Grandma Rosa.
She moved slowly but gracefully despite her age, her presence calming to everyone around her. She was always impeccably dressed, and today was no different. She wore a tailored burgundy blazer and a silk scarf, which felt like a secret rebellion against the casual vibe of the office.
I was now smiling, and I didn’t even notice. By the time she reached my door, I felt lighter. She didn’t bother knocking—she never did. Her presence filled the room with more warmth than the mid-morning sun.
“You’re working too hard again, aren’t you?” She said, teasing as she stepped inside.
“What are you doing here, Nana? You shouldn’t be here.” I blinked and rubbed my eyes. “You should be resting.”
She waved me off with a familiar flick of her hand, her bracelets jingling.
“Ah, rest is for the dead.”
The comment hit me harder than I expected. I shook my head as if it would make the discomfort disappear. She immediately caught that something was going on, like she always did.
“What are you reading over there?” She asked, her eyes flickering to the phone still clutched in my hand.
I blinked once I realized and looked down at the screen.
“Oh… Apparently, daydreaming as much as I do is an actual condition. It’s called Maladaptive Daydreaming.”
“Shush,” Nana immediately said. “There is nothing wrong with you. In my day, we didn’t have all these labels.”
“In your day, I would probably have been lobotomized by now, Nana.”I almost said it. But I bit my tongue. Exclusivity saved for Nana only.
Instead, I looked away, and the memories came rushing back. Daydreaming had been a double-edged sword in my life. Sure, it had given me an escape from the world that often felt too sharp and loud, but it had also stolen many moments and even cost me some relationships. My marriage, for example.
I could feel myself slipping into that painful spiral when Nana settled into the chair across from me. Her eyes alone could ground me in a way that, honestly, felt supernatural.
“You’re special, darling,” she said softly. “Always were. And that comes with its own… set of challenges.”
I couldn’t stop myself from rolling my eyes.
“People usually describe me as weird, Nana. Not special. Just weird.”
She wasnothappy with the eye roll or the comment, so I let out a small laugh and leaned against my desk, facing her.
“Besides, it’s okay. I like being weird,” I said, shrugging. “Being normal is overrated anyway. I mean, it feels like an offense to the world, being born just to end up like everyone else, right?”
I once read a book quote that said,“Being normal is not necessarily a virtue.”I’ve carried that around as my life mantra since I was ten.
Nana’s lips curved into a smile. “Exactly!” She said, nodding in approval.
She knew a thing or two about being different and carving her own path. This was the woman who raised four kids practically on her own after my grandfather—who decided that cheating on her with half of their small town in North Carolina wasn’t enough—fled the country with a history teacher. He came crawling back a couple of years later, ready to make amends, and she shut the door in his face—literally, I might add. By then, she’d already built her career, packed up the kids, moved to New York City, and never looked back.
What a woman, my Nana.
Maybe her ex-husband was the reason I carried so much anger toward men, or perhaps it was the fact that my dad and uncles still talked about him like he was some hero. “He did his best.” They’d say. Seriously?
I’m glad I birthed a male, taught him you don’t get breaks because of your gender, and started dismantling the institution from within.
Ha. See? Old Jules was here somewhere.
“They say some meds for OCD might help,” I said, testing the waters. “I’ve been referred to a psychiatrist. We’ll see…”
I saw a flicker of worry on Nana’s face, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “Why would you want to erase your gift with medication?”
“Nana…” I said in a quick plea. I needed her to understand. I needed her to be on my side for this. She was the only person, aside from my therapist, who knew about my daydreams. However, I’d never really gone into details. I’d told her about them when I was a kid, and they’d never stopped, only grown with me.
