“Cute guys. You know, handsome young men, like Clint Eastwood or Warren Beatty.”
“Isn’t Clint Eastwood in his nineties?”
She waves off my words. “You know what I mean.”
“Sorry, no cute guys on my radar.” I raise an eyebrow at her. “Since when were you so desperate for a boy toy?”
“I’m not asking for me!” She lets out a croaky laugh. “I’ve had my fun. No, it’s your cousin I’m worried about. Our hopeless romantic here isn’t having much luck.”
“Please not this again,” Savannah protests.
“Well, there was no harm in asking.” Grandma shrugs. “I just figured there could be more fish to choose from in New York. More dicks in the sea?—”
I try not to laugh as Savannah groans, her cheeks flaming. She turns to me, eager to change the subject.
“Ari, is that a cherry pie?”
“Yep. Just a little something to say hi.”
“I’ll go cut us a slice.” She takes the box and scurries behind the bar, still blushing furiously as she disappears into the kitchen.
“Poor Savannah,” Grandma sighs, shaking her head. “Can’t even hear the word dick without having to leave the room.”
She guides me to the bar and turns the radio down before we each climb onto a barstool.
“Anyway. How are you, honey?” Her voice is hushed now that we’re alone, her hand reaching for mine.
The question breaks something inside me. I open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. A familiar prickling rises behind my eyes when I see the tenderness in Grandma’s expression. She seems to understand my silence, her features softening as she pulls me close.
“My poor Ari.”
The tears spill hot and fast. They’re always there, lingering just beneath the surface. For the past three months, it feels like I’ve done nothing but hold back tears.
“It’s okay to cry, sweetie,” she says, stroking my hair. “You’ve had it rough.”
She’s not wrong.
When my dad died, my whole life collapsed right along with him. My mom left us when I was still in diapers, and he’s the only parent I’d ever known. He was only sixty—fit and healthy—but that didn’t stop his heart from giving out.
I never saw it coming.
But Dad didn’t just leave grief behind. He left crippling gambling debts that nobody knew about. I lost everything—the penthouse in Manhattan, my job at Dad’s real estate company, my car, my savings. Everything was tied to his bank accounts, so when the bank came calling, it all disappeared.
The company was sold.
The debts were cleared.
And just like that, my whole life was gone.
“S-sorry,” I sob against Grandma’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean to get so upset.”
“You have every right to be upset,” she says firmly. “You lost your father, Ari. You lost everything.”
“I just wish he’d told me about the debts. I wish he’d trusted me.”
“I know, honey.” Grandma closes her eyes, letting out a bitter sigh. “I loved my son very much, and I miss him like hell. But boy, he could be a real dumbass sometimes.”
I choke out a laugh, but grief twists it into a sob. “I miss him, too.”
