It takes a while to get everyone together in the front room. As usual, there is a big mess of people doing random and largely pointless things in different parts of the house. When I yell that I need to speak to everyone together, though, they all eventually come. Teresa thunders down the stairs, Dad tries to barge Teresa out of the way, and Granddad shuffles in holding a bubble level. He often holds a bubble level. It’s like his ultra-accurate, comforting teddy bear.
I look at them. They are all lovely in a strange way. I’m very lucky.
“Thank you so much for letting Dave and me stay here, but I’ve decided that it would probably be best if I moved back in with Mum. Not today, but, say, next week sometime. She really misses me, and I really love being…”
I can sense huge tears not just pricking but stabbing the sides of my eyes. My throat goes tight. I can see all of them smiling at me, trying to help me along, but it just makes me feel more guilty and sad. I hear myself squeaking. I sound like a really sick door.
Dad sees that I’m in trouble, gets up, and hugs me. “Mills,” he says, “I totally get it. You don’t have to explain yourself. I’ve told you before and I will tell you again—you’ve got a room here whenever you need one. Even if it’s just for a night.”
Teresa stands behind Dad, nodding solemnly. “Yes!” she whispers. “And don’t worry about Dave. My friend Julie just gave birth, and she is using craniosacral therapy to help her baby relax. All you do is massage the top of the head. I bet it works with cats, too. I am more than happy to come by your mum’s house and work with Dave’s feline acupuncture stress points to help her settle back in.”
Even though I know Teresa is deadly serious, this makes me laugh.
Dad giggles, too, but I see a flash of gray wool as Granddad, with his bubble level and his cardigan full of holes, slinks out of the room. He doesn’t say a word. He just disappears.
I look at Teresa and Dad. “Don’t worry,” I say. “I’ll go and talk to him.”
Dad gives me an arm squeeze and mumbles, “You know, you’re his favorite person on this earth. He’d perhaps never say it, but you are.”
I think I know this, too. I just want to give Granddad a huge hug. I know where he’ll be.
Even though he takes things slowly, Granddad can move fast. When I get to the shed, he’s holding a hammer, gazing at it like it’s a really cute puppy.
“Funny thing, hammers,” he finally says.
I don’t know what to say to this. I don’t think there is a right answer to how strange hammers are.
I go to speak, but, before I can, Granddad says quietly, “I’ll be glad to have my shed back, but I’ll miss you, you know.”
This makes me totally tear up again. I’m not moving to the moon, but I love my granddad. I put my arm around his shoulder, and he grabs my hand. It’s all lovely and uncomfortable at the same time, so I blurt out something to make us smile.
“Actually, I’d still like to use the shed if that’s okay.”
Granddad jokily shakes me off and shouts, “Oh! You would, would you, Miss Superstar? Well, I might start charging for this vog studio.”
I don’t bother correcting him. He’s being really sweet and funny and I love him.
“Just one thing, Millie,” he adds. I can tell he’s turned serious.
“When you’re giving people bad news, like you did today, always shoot straight with your arrow. Don’t be brutal with the truth, but…”—he hesitates—“shoot straight and true.”
I think he means be nice but tell it like it is. I tell him I will.
I know I’ve got to put a lot of things straight. Things like Bradley.