We drive to Aspen’s grandparents’ house that evening, and I let my hand rest loosely on the steering wheel. The day’s been fantastic, and I wish we could stay like this forever.Maybe I’ll buy a house in Malibu, too.
I glance over at Aspen, who’s wearing one of her pretty new dresses. I love seeing her in nice things I’ve provided. She deserves to be treated like a princess. “What does your grandmother want to give you?”
“Some organic strawberry jam from a local farm. I love the stuff, but they only make, like, a few hundred jars a year. Grandma managed to buy five this week.”
I make a mental note to find out which farm it is so I can make sure Aspen’s never out of their jam.
“So, what do you want to be when you grow up?” she asks.
“A beach bum in Spain.”
“Seriously?”
I shrug. “I have money, Spain’s pretty, and I speak the language… Why not? Play polo all day, and party on the beach all night. It’s a great life.”
She laughs. “Okay, I can see that. But if my grandpa asks, don’t say that.”
I stop the car at a red light and give her a look. “Is he going to ask?”
“He asks that to all the guys who come by.” She rolls her eyes, although her mouth is curved into an affectionate smile. “He doesn’t do it to my girlfriends.”
An uncomfortable ball of acid burns in my gut. I hate it that she’s had other guys come over to see her grandparents, although it isn’t realistic to expect that she’s never had any friends with dicks until now, even if she didn’t sleep with any of them.
But maybe it’s not that unrealistic—I’ve generally tried to avoid introducing my friends to my parents. “He probably wants to make sure you won’t end up with some loser.”
“Just saying. Forewarned is forearmed and all that.” She smiles shyly. “I want him to like you.”
My heart does a funky dance. I reach over, thread my fingers through hers and resume driving. She squeezes my hand and looks out the windshield, the smile still on her radiant face.
Her grandparents’ home is a modest house with a red roof and a small yard. The place isn’t very big. You couldn’t fit a quarter of my dad’s car collection onto the entire lot.
I park and help Aspen out. I’m dressed nicely—Marketta doesn’t provide bad clothes—and have a bouquet of yellow daisies I picked up from a florist near Mom’s place because Aspen told me they’re her grandmother’s favorite. Plus two bottles of premium Bordeaux that I filched from Mom’s wine cellar. She won’t miss them.
“Come on.” Aspen takes my hand, and we step inside the house.
The place smells like meat and potatoes. It’s a surprise, in a way—you never smell food when you walk into my parents’ homes. But I like it. Very homey and welcoming.
There’s smooth hardwood floor in the living room, and a small couch that looks more functional than decorative. The cushions are a bit squished, like people actually sit there. A modestly sized TV and three bookcases, mostly showcasing books but also some photos, are also there. The photos aren’t anything like the ones Mom likes to hang in her home. Two of them show Aspen when she was just a little kid. She was amazingly cute with those wide green eyes and rosebud mouth and plump cheeks. There’s one with her and an elderly couple, who I presume are her grandparents, at a park. She’s fourteen or so in the picture, with long limbs and a gorgeous smile. One from a birthday—with a huge cake and numerous candles. Another one from high school graduation, her holding a huge bouquet of pink carnations, bracketed by her grandparents.
The couple from the photos walk out, arms open. The woman is lean, with graceful limbs, and her eyes and mouth look just like Aspen’s. She’s in a simple green and purple dress with a loose skirt, and she hugs Aspen hard. The man is tall, with ropey muscles, and the light, sure step of a dancer despite his age. He’s in a long-sleeve V-neck shirt and jeans. He embraces her tightly.
“Welcome home, sweetie,” he says.
“Hi, Grandpa! So good to see you.” She hugs him back, then pulls away. “This is my friend Grant.”
“Hello, sir.” I paste on my best smile and extend a hand.
“Kenny. Nice to meet you, young man.” He grips my hand firmly, enough to let me know he’s still strong, but not so hard that it’s painful.
“I’m Kat.” The woman smiles warmly. “Always a pleasure to have Aspen’s friends over.”
“For you, ma’am.” I hold out the daisies.
She takes them. “Oh, how lovely.” She flushes as she buries her nose in the flowers. “Thank you, Grant.”
“And the wine.”
Kenny takes both bottles. “Aren’t you underage?” His dark eyes say one wrong answer, I’m out.
