.”
“Well, ask him to teach you something else,” Grandma Helen says, nudging my shin with the toe of her slipper as she continues to stroke Fifi’s fur like a Bond villain.
“Ooh, I love when a man I fancy does the classic guiding move, just like Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore behind the pottery wheel inGhost.” Wanda sighs longingly, and I at least recognize that’s the actor from the other movie they pulled inspiration from. “So romantic.”
Wanda tosses a pillow at my face when I glance down at my phone again instead of joining in on the swooning. “This is called helping, Mia Bo-bina, because you clearly don’t know what romantic even means.”
“Mm-hmm.” Grandma Helen nods and sips her tea as she and Wanda exchange a glance heavy with half a century of friendship and meaning. Assigned to room together in college, the two met and quickly became “linked at the hip.”
I knew she was my person, week one,Wanda would share anytime they told their origin story.She thought I was a naïve, overly chipper hippie she could shake once she found normal friends.
Vastly different, with personalities as opposite as a desert and an ocean, they complemented each other as well as they complimented each other.
Wanda relieves me of the gold-tasseled pillow she tossed at me and I was beginning to play with, demanding my full gaze and attention. “There’s obviously attraction. Next time you and the doctor cross paths, all you have to do is twirl your hair around your finger and say, ‘Oh, Carlos, thanks so much for the tennis lesson. Are there any other moves you’d like to show me?’”
“Then blink those big, doe eyes at him,” Grandma Helen finishes, “and tell him practice makes perfect.”
What I do with my eyes is roll them at her. “As if either of you would say such a thing to anyone you were interested in dating—especially when you were my age.”
Grandma Helen releases a long-suffering sigh and sets her porcelain teacup with the pink and white floral pattern on the matching saucer with silver edging. Displayed in the cabinet behind her, the set has been passed down for generations, missing only one piece, thanks to her curious granddaughter. “Yes, that’s the point we’ve been trying to make all along, dear. We wasted years being proper and holding back, not asking for what we wanted and settling for men who treated us like crap.” Her voice wobbles there at the end, but that’s about as close as she gets to ever mentioning my grandfather.
“We were expected to commit wholly before we ever slept with a man,” Wanda says, lifting her mug of chamomile and valerian root tea for a sip. “Or we’d be shamed and called tramps or hussies.”
“I get that, and I’m sorry, but unfortunately, women still face that plenty today.” I sink farther into the cushions with a tiny groan. Every muscle in my shoulders and arms ache, and my head’s entirely too heavy for my body. “That’s why it’d be great if we could stop pointing fingers and arguing and start working together.”
“Oh, would it, Mia Louise? Let me guess, you think the problem lies with us.”
My grandmother’s use of my middle name has me returning to an upright and locked position. “I didn’t say that.”
The right eyebrow arches, calling me out on not denying it, either.
A jolt of panic warns I’m about to get in trouble and leaves me rushing to build a defense—it can’t be my fault, no matter what. “What? I literally said we need to work together.”
“Such condescension. Do you hear that, Wanda? ‘Let’s work together.’” Grandma makes air quotes around the delicate handle of her tea, her knuckles gnarled from osteoarthritis and the spill she took last spring. “As if we haven’t been cutting a trail through the misogynistic jungle for fifty years before you arrived on the scene. Now every generation that comes after skips down the pathweblazed to tell us how we should’ve done it and demanding more help.”
Static overtakes my chest and fills my ears. It’s the type of discomfort that accompanies moments where I can either fight through my biases and learn, or I can dig my heels deeper and remain planted in ignorance.
I refuse to choose insensitivity after so many people have been careless with my feelings, but I’m also human—and an obstinate one, at that—so I can’t quite withhold my snark. “Isn’t that what controlling my social life’s about? You all think you can do better.”
“No honey,” Wanda says with a consoling pat on my knee. “We’re saying since it’s a journey we’ve already traveled, we want to share a clearer roadmap with less hazards.”
“Not me.” Grandma Helen sets her teacup and saucer aside, jutting her jaw as she scoots forward in her recliner. “Mia, you’re wasting your youth on all the wrong things. Constantly in a tizzy, pursuing goals and achievements that won’t call you back at two o’clock a.m. when it’s an emergency and you desperately need someone.”
Well, that certainly prickles my defenses, and I thought they were up already. “Say what you will about my stress levels and how seriously I take my job, or even the dismal state of my dating life. ButI’mnot the one having unprotected sex and sending a quarter of the residents fleeing.”
