"Twenty-six months," Piper corrected automatically. "And I'm not 'into' anyone. I'm planning his sister's wedding, which makes any of my aesthetic appreciation or desired tree climbing completely inappropriate."
Anything Shelby was going to say got cut short by three sharp knocks at their door.
They exchanged glances.
Shelby raised an eyebrow. "Expecting someone?"
"Absolutely not. Tuesday is takeout and trash TV night." Piper approached the door cautiously, peering through the peephole, the cool metal circle pressed against her eye. "I haven't ordered food yet. Did you?"
Shelby shook her head.
On the other side of the threshold stood a small, silver-haired woman in an emerald green coat, carrying what appeared to be multiple Tupperware-style containers.
"Hello?" Piper called through the door. "Can I help you?"
"Open door. Arms full. Food getting cold," came the reply in a thick Russian accent, slightly muffled through the wood.
Oh no. No. No. Understanding dawned like a shovel upside the head.
Except, Zach's babushka didn't get back for three more days. Piper knew this because Zach had told her. They couldn't move forward with the stupid glitter situation until Babushka got back and…
Piper hesitated, but Shelby was already shouldering past her. "What kind of food?"
She swung the door open wide, the hinges squeaking slightly.
Zach's babushka bustled past without waiting for a proper invitation, bringing with her a wave of delicious aromas—garlic, roasted meat, and something warm and spicy that made Piper's mouth water instantly.
Piper sensed her evening plans were crumbling like a donut down the garbage disposal.
A Russian grandmother was now pushing their table from the wall to the center of the room.
"Too many stairs," the woman announced. "Building needs elevator. Not good for knees."
Shelby tossed Piper a confused glance.
"I am Nadzieja," the woman announced proudly, moving her containers onto the table.
The older woman paused her rummaging to fix Piper with an observant look. "You are Piper. The one planning my Anna's vedding."
"And you're Zach's grandmother."
The pyrotechnician and good listener.
"And Anna's grandmother. But yes. Zach is my grandson. You call me Babushka. Only people I don't like call me Nadzieja."
Piper shifted on her feet. "Um, I'm sorry, but how did you?—"
"How did I know where you live? Tch." Babushka waved dismissively. "I ask Anna who asks Drake who calls someone who tells him. Not difficult." She paused, once more doing that watching-Piper-closely thing that made her feel like she was getting an x-ray with no lead apron. "Zachary mentioned you. Said you are very organized. Very interesting voman."
Piper wasn't sure whether to be flattered or worried.
The old woman looked around the apartment, nodding approvingly at Shelby's chaotic piles. "Good. Balance."
"I like her," Shelby said, eyes bright with the kind of enthusiasm she generally reserved for characters she wanted to steal for her screenplays. Piper recognized that look. Babushka would probably end up immortalized in Shelby's next draft, quirks and all.
"You are smart girl. This is good." Babushka nodded approvingly, then reached out to pinch Piper's cheek. "Good to meet you."
Before Piper could respond, Babushka was rearranging the cushions on their couch.
