Martha comes to refill our orange pekoe. She lingers, pretending to wipe crumbs from the tablecloth. Because the tea great-grandmother is spilling is hotter than anything that’s brewing in that teapot.
Great-Grandma shakes her head. “My mother never married. If she knew who my father was, she never told me. And every day of that woman’s life, I saw her work hard. And when she couldn’t work anymore, she left me in an orphanage and she never came back.”
“Oh my god…” I gasp, grabbing the old lady’s hand before I can think better of it.
She stares down at my hand like it’s some extraterrestrial object that just dropped from the sky and landed on her patio table.
Josephine’s not the touchy-feely type. She never has been. I love her. I respect her. But always from afar. Always at a distance…until this very moment.
I expect her to pull away. She shocks the shit out of me when she delicately wraps her fragile hand around mine instead.
“Did you ever forgive her?” I ask.
Great-Grandma just shrugs, and I can almost see the hurt little girl that still lives somewhere inside of her. “I never blamed my mother. She led a miserable life. All that work, just to get nowhere. I didn’t blame her for giving up. And at the same time, I swore that would never be me. My children would never get left behind. So when my husband left me—”
“Left you? What do you mean he left you?” I spew out. “You mean, when he died?”
“Died?” She cracks up, her narrow shoulders shaking with amusement. “Cockroaches like him don’t die. Not even in a nuclear explosion.” We laugh together. Even Martha struggles to suppress a snicker. “That man left me and ran off with my seamstress.”
“Your seamstress?!”
“My doggone seamstress,” she confirms. “I should have seen it coming. That darn floozy,” she says under her breath.
Martha snort-laughs, then quickly straightens her posture. “Excuse me. Seasonal allergies.” But something in her expression tells me that she has heard this seamstress story before. Maybe a few dozen times over the years.
“Shoo! Go! Go, you nosy woman!” Great-Grandma smirks, even as she waves her housekeeper away.
Martha scurries back to the house, giving us our privacy. She’s still snickering as she goes.
The interaction makes me smile. I’m coming to discover that Josephine’s house staff loves her. Clearly, they’re protective of her. Behind her tough exterior, she must not be that much of an evil dictator after all.
“So, Great-Grandpa ran off?” I continue.
“Yes, he ran off.” Josephine nods solemnly. “First, he tried to get me to leave. But I made it clear I wasn’t leaving this house. I wasn’t giving up this legacy. If he wanted to run around like the stray dog he was, I wouldn’t try to stop him. But he wasn’t going to upheave our children’s lives. When he left, I didn’t miss him for a day. I just made it my mission to preserve this fortune for all the generations of Lannisters to come. I never wanted my children or my children’s children to experience the insecurity of an unstable household. The way I did.”
I feel tears building in my eyes. I wipe them away with my knuckles.
“Great-Grandma, I admire you so much for what you did to protect the family.” I suck in a sharp breath, not sure how my next words will land. “But times are different now. A woman doesn’t have to stay in a loveless marriage just to secure her future. Thanks to the sacrifices made by the women of your time, my generation has options. We can pursue the things we want—businesses, careers, higher education, traveling, or sitting by a lake and reading novels all day. Money and marriage and stability can co-exist independently in this day and age.”
She looks skeptical. Like feminism is a theory she’s vaguely heard of, but she’s not quite convinced it would ever stand up to the test.
Right then, Humphrey ambles by again, shooting Great-Grandma that same protective stare. A soft smile touches her face before she shoos him away again. Her attention returns to me.
She reaches across and taps my shoulder. “Oh, enough of this independence talk. You’re a newly wed. True love can be a fleeting thing. So bask in the joy of these early days.”
“Right,” I mutter, sensing that this moment of vulnerability between us is coming to an end.
When Martha determines that the coast is clear, she returns to carry our used dishes away. I take the opportunity to reach into my purse and retrieve the string of pearls Great-Grandma loaned me.
“Thank you again for letting me wear these on my wedding day,” I say, setting the jewelry box on the table between us. “It really meant a lot to me to be allowed to use a family heirloom on my special day.”
She tilts her head to the side, pondering for a moment. “You know what? I want you to keep it.”
I blink. “Really?”
She nods. “Yes. Really. Consider it a wedding gift.”
I thank her profusely, hardly able to believe that this is happening. All the same, I quickly tuck the jewelry box back into my purse, before she can change her mind. Or before Hilary can jump out from between the hydrangea bushes and stake her claim to the family jewels.
