Sydney laughs and heads back to the kitchen, leaving me alone with my grandmother. The moment she’s gone, Meema’s expression turns serious.
“I saw what happened on the lake. You were eye-fucking her.”
I gasp. “Jesus, Meema.”
“What?” She shrugs. “Isn’t that what you kids say nowadays? Because that’s what was happening.” She takes a sip of her too-hot tea without flinching. “The whole county saw it, Brooksie. Nice try with the spraying ice in her face diversion—you might as well have pulled her pigtails. Anyway, you’re lucky that beaver sex show stole some of the spotlight, but I bet you two will still be the main attraction on the social media today.”
I groan, covering my face with my hands. “Just what I need.”
“What you need,” Meema’s voice softens, “is someone who calls you on your bullshit. Someone who sees past The King to the boy I helped raise.”
“Not this again.”
“I may not have long, Brooksie. I get to say whatever I want.”
My heart clenches. “Don’t think that way. You’re going to live forever.”
“Right.” She sets her tea down with a clink.
The room suddenly feels too small, the air too thin.
Her eyes, still sharp despite everything, fix on mine. “And if it’s my time, before I go, I’d like to see you settled. Happy.”
“I am happy.”
She waves my weak protest away like she’s batting a fly. “You’re lonely. You’ve been lonely since last year when that awful—”
“Meema,” I cut her off, flinching. We’re not talking about that.
“All I’m saying is, it’d do my old heart good to see you with someone special. Someone like Sydney, maybe.”
I nearly choke. One eye fuck and now we’re running off into the sunset? We annoy the hell out of each other, but I don’t want to pop Meema’s hopeful bubble, so I say, “Maybe.”
“I know you two have always thought you hated each other, but hate’s just passion pointing in the wrong direction.” She picks up her tea again, looking way too pleased with herself. “Besides, I’ve been laying the groundwork.”
“What doesthatmean?”
“It means I’ve told her all your good qualities. It only took about thirty seconds, but I think she was impressed.”
Despite everything, I laugh. “You’re impossible.”
“Goal-oriented,” she corrects. “And since I probably won’t get to meet my great-grandchildren, the least you could do is let me see you in love with someone.”
The weight of her words—the finality of them—settles over me. “Meema...”
“Plus,” she continues, as if I hadn’t spoken, “you need someone to help you with that shoulder. Can’t even change your own shirts properly, can you?”
She’s not wrong. The injury makes certain movements almost impossible, which is why I’ve been living in button-ups and zip hoodies since I got injured.
Sydney returns with my coffee, and I take it gratefully, needing something to do with my hands. “Thanks.”
She nods, settling on the arm of the sofa. “So, what’d I miss?”
“Oh, I was just telling Brooks how nice it would be if he brought someone to my birthday party,” Meema says innocently. “A date, perhaps.”
Sydney’s eyes dart to mine, a flash of understanding crossing her face. “Maisie,” she warns.
“What? I’m just saying, two young, attractive single people... it’d be a shame to waste all that potential.”
