We make it through the holiday season, but Grandma and her friends agree we need to get help immediately. There are no more major meltdowns, but she’s getting more and more forgetful. She set the hot curling iron down on the hand towel and nearly caused a fire, and several times she couldn’t remember where her glasses were. Once they were in the freezer, and another time they were in her medicine cabinet. Grandma reluctantly agreed she needed more help one afternoon when her friends were over for bridge. Her pride took a hit, and she’s seemed a little smaller to me ever since.
She finally relented and used her money from Dad to go outside her insurance to find another in-home care company. Right away, a really young-looking nurse named Cherise started coming on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturday mornings. She seems nice enough, and Grandma likes her. I’m grateful because it allows me time to study for my finals, and I ace all of them. These are the last grades that Ohio State will see, so I’m ecstatic to have kept my straight As.
More help for Grandma is not the only change in the new year. No more cross-country practice and having my college applications finished has granted me a lot of spare time. I still run on my own after school, but it’s much less of a time commitment than practice. And now I don’t even need to work anymore. My uncle called last night to share the news that there is a small sum of money besides the college funds that was released when I turned eighteen. All the legal stuff confuses me, so I don’t really understand why or what the money is from. All I know is that Uncle Jim will be depositing $10,000 into my savings account, so I have all the money I need for Greece now.
When I thought about quitting on my way to work today, a hollow ache grew in my chest. It didn’t come from the thought of not seeing Ryan either. Ryan is hardly here anyway because of basketball. I would miss all the animals. Just last week, an old Labrador was found on the streets during a terrible day of rain. We call him Dexter, and he had the saddest brown eyes that first day at the shelter. But today, I am able to walk him, and I help the trainer work with him. For brief moments, his eyes brighten, and he cowers a little less. He’s older, so I know we will have a difficult time finding a home for him. I want to be here to help him feel loved. It’s not only the dogs either. There is a turtle named George and a rabbit named Fancy, and I swear they recognize me.
I would also miss all the joy that comes from uniting these animals with new owners. Today we adopt out a tiny white-and-brown Pomeranian who had been in the foster program. He and his two brothers were unwanted and dropped after hours one night at the shelter. A young, single woman raced here to claim him, and while we wait for her to fill out the paperwork, we take turns holding the little puppy at reception. This girl Jenna puts him on the desk, and he steps onto her computer keyboard and pees on it. He looks at us with big eyes and wags his tiny tail. My dad would’ve loved this little dog. When the woman carries him off, there is a cloud of cartoon hearts over both of them.
I love this job. Next week, I’ll shadow the on-site vet for a day in order to understand what she does, and I’ve already learned about turtle socialization and how to train dogs. I don’t even hate cats as much as I used to. I love this job, and I’m definitely going to keep it.
By the end of January, I still haven’t been to one of Ryan’s games. It’s not that I don’t want to go, but Mari always has an issue with her mom or has homework because she’s a procrastinator, and I don’t want to go by myself. But Ryan keeps asking. I’ve finally run out of excuses, though, plus I miss him. So this Friday, Mari is finally free, and we make a plan to go to the game.
When I get home from school on Friday, I intend on spending the entire time getting ready, but I sense trouble when I don’t see Cherise’s car out front. They’re usually not running errands this late in the day. I open the front door cautiously. Grandma sits on the couch staring at the wall and working her hands into a knot. She’s fully dressed in a beautiful red paisley blouse and black pants, but I get the feeling she’s been on the couch for a while.
“Grandma?” There’s no response. She doesn’t even look in my direction.
“Cherise?” I call out. There’s no answer, and there are no sounds of work coming from anywhere in the house.
I walk over and sit next to Grandma. “Where is Cherise?”
She flinches when I put my hand on her leg and scoots away from me.
Her reaction kicks me in the gut. “What’s wrong, Grandma?” I ask softly.
“Who are you? And where is Peter? He said he would be here.” Grandma’s eyes are crazed. I don’t think Cherise has been here all day.
“Grandma, it’s me, Emma.” I say, keeping my distance.
She narrows her eyes at me. “You’re not Emma. My granddaughter is in Ohio. Where is Peter? Peter said he would be here.”
“Grandma, Peter isn’t here anymore, remember?”
“What do you mean he’s not here? He was supposed to come for a visit. He said he would be in California for a business trip.” The hysteria in her voice builds with every word.
My mind shuffles through memories, and I vaguely recall Dad saying something about visiting Grandma this year when he would be here for a conference. I inch closer and reach out to touch her arm. She angles away from me. “You get away from me. I don’t know who you are.” Her nose crinkles, and her amber eyes that everyone always says match mine register no recognition of our connection. “You get away from me! You get out of my house! I don’t know who you are!”
I fight the tears that spring from her sharp words. I know I’m not supposed to take any of this personally, but my grandmother doesn’t even know who I am. She thinks I’m a stranger in her house.
“Grandma, it’s me, Emma,” I try once more. As soon as I say it, I know it’s a mistake.
“You are not Emma! Stop talking about my granddaughter!” Her hysterical voice bounces off the walls and lands another kick to my gut.
“Okay, okay. It’s okay. I’m going outside.” I slowly get up and back away as if I’m being held at gunpoint. Grandma smoothes her hair, and I can see the tremble in her hand. “I’ll call Peter and get him to come over.”
I ease my way out the front door, leaving it open so I can still hear her. I should call Rose, but instead I collapse in the porch chair and bury my head in my own shaky hands. A wave of nausea rises from my stomach into my chest. I can’t do this anymore. I’ve handled it until now, but this is too much. Grandma needs a consistent nurse, and I don’t know how to get that for her. I don’t know what it is this time because we used Dad’s money to hire the best in-home care service. She just seems to be having bad luck, and I can’t fix that or anything else. I’m just guessing and reading stuff on the internet about dementia. She needs more than that. I’m not strong enough for this. But you promised you would be. But I can’t. You made a promise.
I sit up and wipe at the tears I haven’t allowed to fall. I stare out at the rainbow of flowers that line the front lawn and remind myself why I need to be strong.
On Mom’s last day in the ICU after her cardiac arrest—the day we let her expire naturally—a parade of family and friends came by to say their private goodbyes. I was last. I sat by her side, holding her hand in both of mine as tears and sobs made an Atlantic Ocean in the ICU hallway behind the glass doors of her room. I heard their broken voices while I felt the strength—even at the end—in my mom’s hand and the toughness of her skin. This wasn’t the way to end the life of a woman who didn’t shed a tear when she sliced off the tip of her thumb with her new set of kitchen knives and who didn’t fall apart when her mom developed a brain tumor and died three months after her father died.
So I squeezed my mom’s hand, and I blinked back my tears and I promised her I would be strong. I vowed I wouldn’t fall apart, and I’d put everyone back together just like she would have. I’d be her daughter and make her proud.
I stayed with her all alone until the final moments. The nurse told us her breathing was becoming more labored and it would be any time now. She and I let everyone back in the room. They all huddled behind me, murmuring and leaning on one another.
Finally, Mom took in one sharp inhale, and her beautiful green eyes opened wide. She smiled, in the same way someone would upon seeing a new baby or a frolicking puppy or a wide-open field of daffodils swaying in a summer breeze. It was the briefest of moments, and then she exhaled. And that was it.
Bodies all around me slumped as sobs echoed in the room. I swallowed hard and closed my eyes for a moment. Then I kissed her hand, squeezed it once, and gave her a nod. I turned to the nurse and asked, “So, what do we do now?”
“What are you doing?” Grandma’s voice calls me back into the present. “Is Peter coming?”
I swallow hard just like I did that day. “Yes, he’s coming. He’ll be here soon.” I find Rose’s number in my phone and call her. In minutes, Rose and another friend are here consoling Grandma. She seems to recognize her friends, and they are able to set her straight about everything.
I remain outside. It looks as though Grandma hasn’t done much trimming lately, so I walk around to the backyard and find some gardening tools. I return and work my way around the front yard, pruning and clearing away the dead flowers and leaves the way my dad taught me. When I finish, it’s 5:45, and I remember the game. I walk over to my phone, and as I’m about to text Mari to cancel, Rose calls for me. She explains that they’ve spoken to Cherise, and she called my grandma this morning to say she had to go to the ER because she dropped a knife on her foot. My grandma told her that it was okay and that she was fine, but Grandma has no memory of this.
I sigh and step inside hesitantly. Grandma stares at me with a face knotted in sadness but with eyes full of recognition. I walk over to her and sit.
“Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” Her voice is tired, but the hug she envelops me in is full of strength.
“It’s okay, Grandma. The nurse didn’t come when she should have. And when she’s already not here every day, I’d get confused, too.”
She lets go but holds my shoulders. “Well, I hope something like that wouldn’t confuse you. You’re too young for that.”
The ladies laugh and a slow grin spreads on my grandma’s face that I match with one of my own. I tell them I need to cancel some plans, but all three insist I go to the game. Grandma assures me she’s fine now. Tired, but fine. And her friends will stay with her to be sure.
I give in to them just as Mari texts me that she’s on her way. I haven’t had a chance to shower or change, so I’ll have to go in the same jeans and red graphic T-shirt I wore to school. I dash to the bathroom and put my hair half-up to calm it a bit and grab a lip gloss. Mari arrives just as Grandma and her friends are ordering takeout. They tell me to have fun and not to hurry home. My stomach unclenches a little as I see that things do seem okay, at least for now.
The gym is packed when we arrive. We squeeze into an empty spot near the top of the bleachers. Basketball games in California aren’t much different than in Ohio. It’s the same home and visitor sides of the bleachers, refreshments out in the hall, and cheerleaders crammed in the corner between the wall and the end of the court. I remember struggling to find space to do a jump after a basket. I study the Union High cheerleaders as they practice the motions of their different cheers. I watch more with curiosity than with longing. I miss my friends, but watching these girls makes me realize I don’t miss cheerleading.
The game starts, and Ryan scores our team’s first ten points. I don’t know how many points he has by halftime, but it seems like he has made every basket for us. When halftime ends, he stares up into the student section. Mari waves her hands like she’s stranded on a desert island, but with all the commotion, there’s no way he sees us.
It’s a close game, and it comes down to the last minute. One of the guys on our team steals the ball, and we have thirty seconds to make a basket to win. They do a lot of dribbling and passing, and at the last moment, they pass it over to Ryan. He shoots a basket from really far away, and it goes in. The buzzer sounds, and his teammates mob him as the crowd erupts. Students swarm onto the court like a dam has burst. The two security guards struggle to keep order.
“We can leave,” I yell as Mari and I watch the mob scene unfold from our seats.
“No, we’re staying. If he told you to wait for him after the game, you can’t just leave.”
“But I’ll never find him,” I protest. Part of me wants to stay, but another part of me doesn’t want to be some awkward fangirl.
“We’re waiting.” She lowers an eye at me, and it’s final.
We watch the swarm for about five minutes, then I see Ryan weaving his way through all the people. His eyes search the crowd on the floor then up in the bleachers, and he sees us. I wave, and we walk down to the court to meet him.
“Hey, I gotta change, but meet me in the parking lot?” he says slightly out of breath.
I look over at Mari. “Can you stay?”
“I can take Emma home, if you can’t,” Ryan says.
Mari shines a devious grin. “Yeah, I probably should get home.”
Ryan reads her expression, and I swear he winks at her. “Okay, my Jeep is in the first row of the parking lot. Meet you there? I’ll hurry.” He doesn’t wait for a response and snakes his way back into the masses.
Mari waggles her eyebrows at me, and we head for the exit. “See. I told you we should wait.”
In the parking lot, I tell Mari I’ll text her with all the details, and she walks off to her car. I try to hide behind Ryan’s Jeep as people flock to their cars. I feel like a creeper lurking here in the darkness. A lifetime seems to pass, and Ryan finally approaches. My heart hammers. After seeing him play, my swooning has doubled.
“Great game,” I say, kicking at a rock with my foot.
“Thanks.” He puts his bag in the back seat. He shuts the door and asks, “Do you want to get yogurt or something?”
“Yeah, sure.” It comes out shaky and disinterested, but thankfully he doesn’t seem to notice.
We hang out at the yogurt shop for a while, and I barely touch mine. My stomach is twisted in knots. Ryan’s rosy cheeks are still flushed from the game, and his clean, fresh boy smell fills the night air. I only have on a T-shirt, so he gives me his basketball sweatshirt to keep warm. I’m swimming in it and probably look ridiculous, but I don’t care. It smells like Ryan, and I keep trying to inhale the smell without him realizing.
After yogurt, he takes me home. I wipe my clammy palms on my jeans after I get out of the car. Before we get to the porch, I take off the sweatshirt. “Thanks,” I say, holding it out to him.
He pushes my hand gently back. “No, you keep it.” He adds, “I feel it’s my duty to make sure you have at least one item of California clothing.”
I laugh a little too loudly. I fold the sweatshirt and study the ground, not sure if I should keep walking or if we’re going to say goodbye here.
“You know,” he says, and I look up. “Fireflies don’t only use their light to ward off predators. They use it to attract a mate.”
“What?” I’m caught off guard.
“You know, what you told me about fireflies. I looked it up. It says they use their light to attract a mate.”
“I guess, yeah. But it’s also to warn predators.”
He leans in and grabs my hand, letting the sweatshirt fall to the ground. He laces his fingers with mine. “And also to attract a mate.”
We inch closer, and then it’s happening. His head leans down, inching toward mine, and I don’t dare breathe for fear of disturbing the magic of the moment. Slowly, his velvety lips part mine, kissing me gently, and he lets go of my hands. He moves one of his hands to my neck, and the other pulls me closer to him. My heart pounds against his chest, and my arms wrap tightly around him. The touch of his warm hands on the base of my neck and on my back sends tiny embers spreading all over my skin. Our kisses become longer and more passionate until I’ve completed melted in his embrace.
When we pause and he looks into my eyes, little fireflies flicker in my fragmented heart. Yes, also to attract a mate.