More than life itself. Lobby in 10?
When I look up from double tapping a Like, my grandmother raises an eyebrow. “How’s Felix?”
I hesitate, trying to figure out whether the heat in my face has manifested as a blush. Rookie mistake. “I could have been texting anyone.”
It’s the definition of too little, too late, and we both know it. Grandma Lainey’s bangle bracelets clink as she waves offthis transparent evasion. “I think not. You were trying too hard not to smile.”
The only retail option in walking distance is the St. Vincent de Paul where I often hunt for missing props. Since I don’t live here year-round, I’m okay asking the employees if they perchance have any taxidermy or “nautical paraphernalia” in stock, to name a few of the things that have appeared on my shopping list.
Felix peels himself off one of the faux marble columns when I step into the lobby. He looks so happy to see me, I wonder how much of our Ultimate Grandkid Smackdown has been one-sided. It’s humbling to think I’ve been an unreliable narrator of my own life.
“Hi,” I say, like we’re meeting for the first time. It’s sort of true, in the sense that I’m turning over a new and less competitive leaf. “Thanks for meeting me.”
He gives me a funny look. “It was a short trip. Since we live in the same building.”
“Right.” I force a smile. “Shall we go?”
“Sure.”
“After you.” I indicate the revolving door with one arm.
Felix doesn’t move. “Am I beingParent Trapped?”
“Very funny.” I permit myself a small eye roll, to take the edge off.
“Itisyou.” He clutches the front of his shirt, like he’s having palpitations.
“I can be pleasant.” It sounds a little testy.
Felix watches me with his brows lifted, like he’s waiting for the inevitablebut.
“I’m serious. People think I’m nice.”
“Nice,” he echoes, without inflection.
“Easygoing. Ask anyone back home, they’ll tell you.”
“Huh.”
“Huh what?”
“You save it all up for when you’re here.”
I cross my arms, waiting for him to expound on this theory.
“The feistiness. Sass. Whatever you call it.” He points his elbows, like he’s jabbing his way through a crowd.
I’m too surprised to do anything but stand there blinking at him. Do I hide the sharp parts of myself when I’m at home? I’ve always thought of it as who I am around Grandma Lainey vs. the version of me my mom can handle. Am I acting a part even when we’re not playing at murder, or is this the real me, and the daughter who doesn’t make waves is a total phony?
Do I even know myself?
It’s a heavy load for a trip to the thrift store. Thanks alot, Felix.
“What about you?” I ask, throwing it back on him. It’s a deflection, but I’m also curious. Is he the same person here that he is in real life, or am I seeing the Castle Claude edition?
He drums his chin as he considers. “I think I’m more obnoxious at home.”
“Interesting.”
