“I thought it might be a good way to get our name out there,” I continue. “And maybe start something a little different. Extra income, but also expand into something new.”
She crosses her arms, studying me.
“See, this is why I’m glad you’re the one running this storefront now. You’ve got the energy for all of this,” she says. “You get the good ideas.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “No, I got lucky. She came in for rings and decided she wanted to do something else. I didn’t go out looking for this, we brainstormed and it came together.”
“Like most good ideas do,” she says, unconvinced. “You’ve got a horseshoe shoved up your?—”
“Grandma!” I half laugh, half choke. “I have nothing shoved anywhere. Just…polish what you need to and then I’ll find something else for you to do. Or maybe I’ll go get you another iced coffee to satiate?”
“Ha!” She wags a finger my way. “Trying to call me out for having a coffee, are you?”
“I could smell it on your breath. The doctor told you to watch your caffeine intake, so stop going to Larry’s and having coffee with him and your friends. Have a nice decaf tea instead.”
She’s got her back to me now as she opens the door to the safe and pulls out all of the boxes lined up for today’s pickup. I watch as she sets them on the counter, shaking my head the whole time because I can tell when she’s choosing to ignore me. It happens more often than not these days.
“Your mother called last night,” she tosses casually over her shoulder. She doesn’t turn around when she tells me because she probably figures I’ll make the face I usually do. Which I am. It ain’t pretty.
“That’s nice.” I put my tools down and give up on the piece I wanted to tweak, deciding it’ll be better to do it after I close theshop today. This woman is a distraction for mere mortals like myself. “Did she say if she’ll be here this month gracing us with her presence?”
“She did and she won’t be.”
I don’t bother to look at her. She knows I’m beyond being disappointed by her now. My mother hasn’t really been around for much, ever. She’s a Consular Officer in Mumbai, I think. I lose track of where she goes, she’s been doing this for so long. It’s a lifestyle, and for her, one that having a daughter didn’t fit into.
Let’s just say, she could adapt to any administration—but not to being my mom. And that’s a difficult pill to swallow.
“Well, that’s the life of a rockstar, I guess,” I say flippantly. Best defense is to act like you’re fine, right?
My grandmother makes a small sound under her breath, something between a sigh and a hum. But she doesn’t push. She knows better than to poke at that particular bruise. Instead, she shuts the safe with a firm click and straightens, brushing her hands together like she’s finished something important.
“Well,” she says, glancing at the clock, “I’ve done my part for the morning. Bridge club waits for no one.”
“No, it doesn’t,” I say dryly. “The stakes are far too high.”
“They are,” she shoots back. “You wouldn’t understand.”
I smile as she reaches for her bag and slips it over her shoulder. “Don’t forget to actually sell something today,” she adds, like I haven’t been doing exactly that for years.
“I’ll do my best.”
“And don’t let anyone talk you into a discount.”
“I never do.”
She gives me a look that says she absolutely thinks I do.
“Go—” I wave her off. “Before you’re late and Larry replaces you with someone more likely to order a caramel macchiato twice a day.”
She sniffs. “No one replaces me.”
“They might for whipped cream and sprinkles.”
But she’s smiling as she heads for the door, flipping her hand in a wave as she leaves. The door closes behind her and I can’t help but feel like a small tornado has passed, leaving me as its one and only very lucky survivor.
I exhale, rolling my shoulders once before turning back to the bench. This is the part I like. Before customers. Before questions. Before the day starts moving too fast.
I pick up the piece I abandoned earlier, studying it for a second before reaching for my tools. The metal catches the light just right, and for a moment, everything else fades—the calendar, the conversation, the lingering irritation I don’t feel like unpacking. It’s just me and the work. Steady. Familiar. Mine.
