I roll over and get comfortable facing the wall. “Night.”
Rockstars aren’t as interesting as I’d hoped. Nash is softly snoring when I wake. I gather some clothes and creep out of the spare bedroom so as not to disturb him. And his unconscious state doesn’t change all day. He truly is burnt out and in need of rest.
Grandma and I have breakfast together. Then she goes to her craft group and has lunch with friends while I spend the day working on my laptop. Building a store front for an artist wanting to sell stickers and prints. Tylenol and coffee take care of my hangover. And Nash keeps right on sleeping.
There’re still no signs of life from the man when it comes time for us to depart for dinner. It is, however, Taco Tuesday, so we’re not inclined to wait. Guacamole and salsa have a siren song to which I am particularly susceptible. And don’t even get me started on the delight that is queso. We left him a note with directions to where we’re off to on the kitchen table.
The small town of The Bend, Washington, is famous for several things. Including being on a bend in a river and repurposing old buildings. For instance, the local bar is insidewhat was once the bank. It’s a small, grand building over a century and a half old with high arched windows and decorative molding on the ceiling. You can tour the vault if you’re so inclined. Though now it stores liquor as opposed to cold hard cash.
Grandma peruses the scene as she takes a sip of her margarita. “That new boy who recently started at the coffee shop keeps looking your way.”
“Boo, men.”
“How was the carne asada?”
I wipe my hands and mouth with a napkin. The bar has a rotating schedule of food trucks out in the parking lot. “Delicious.”
“There are reasons why I chose this town.”
“Such as?”
“Nice scenery, good amenities, a vibrant community. It’s that bit farther off the highway and the river is narrower here, so we have tourists passing through but not necessarily staying, which suits me,” she says. “But The Bend punches above its weight when it comes to food. The local dairy makes excellent cheese and ice cream. And then there’s the few wineries nearby. Not to mention that new distillery opening at the end of Main Street.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying your retirement here.”
She smiles.
“You Should Probably Leave” by Chris Stapleton is playing on the jukebox and there’s a decent-sized crowd tonight. Taco Tuesday with happy hour margarita prices is popular. Most of the small round tables are occupied, while the more dedicated drinkers and those wishing to socialize congregate at the counter.
I already said hello to my friends from last night. Those brave few who listened to me bitch about my ex for hours. May their pillows always be cold on both sides, they never step on a Lego,and they get nothing but green lights going home. Not that there are any traffic lights nearby.
“Have you spoken to your mother recently?” asks Grandma.
I shake my head and take a sip of water. “We really only catch up once a month or so.”
Grandma nods.
My mom is a real estate agent and a workaholic. As much as I admire her drive and ambition, having zero work/life balance is not for me. Mind you, my ex was locked in on the corporate ladder. There’s a small chance I don’t always make the best choices. Time to turn that around.
“Stop thinking about him,” says Grandma. “He’s in your rearview mirror.”
“How did you know I was thinking about the ex?”
“You get this expression on your face…it’s similar to what I’d imagine a person suffering from an existential crisis would make.”
I snort.
She smiles back at me. “That’s better.”
“Just beating myself up over bad choices. How could I think he was the one? What we had was average at most. I was so stupid.”
“That’s hardly a state unique just to you,” says Grandma. “And as Maya Angelou said, know better, do better.”
“I don’t need a man. I don’t even want one.”
“It’s your life, sweetheart. The trick is being brave enough to live it as you think best without getting sidetracked by what doesn’t serve you or bring you joy.”
“Yeah.” I take a deep, cleansing breath. “Thank you for listening to me whine repeatedly.”
