Last, there are items on the list that I think would be fun. Like painting the hallway to brighten it up and removing the wall that Gramps always talked about taking down to open up the kitchen. Those are bonus tasks that I dream about getting to accomplish.
Altogether, this is a huge project. But I’m determined to tackle it. Ineed to prove to myself that I can accomplish something.
High school Fable was successful. Motivated. Top of the class, full of plans, and executing them to the highest degree.
Then something happened. A switch flipped during my first semester of college, and all that motivation vanished.
For years, I haven’t been able to find the path I’m meant to be on, and that has led to many failed attempts along the way.
My family has rallied behind me for every new idea I’ve had. Going to college? They got bumper stickers and helped me move in. Dropping out? Mom found me an apartment and searched job pages with me. Going to be a waitress? Family trip to Seattle to visit the restaurant. A barista now? Perfect, we have a new spot to get coffee. The flower shop is hiring? That’s amazing, we love flowers! The hardware store? Here, you need your own tool belt!
They show up every time. Full excitement. They’ve helped me move to and from Seattle, paid out the rest of my lease when I couldn’t, let me live with them for the last two years, reassured me, “This is the right decision,” every time I switched jobs. They help me clean up the mess, sweep it under the rug, and we move on like nothing happened.
And I love them.God, I love them so much.
But every time they pick me back up, there’s thislookon all their faces. It’s a knowing, we-saw-this-coming look, and I don’t even think they realize they’re doing it.
That’s all right. Don’t worry about it. Life happens, sweetie.
My self-confidence crumbles in the face of it. I’m chaotic, unsuccessful Fable—moved back home because I couldn’t get my life together. And even though they’veneversaid those words, that’s exactly how it feels.
The truth is, when it comes to this A-frame project, something feelsimperativeabout it. It’s fundamental. Foundational. Ican’t move on until I’ve done this and seen it through to the end. It may not be perfect or easy, but I’m determined to keep trying for Gramps. He deserves my greatest effort.
I addfix bathroom sink pipingright under where I’d crossed it off last night, thinking I’d resolved it for the second time. Ipin the list back on Gramps’s vintage sage-green fridge beside the only picture I have displayed in the house.
My ten-year-old smile and Gramps’s sixty-seven-year-old smile shine back at me from the grainy photo. We’re crouching beside the flower bed in front of the A-frame—where his pink, orange, and yellow tulips blossomed every spring. He has that sparkle in his eye that was reserved just for his granddaughters.
That sparkle began dimming a few years ago, when he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.
“Can you read to me?” Gramps would ask, and I would.The Hobbit,My Side of the Mountain, andJulie of the Wolves. All books he introduced me to. His favorites.
“Remind me again about the bookstore we’re going to open,” he’d say, and I’d recount every detail he’d lined out for me over the years. The cozy chairs in the back corner, the plants in the front windows, the free books on the stoop, because in his words, “everyone needs a story.”
“Tell me about my Hazel,” he’d request, and even though Grandma passed away when my dad was a child, I’d tell him every story I’d heard over the years. About her favorite flower, the tulips he tended in her honor. About their wedding in the mountains, with only their parents and the birds to witness their vows.
Slowly—heartbreakingly—Gramps began to forget those tulips, forget his favorite books, forget the secret to opening Baby Blue’s door, until we were left to carry those memories.
But no matter how many memories there are, it’s not enough to fill the giant hole left behind by his loss.
The kettle squeals, and I startle, blinking to clear my vision. Making Gramps’s perfect cup of tea soothes my heart a bit. Ilet it steep for a few minutes, then add a tablespoon of cream—exactly how he taught me.
Then I lift my warm mug toward the photo on the fridge. “Cheers.” I swallow a sip and close my eyes, doing my best to re-create the little hum of contentedness he used to make. “Happy Birthday, Gramps.”
I’m stocking the shelves with a million types of light bulbs (Why the hell are there so many different options?) when I realize I left the supply list at home. It’s probably still sitting on the bathroom floor. Unless Knocks has found it and shredded it by now.
I reach for my phone to find the video again, only to remember it’s still dead. “Fuck,” I hiss quietly. Pushing the cart of light bulbs to the side, I walk toward the front counter in search of a charger.
“You doin’ okay?” Logan, my boss, pops into my path at the end of the aisle, concern etched across his face. The overhead lights glint off his glasses as he tilts his head. “Heard you sayfuck. Did that handle get you again?” He reaches for my hand to examine the scar on my palm. A sharp piece of metal cut me last week, and he had the first aid kit out in half a second and was dragging the cart away once I was bandaged up.
Logan is known around town as a grump, but he’s been nothing but a softie to me my whole life. When I walked in here a few months ago looking for a job, he had me working twenty minutes later, no questions asked.
“No, I’m fine.” The bell at the front of the store jingles as someone opens the door. “My phone is just—” I start, but my brain-to-mouth wires get tangled when Theo appears around the corner.
He’s wearing navy blue scrubs that look perfectly tailored to his muscular frame. If there was a trophy for Sexiest Scrubs, those would win, hands-down. His chestnut hair is a little messier than normal, like he’s been running his fingers through it, and somehow his presence seems to take up so muchspacein here. My gaze dips down his frame, and the sight of his wide chest and strong thighs make me irrationally angry.
I hate that I notice any of it.
I hate that I’ve run into him two days in a row now.
