Charlie:I’m making my mom’s pierogi.
Charlie:Don’t make me eat all of them on my own. I have to maintain my figure.
As much as I want to spend the night with him, Nan, and a giant plate of dumplings, I need space more.
Me:Just woke up from a long nap, and I’m still zonked. Rain check?
Charlie:Are you okay? How’s your head?
Me:I’m fine. I promise. I just need to chill tonight.
Charlie:Do you want company? I’m very chill.
Me:I think I need a night off.
Over the next minute, several three-dot text bubbles appear and disappear, until finally:I’m sorry, Alice.
I put my phone away and leave my room to find Nan. She’s in the kitchen, heating up a can of Heinz tomato soup and making grilled cheese. It’s what she used to make when I was sick. I put my arms around her waist and kiss her cheek. It’s exactly what I need.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She tilts her head to the ceiling. “Do I know our girl, or do I know our girl?”
I’m not sure if she’s talking to Grandpa or Joyce, but I guess it doesn’t matter.
Nan tells me about her afternoon with John over dinner. She apologized to him for being absent. He apologized for kissing her all those years ago. They both agreed it meant little more than friends trying to cope with grief. I can see that she’s shed an incredible weight. She’s moving better. Smiling more. Telling jokes at John’s expense.
“You seem more like yourself,” I say, sopping a crust in the last of the soup. It tastes like I’m seven years old. What I wouldn’t give for a glass of apple juice right now.
“Ifeelmore like myself.” Nan sets down her spoon. “I know I’ve been short with you at times, and I’m sorry. Usually, I still feel like I’m forty, at least in my mind. But the hip replacement threw me for a loop—I really felt my age. I love this cottage, but it’s also been a reminder of how much past is behind me, and how little future is left.”
My throat tightens. I can’t imagine a world without Nan. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I hope it wasn’t a mistake to come here.”
“Not at all! I’m grateful to you, Alice. Reminiscing with John put things into perspective. I’m lucky to have so much past, so many memories. It’s a gift to age.” She looks at me over her glasses. “Even though sometimes it really sucks.”
I laugh.
“It’s also been a treat having so much time with you,” Nan says. “You’ve flourished this summer.”
My eyebrows rise. “I’ve done nothing all summer.”
Nan gives her head a sharp shake. “You’ve been tremendously happy.”
I blink, but tears spring to my eyes as though they’ve been waiting there all along.
“And now you’re not,” Nan says.
I stare at my empty bowl. “I don’t know what I am.”
I hear Nan’s chair move, and then feel her hand on my shoulder. “Let’s have a talk.”
Let’s have a talk.
I’ve heard Nan say those words dozens of times. When I learned Mom was pregnant with the twins. When my friend told the boy I liked that I had carrot-colored pubes. When I stopped talking to Oz. When my parents announced they were splitting up. When Trevor dumped me.
Nan eases herself onto the sofa and pats her lap. I lie down, my head on her lap, and I cry. They’re heaving, ugly sobs that grow even heavier when I feel Nan’s hand running through my hair. My dad used to do the same thing when I’d had a nightmare or a bad day. I wonder how many generations of Everlys have been comforted in the same way.
“I think I have feelings for him,” I say when the tears have stopped. I want to deny it so badly, my stomach aches. “And I don’t want to. I’m trying to fight them. I just want to stay friends.” The thought of not having Charlie in my life—in pushing him away like I did with Oz all those years ago—it’s unbearable.
