She looks up the moment I step into the room.
“Well,” she says, smiling, “look at you.”
My nerves loosen just a little as I do a slow turn.
“What do you think?” I ask.
She studies me from head to toe.
Her eyes pause on the sweater. Then the jeans.
Then my boots.
Her eyebrows rise a fraction, but she doesn’t comment.
Instead, she slides a travel mug across the table. “Coffee.”
Bless her.
“You’re my hero,” I say, grabbing it.
I take a long sip.
Liquid courage.
Grandma folds her hands and watches me carefully. “You nervous?”
“A little.”
She snorts. “Liar.”
“Okay, a lot.”
“That’s normal,” she says as she reaches beside her and lifts a white box from the chair and sets it in front of me.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Just a little something from me and your father.”
I set the coffee down and lift the lid. Carefully pulling back the tissue paper to reveal a gorgeous black leather messenger bag with my initials embossed above the metal clasp.
I run my fingers over the soft material. “It’s beautiful.”
“We thought you could use a new briefcase for your new job,” she says.
“Thank you,” I say as tears fill my eyes.
“Oh, none of that now. You’ll mess up your face,” she says, waving me off.
I swallow the lump in my throat and grasp my laptop that I left on the table last night. I open the bag and slip it into one of the compartments, then my clutch and cell phone. I adjust the strap and pull it over my shoulder. It rests perfectly on my right hip.
“It’s exquisite!”
I glance at the clock—6:28.
“Oh shoot.”
I grab the thermos.
