“Which likely won’t be until morning.” A statement that had me staring out the window again just as lightning illuminated the driveway out front and the ruined vehicles.
“I can’t believe lightning fried my car,” I muttered.
“And mine.”
“At least you can afford to replace it.”
“Surely you can as well. Don’t forget I’m aware how much you charge for your custom obsidian goods.”
“Most of the proceeds have been going toward paying down medical debt. Tutu insisted my grandmother try every single treatment available. It wasn’t cheap, and in the end, none of it worked.” My lips turned down in remembrance of the moment when my grandmother said no more. “I can’t live like this. Doctor appointments. Chemo that leaves me puking and weak for days. I’m going to die no matter what. I’d rather enjoy a few weeks to their fullest than suffer so I can live a few extra months.”
Tutu railed and ranted, but my Lulu, my rock, held firm. We did everything that last month. Cooked together. Watched movies. Snuggled and watched every sunrise and sunset. The best and worst weeks of my life.
“Shit, I didn’t mean to bring you down.”
“It’s not you.” I wiped a stubborn tear trying to leak from my eye. “Just remembering the most amazing woman on Earth.”
“Your mom.”
“Grandmother. My mother wasn’t really cut out for the mom-thing. She wanted to be surfing and partying and doing everything but raising a kid. But Lulu, what I called my grandmother, she made up for it. When she died, she left a great big gaping hole in my life and Tutu’s.”
“Sounds like she was an amazing woman.”
Before I could reply, the lights flickered and went out.
“Figures,” he groaned. “My backup generator died last month and won’t be replaced until next week.”
“Afraid of the dark?” I teased. I didn’t mind it. Tutu’s cheapness meant we used minimal lights at home, those that had functioning light bulbs at least. The bathroom vanity might have room for three, but we had only a single one screwed in.
“The dark doesn’t bother me, but I’m still learning my way around this house. At least I can use the flashlight on the phone, otherwise I’d likely end up smacking into a wall or furniture.”
“Oh no, you might stub your toe or bruise that perfect face of yours.”
“You think my face is perfect?”
My mouth rounded in horror as I realized what slipped out. How to recover? By being even more bold. “Please. As if you don’t know you’re a walking Adonis.”
“I’ve been told a few times I’m decent looking.”
“Decent,” I snorted.
“I just wish those people would look past my face and realize I’m actually a pretty chill dude.”
Ouch. Not exactly a rebuke, yet it stung because I’d been that person.
“You’re not horrible,” I conceded. “I might even say you’re a decent guy.”
“Be still, my heart. A compliment.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” The darkness receded somewhat as he turned on his phone’s flashlight. “Let there be light!”
“I would if mine still worked.” My cellphone needed replacing in a bad way.
“Is this a bad time to mention I’m down to three percent battery?”
“Guess we should grab some candles before it runs out, then.”
