I fired Susan. I guess I “dismissed” her. That’s what Grandma’s friends called it. One of her friends found something in the in-home care contract that allowed for it, and collectively we ousted her, although as her relative, they made me give the final say. I don’t know if it was the right thing to do. Susan clearly has other things on her mind, and it’s hurting Grandma. But I can’t take care of her on my own. Her friends assured me they will be here to help out until we find a new in-home care service to use, and they’ll have to help out starting today because I still have a week of school until Thanksgiving break.
Rose arrives before I leave for school. Grandma is still a little depressed. I’m not sure if it’s about Susan or something else; she’s pretty quiet. But both she and Rose assure me things will be okay. I have a little help from Grandma’s blond friend after cross-country practice, but she leaves before dinner. Most of Grandma’s friends have big family Thanksgiving plans. They insist I can call that week if I need anything, but I know I’ll be on my own.
By the next week, Grandma seems to be back to her old self. She pressures me to go to work on Saturday, but my pulse quickens when I think about leaving her alone. So I reschedule my shift, and we spend the day together. It’s a good start when she takes her pills without issue. Thankfully, I remembered to have them set out on the counter when I call her back in the kitchen to take them. She’s a few days behind on her soap opera, so we catch up on that. Later, I drive her to the grocery store to buy the ingredients for a roast chicken recipe she’s been dying to try. During dinner, I tell her about an app for the iPad that could help her find a ton of new recipes. Her eyes brighten, so after we’ve done the dishes, we fish out her iPad and I set it up. I also add a few puzzle and game apps she can play. She gets a little confused with all the directions and passwords, and my heartbeat quickens at the thought of her having another spell. But I calmly recall what I read online earlier today when Grandma was napping and I researched dementia. I slow down and write out all the directions for her on a paper she can keep with the iPad. Her stress eases, and she even works a few puzzles before going to bed. I fall asleep not long after her, exhausted from the day.
She pushes me out the door and on to work Sunday after church. “I’ve got my coffee and my newspaper. I’m fine,” she claims.
I feel better about how she’s doing, but I still convince Lynn at work to let me keep my cell phone with me in case there is an emergency. Nothing eventful happens, especially because Ryan isn’t here. I knew he wouldn’t be because he has practice for his Thanksgiving tournament that starts tomorrow, and I’m worn out when the day is over. My worry over Grandma, not seeing Ryan, and being stuck in a cramped, dingy office filing paperwork for hours makes it a very long day. When I get home, Grandma sings in the kitchen, and the whole house smells like the Greek garlic sauce she loves to make. We eat until we’re stuffed, and I convince her to watch a silly animated movie with me after dinner.
It doesn’t slow down the next day either. I guess I didn’t know how busy Grandma is because I’m at school, but a lot happens around here. On Monday of my weeklong vacation, we take her usual morning walk around the neighborhood. After a shower, I drive her to the church to count money and then to a hair appointment. I wasn’t thinking that I’d have to stay the whole time, and I forget to bring my homework or a phone charger. The ladies talk to me the whole time at church, but my phone dies about fifteen minutes into her two-hour hair appointment. So, I read the salon magazines and catch up on celebrity gossip from July, learn how to give my home some country charm and discover how to stay active after fifty.
When the hair appointment is finished, Grandma needs to run a few errands. We stop at the drugstore and the garden shop. Monday is also grocery day, and Grandma must go to three different stores to get the proper brands and prices. Once we finally get home, I get a small break when she takes a nap, but then it’s time to help with dinner. I struggle to stay awake until 9:00 p.m. when she goes to bed.
The next two days are no different. There are more walks, bridge with a different group of ladies I don’t know, she has a nail appointment, and we have to get the house cleaned for the holiday. I was hoping she would forget about Thanksgiving because it will be my first big holiday alone, and I don’t really want to think about it. But Grandma wants to cook a turkey and go all out. I find a bit of thankfulness when Rose invites us to her celebration. She and her husband are on their own this year, so they are grateful to have the company. I’m grateful to escape the gray cloud of mourning that I know would have hovered over our table for two.
By the end of the week, I haven’t made any progress on my college applications, I’ve had to skip the extra days of work I’d requested, and Sunday night becomes a cram session for all the homework that’s due tomorrow. A nurse from the new in-home care service is supposed to start next week. At church this morning, I prayed several times for that to be true.
I catch up with Mari on the way in to school on Monday.
“Hey!”
She clutches a giant Starbucks cup. “Hi,” she says through a yawn.
“I should’ve done that.” I point to her coffee.
“It’s the only way I was getting here this morning.”
She motions to the left, and we break off from the stream of students and walk toward her locker.
“So how was the trip? Sounds like you were having fun,” I say as I take her coffee so she can open her locker. Mari and her mom spent the week at her aunt’s house in northern California. The few text threads we started fizzled out in the chaos of our weeks.
She points at her ear, and I swing around to her other side. “Sorry,” I say and repeat my question.
“It’s okay. Yeah, it was actually kind of fun. I was surprised. My mom was down with a headache almost the entire time, so I spent a whole lot of time with my aunt. We got our nails done, went to the movies, and she even took me into the city.”
“That sounds cool.”
“Yeah, she brought me to this awesome record store, and later, we had the best pie ever from this little hole-in-the-wall place.” She takes out a few folders and puts them in her backpack. “I don’t know why she’s still single. She’s like the coolest person on the earth.” Mari slams her locker. “How was your week? Did it get any easier?”
I hand the coffee back to her. “No,” I exhale. “I guess I sort of just thought my grandma sat around all day while I was gone. But she does a lot. And now that Susan is gone, I’m the chauffeur. She feels really bad about it, so I can’t complain. But I got absolutely nothing done.”
“What about Ryan?” Mari raises her eyebrows at me. “Did you get to a game?”
I turn and we start off to my locker. “No. He texted me a few times, but I couldn’t get away. I feel like I disappointed him. When I didn’t go to the first game, I got a sad-face emoji. After that, I didn’t get anything at all.”
“You couldn’t get away or you were too scared to go?” Mari raises an eyebrow as we turn a corner.
My hands fly up in surrender. “No, I swear I was too busy. But I feel so bad now, and I can’t even text him because I can’t explain to him the reason why.”
“Seriously, you need to tell him. He’s going to understand.”
We arrive at my locker. “It’s not that I don’t think he’ll understand. It’s just that...” I can’t finish the thought. I mess up my combination and have to try again.
“I know,” Mari says, seeming to sense the rest of my thought. “But you need to tell him. I’ll bet you it’s not going to change how he acts around you.”
I finally get the locker open and turn to face her. “I know. But how?”
The bell rings. “You’ll figure it out. But you’ve got to do it. And soon.” She tips her head back and finishes the last sip of coffee. “Gotta go. English calls.”
“Physics. Ugh. It’s too early for Mr. Dunbar.”
“Better than Ms. Burgstrom.”
“See you at lunch,” I say, shutting my locker, and I head off in the opposite direction.
I successfully avoid Ryan all week. I don’t think he’s mad at me, but I’m not sure what to say to him, so I jam out of second period and take a different route to Calculus. I also convince Mari we should return to her library days at lunch. It’s the middle of yet another heat wave, so it sort of makes sense anyway.
Grandma has been doing well, but I was still nervous to leave her this week. Her friends, though, have each taken a day and provide help. I wake up earlier than usual to eat breakfast with her and make sure she takes her pills. Then one of her friends spends the day with her. Grandma argued at first, but since she should only be inconveniencing everyone—as she puts it—for a week, she relented.
By Saturday, I’m back to a mostly regular routine. I can finally go on a long run, and though it’s painful at first, I’ve missed seeing my early-morning regulars and feeling that end-of-run exhilaration. I’m back at work, too. My brain exhales in relief, but my heart sinks when Ryan isn’t there. However, at the end of my shift when I walk into the employee lounge, Ryan has his head buried in one of the cubbies.
“Hey.” The word squeaks out as I freeze in the doorway.
He turns and his smile tears through my heart. “Hey, Loukas! Long time, no see.”
“Yeah...” I want to say more words, but even my cautious brain has been melted. His hair is still wet, and he smells like clean, pure soap.
“You leaving?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I quickly add, “Just finished.” At least I get two more words in this time. My feet finally uproot themselves, and I step forward into the room.
“Cool.” His almond-shaped eyes dart from me to the floor and back to me. “So...” he says. I study the chipped floor tile like it’s the site of an ancient discovery. “So, I’ve got practice tomorrow and won’t be here. I guess I’ll see you Monday?”
“Uh huh.” I look up, biting my lip. My heart drums so fast I’m breathless. I haven’t seen him in a while, and I forgot how his flawless caramel skin nearly glows. He’s like the most perfect shade of human.
He turns to leave, and my heart sends a jolt through my entire body. I know my brain says I don’t have time or space in my heart for a boy, but my heart is screaming, “There’s space right here! Don’t let him go!” He’s at the doorway and my chance is floating away. I can sense it will forever be gone if I don’t do something now.
“Wait!” I blurt out.
He turns.
“Do you... uh... uh... do want to maybe do something tonight after work?” My cheeks burn. He’s silent. “I mean, it’s okay if you don’t or if you have other stuff to do. It’s no big deal.” My brain is taking charge.
His perfect blush-colored lips curl into a smile. “Are you asking me out, Loukas?”
Now, my neck and whole face heat up. “No. Yeah. I don’t know?” I babble. “I mean, like hanging out.”
“What did you have in mind?” He takes a step forward. “For this date?”
My shoulders relax. He’s just teasing me. “I don’t know.” I hadn’t thought that far ahead. The wheels spin. I’m going to have to tell him my story. I don’t want to go where there’s a big crowd of people, and if we go to the movies, we won’t be able to talk. “I don’t know, maybe do you just want to come over to my place?”
His eyebrows waggle. “Your place, huh?”
“Not like that.” I playfully roll my eyes.
“I know, I’m just teasing you. Yeah, that sounds good.”
I exhale. “Okay. I’ll text you the address.”
“Cool. I get off work around seven. I’ll come over after that?”
“Yeah.”
“Okey doke.” He sort of flinches after he says it and turns to leave. He pauses before he steps through the door and says, “You know, I’m great with parents.” He winks at me, then he’s out the door. Parents. Great. The drumming in my heart restarts, but this time it’s more like a funeral call.
Grandma clasps her hands and beams wide eyes at me when I announce that I’ve invited a boy over to the house. She reminds me of Dad with her nosy Greekness needing to catalogue every detail about him. Together, we clean the house, and Grandma laughs as I shift everything from one place to another and hide the fifth grade picture of me that she has on the end table. Afterward, I shower but break into a full-body sweat trying to tame my hair. I pull every piece of clothing I own from the closet and dresser drawers, but nothing looks right. Nothing says cute and casual. I group text Callie and Hannah for reinforcements, but I don’t hear from either of them. I check the time and do the math. They’re probably out. I now remember Callie saying something about a big party tonight. I toss the phone on the bed.
When I’ve finally settled on jeans (casual) and my white eyelet shirt with the sweetheart neckline (cute), I perch at the front window like a hawk—a cute and casual one. My grandmother doesn’t know that Ryan doesn’t know my whole story, and Ryan doesn’t know that there won’t be any parents in here. I’m guarding all angles. When Ryan’s black Jeep pulls into the driveway, I call to Grandma in the kitchen, “Ryan’s here. We’ll be inside in a minute.”
I step out to the porch as he approaches.
“Hey,” he says. “You... uh... wow, you look good.” His eyes blink abnormally fast.
My hands fidget with my shirt, and I brush off his compliment. “Thanks. I think I was covered in dog hair last time you saw me, so anything’s an improvement, right?”
He takes a step forward, but I’m still blocking the door. “Uh, before we go in, there’s something I have to tell you.”
His eyebrows draw together, and he stiffens. I can only imagine what he’s thinking he’ll find inside. “It’s nothing bad,” I assure him. “For you, I mean. There’s nothing weird in there.” I let out a nervous laugh.
His shoulders release a bit. I motion for him to sit on the porch step. He sits, and after stuttering and starting about fifty million times, I finally tell him my story, starting with my regrettable refusal to attend the baseball game. I narrate it as someone else’s tragedy, like I’m a voice hired to record an audiobook. It keeps the emotion at bay until I get to Mom’s cardiac arrest. Not even the stack of 300 figure eights I’ve traced on the porch with my finger can keep me detached. I wrap it up. The end.
I haven’t been paying attention to Ryan’s face. I was just trying to get through the story. I sneak a peek at him. His eyes aren’t wide. His head isn’t tilted, and he doesn’t seem to want to reach out and pet me like a stray dog as most people do. His eyes are softened, and he simply nods, lips slightly pursed.
He remains silent for a moment then says, “I’m sorry. I mean, I’m sure people say that all the time. But that’s a horrible thing to have happen to you. I mean, I can’t even imagine...” His voice trails off and his eyes search the sky as if he really is trying to imagine it. When his gaze returns to me, he sees my smile and seems dazed.
“You know, you’re the first person not to tell me that everything is going to be okay? Or that things happen for a reason or that I’m strong and a survivor?” He’s the first person to simply validate how I feel. It’s awful. It’s horrible. And it sucks, and no one else can possibly imagine what it’s like.
We both stare at our feet and hands and let this huge revelation float between us. Finally, I know it’s time to discover the consequence of my truth. I say, “So, if you don’t want to stick around, I totally get it. Too much drama.”
His eyes bulge, and he springs to his feet. “Not stick around? Are you kidding me, Loukas? I’m even better with grandparents!” My heart turns a few cartwheels, and I stand to join him.
It takes all of five minutes for Grandma and Ryan to fall in love with each other. They gab about some festival the town has each Christmas and somehow get on the topic of a game Ryan plays. He sends Grandma for her iPad, and he downloads the game and explains it, slowly, as if he instinctively knows. None of us has eaten dinner yet; we interrupted Grandma’s usual 7:00 p.m. dinnertime. Ryan insists we try the best Chinese takeout in town, so we order a bunch of food. He even convinces Grandma to forgo her leftover meatloaf and join in.
After dinner, Grandma excuses herself to bed, and just like Dad would, she finds a loud way to suggest silently that it’s time for Ryan to go. “Don’t forget, Emma, we have church early in the morning.”
I smile. “I remember, Grandma.”
She disappears, and Ryan says to me, “Looks like that’s my cue to leave.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You heard that loud and clear, too?”
We walk outside, and it’s still warm out.
“Is it always this hot in December?” I ask him. “I haven’t even thought about wearing a sweater yet.”
“The past few years, yeah.” He slows his steps, and it feels like neither one of us wants him to leave.
“You want to hang out here for a little bit?” I ask, motioning to the two red Adirondack chairs on the porch. “We didn’t really get much time to hang out with the lovefest between you and my grandma.” I giggle and sit down.
He flashes a sly grin and takes the other seat. “I told you I was good with grandparents.”
“You weren’t kidding,”
A few crickets chirp and a car drives by. Other than that, it’s silent. Neither of us seems to have anything to say. I’m wondering if I made a mistake when Ryan says, “So, what do you think of California so far?”
“It’s not bad... I mean, I love the beach and the weather. But I miss some things about Ohio and the Midwest.”
“Like what?”
“Well, I miss the first snow of the season. I love waking up one morning and the whole world has magically turned into a snow globe overnight.” A vision of our last snowfall flashes in my mind. “After those few magical moments, though, I’m done with snow. It’s nothing but a pain after that.” I laugh, and he joins in, sharing his first experience with snow while skiing. “And I miss the ice cream parlor in my town.” I pause and add, “But most of all, I think I miss the fireflies.”
“Oh yeah, I’ve heard of those. They look really cool.”
“Yeah, on summer nights when I was little, I’d sit out on our back porch and count them with my dad. Connor and I used to have contests: who could count the most in a minute. When I was really little, my mom made a special jar and helped me catch some. I guess I liked it for a minute, but then I cried because I thought they were going to die.” I shrug. “At least that’s what they tell me.”
Ryan watches me intently. “Ohio sounds cool.”
“It is.” A wave of homesickness washes over me. It’s been a while since the last one, but the memories stir the waters tonight.
“Did you know that fireflies use their light as a warning to predators?” I announce. He shakes his head no. “When I was in kindergarten, I was afraid of the dark. After tucking me in, my parents would leave, then count down, ‘3, 2, 1...’ and I would appear downstairs. So my mom made me a firefly costume to wear to bed. She said, ‘Your light is your strength. You can fight off any predator.’ I wore it every night and even at Halloween. In fact, for three years in a row, I was a firefly for Halloween, long after I was over my fear of the dark. And I didn’t even care that some of the kids made fun of me. I loved being a firefly.”
Ryan laughs. “I was Batman four years in a row.”
“See, you get it,” I say. And he really does.
“Totally.” He nods and his gaze remains locked on me.
I shift around in my chair. “I should probably go. I don’t want to give my grandma any reason to fall out of love with you.” My ears catch fire at the mention of being in love with him.
“No, we wouldn’t want that,” he jokes.
We both rise and stand face-to-face, close enough that his body heat mingles with mine. I stare at his chest and then at his lips. They’re parted slightly, as are mine. My heartbeat quickens as his hand flinches at his side. We’re both frozen in our indecision about what comes next. I panic and shove my hands in my pockets. Decision made. His shoulders slump, and he takes a step off the porch.
“See you Monday, Loukas. And don’t rush off after English. No hiding.” He waves a naughty finger at me.
“I won’t.” No hiding anymore.