by G. K. Brady
He returned the receptionist’s smile. “Just a quick visit between games. The team gave us the rest of today off, so I came as soon as I could. How is she?”
A cloud seemed to pass behind the woman’s eyes. “Overall, she has more good days than bad.” Her expression brightened once more. “Once she lays eyes on you, though, I’m sure it’ll be the very best day.”
If she recognizes me. On autopilot, he nodded.
Evelyn waved him toward the elevator. “Go on up, hon.”
On the two-floor ride, he braced himself—just as he’d been doing since he’d figured out the timing for this stopover.
But he wasn’t prepared for what he saw when he walked into the one-bedroom apartment. He skidded to a stop and blinked at the scene before him.
His grandmother, her wiry frosted-gray hair standing on end as if she’d stuck her finger in an electrical socket, was dressed in a puffy winter coat and snow boots, though the temperature in the room had to be at least eighty degrees.
He couldn’t decide what shocked him more: the fact that the coat gaped open, revealing that she wore only her bra and a pair of men’s trousers, or the sight of her standing behind a strange man seated in an armchair while she dabbed something on his bald head.
Jesus, I just landed in the Twilight Zone. Unbidden, the theme song ran through his head.
The man looked up and gave him a weak smile and a little wave. His grandma was so enthralled with whatever the hell she was doing that she didn’t give Gage so much as a glance. Humming with gusto—Gage was pretty sure the tune was “Hey Jude”—she inspected her work and applied more of what appeared to be light blue paste.
“Grandma?” he croaked. No answer. He cleared his throat. “Grandma? What are you doing?”
When she still didn’t acknowledge him, the man craned his head toward her, nearly taking a finger in the eye for his trouble. “Donna? Someone here to see you, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart? Gage gawked at the man. Who the hell was this interloper, and should Gage be showing him the door? Or should he be grateful his grandmother seemed to have a friend? Before Gage could choose which reaction to go with, she looked at him and lit up. “Paul?”
Gage’s heart nearly caved. Paul had been her husband—Gage’s maternal grandfather—before he’d died years ago.
Gage gulped down his dismay, hoping it would fill the crack in his heart, and took a step forward. “No, Grandma. It’s me. Gage.”
She frowned, confusion clouding her sky-blue eyes, a half-dozen furrows waving across her forehead. Though the lines were deep, her smooth skin glowed a soft pink.
The man swiveled his head between them. As Gage got closer, the smell of spearmint tickled his nose, which was when he realized the paste she’d been anointing her friend’s head with was in fact toothpaste—as evidenced by the half-squeezed tube of Crest she fisted in her other hand.
What the actual …?
Gage reached out to button her coat, but she recoiled, her eyes widening with panic.
“Donna,” the man soothed, “is this the grandson you’re always bragging on?”
Specters seemed to shift behind her eyes. Those eyes widened as if cognizance was slowly dawning, like a heavy veil lifting. “Gage?”
“Yes, Grandma.” He fought to swallow around the puck-sized lump forming in his throat. “It’s me.” Do I hug her? Shake her hand? High-five her? What do I do?
She ran her free hand up and down his arm, and her face radiated with pride. “I was at your game! Did you hear me in the bleachers? You were the best player out there. But then, you always are. I’m so proud of how you skated right through those defensemen and roofed that puck! I swear they were still picking up their breezers long after you scored.” She sang out, “He shoots, he scores!”
He swiped the back of his hand under his nose, suddenly reduced to an awkward ten-year-old. “Thanks, Grandma.”
“And the way you laid out that punky Bennett boy!” She flapped a hand at him. “Way to show him, honey.”
A moment passed before he processed the name from youth hockey days. Ah. So he wasn’t ten after all, but thirteen in her fragmented mind.
His relationship with his grandma had always been a close one, a special one. Whether it was because his mom was constantly working her ass off and Grandma was the caregiver he defaulted to as a kid, or whether it was because they simply had a unique connection, he had little idea. Didn’t matter. It only mattered that the bond had been there, even if she didn’t remember it.
He pulled in a cleansing breath and reminded himself that at least she knew who he was, even if she’d lopped off thirteen years. This is about her, not you. Just go with it.
Grandma moved to hug him, and he took a step back, pointing at her coat. “Ah, Grandma, I think you missed a few buttons.”
“What?” she shrieked and glanced down at herself. “Oh, Lord have mercy, where is my head these days?” She began fumbling with the buttons. He reached out to help but snatched his hand back, caught in a surreal world suspended between past and present. One where her past was the present. The present where she’d recoiled earlier when he’d tried to help.
Stomach cinching into knots, he stuffed his hands in his front pockets to bide his time, his eyes drifting to the bald man he’d forgotten was sitting there. Kind eyes crinkling, the man offered him a head tilt and a knowing smile.
Still messing with her buttons, Grandma erupted in a laugh. Gage laughed along with her, if for no other reason than to keep himself from crying.
The old man stood, surprising him, and extended a bony hand covered in skin that resembled parchment. “My name’s Oscar. I’ll clear out so you two can have some private time. But first I wanted to say how happy I am to meet you. Your grandmother never stops talking about you and your sister.”
Out of habit, Gage accepted Oscar’s hand and shook. The man’s grip was unexpectedly strong. “Donna is so proud of you,” Oscar said. “Her memories might be a little hazy, but on that score, she’s crystal clear.”
If it were possible, the puck-sized lump swelled in Gage’s throat, making it hard to breathe. Haphazardly fastened, Grandma focused bright eyes on him, seeming not to notice Oscar’s departure.
“Gage, are you done with your homework, honey? I have some fresh-baked cookies for you. I just have to find where I hid them. You can help me.” Her smile, warm and indulgent, was different from the one he’d grown up with and loved so much. This one was lovely but had a vacant quality, as if part of her soul was missing. God, how he longed for her real smile—the one she used when she was trying to be stern and they both knew she could bust out laughing at any moment.
With a break in his voice, he took her hand in both of his. “I did finish my homework, Grandma, but I can wait on the cookies for now.”
Hours later, Gage sat at his mom’s kitchen table, hands wrapped around a cold coffee cup, an unseeing stare focused outside the bay window on the glossy green leaves of a camellia bush.
His mother stood at the sink agitatedly clattering dishes, rambling through a convoluted apology that was simply a cover-up for hurt feelings.
“Honey, if only I’d known you were going there first, I would’ve met you. Or you could’ve come here and I’d have taken you there myself. You shouldn’t see your grandmother alone in her … current state. If only you’d told me your plans ahead of time.”
“Sorry, Mom,” he said absently. The wind ruffled the camellia plant, separating a few bright pink petals from its abundant blossoms. “I ended up getting free before I’d planned,” he white-lied, “and thought it would be easier to head there first on my way here.”
“Well, next time, Gage—”
“What’s the big deal, Mom? I can handle it.”
She seemed to grow more flustered. “Yes, but sometimes your grandmother … I know you were only trying to save me trouble—you’ve always been thoughtful like that, unlike your father—but really, you could have called and, like I sai
d, I’d have met you there and softened the blow for you.”
Point taken, Mom. For the fifth time.
So much for Gage’s attempt at covert operations. Between the shock of his grandmother’s condition—which he was still trying to compartmentalize—and his mother’s droning, guilt-tripping reproach, he swore off future secret maneuvers to visit Grandma on his own. For now.
Mom had been complaining about Grandma going downhill fast, getting loopier by the day, but his mom thrived on drama. While he admired her and loved his mother with all his heart, he was convinced that if life grew too serene, Nola Delaney Nelson would simply invent a crisis. So he’d mistakenly assumed her reports about Grandma had been exaggerated. Obviously, he’d been wrong, but he wasn’t about to confess that tidbit to his mother and give her more reason to shoot him scowls.
He pushed out a breath. “It’s okay, Mom. She finally recognized me, and it turned into a good visit,” he repeated for the hundredth time. His knee bounced with irritation. Time to deflect. “So who’s Oscar?”
A dramatic sigh accompanied a roll of her eyes. “He’s a resident on the independent living side. His wife was in memory care, and he used to visit her daily. She died several months ago. Now he hangs around your grandma, treating her like a queen.”
“Which she deserves,” he interjected.
“Gage, honestly, sometimes you are so naive.” She pointed a potholder at him. “This is why you have to be so careful about picking the right girl—one who won’t try to take advantage of you.”
This familiar tack in the conversation always frustrated him. He was a grown man, for God’s sake, capable of picking the right girl—assuming he was looking to pick one in the first place. “What does Grandma’s, uh”—What do you call an eighty-something who hangs out with your grandmother?—“boyfriend have to do with my love life?”
Her eyebrows drew together in a frown. “So you do have a love life? When did this happen?”
“I don’t have a love life, and even if I did, it would be none of your business.” He gave her a half-smile to soften the truth of the statement.
She turned back to her dishes. “Well, I say he treats her too much like a queen. And he’s only been widowed a short time! Where’s the decency in that? He’s after something.”
Gage scoffed. “Like what? She has no money.” He paid for everything—for his grandma and his mom. Had ever since he’d started drawing bigger paychecks. “Maybe the guy’s just being nice.”
Mom turned away to check a baking casserole. “Men can charm women into doing whatever they want,” she said over her shoulder. “Just like your father.”
Oh boy, here we go.
While she ran through her usual spiel about the evils of men—not him, he was perfect, she was always quick to add—he slid his phone from his pocket for a quick glimpse at his Twitter account. Lily had been working magic, and his followers were up by nearly six hundred—not that he really cared about the numbers. No, the real fun was in Lily’s texts, and his spirits got a boost when he spied a new one.
Lily: Did you see the latest count, Professor? The mooney-eyed picture of you as a bantam getting Gretzky’s autograph racked up another 80 peeps! We’re on a roll. With butter.
He stifled a laugh. His mother was still talking, and God knew she’d take his laughter the wrong way.
Sweet! he fired back. Then he added, Not sure where you’re mining the old photos, but they’re perfect. Keep up the good work.
Yep, despite his misgivings, he was impressed. The old pictures, combined with Lily’s clever messages, were pure wizardry in Twitter World, and the week was only half gone.
Lily: Looks like someone might be hiring someone soon.
Another laugh tickled his chest. Though he couldn’t put his finger on why, he was actually relieved she was hitting it out of the park on their so-called competition, even if he still wasn’t convinced he needed the social media presence she was drumming up for him.
Gage: Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
Lily: Spoken like a true professor. All I ask is that you please wait until I’ve handed in my completed assignment before you grade my paper.
A dirty picture popped into Gage’s head and shot straight to his groin. He refrained from sending a reply about bending her over his desk and spanking her bare ass if her work was subpar. Where in the actual hell did that come from?
The slam of the oven door reminded him he was in his mother’s kitchen. He jerked to attention, feeling as though he’d been caught doing something truly cringe-worthy, like when he’d been fourteen and she’d busted him in his bedroom with a well-worn, pilfered porn magazine.
Back in full consciousness at her table, heat blazed his cheeks; he shifted his sitting posture. By the time his mother turned around, her head shaking and her lips moving as she carried on, he’d returned to a who-cares, crossed-arm pose.
“… terribly wrong,” she yammered as she peered out the kitchen window. He had no idea what she was talking about. “Oh!” she suddenly exclaimed. “Look who just pulled up!” With a squeal of delight, she scurried to the front door and threw it open. “Jessica! What a surprise! Gage is here. He’ll be so happy to see you.” Mom shot him a look over her shoulder.
Surprise, my ass.
He stood and offered a limp wave to the woman on the other side of the threshold. “Hey, Jess.”
Jessica swooped in and beelined for him, arms wide, smile lighting her perfectly made-up face. Yeah, she’d always cleaned up well.
“I’ve missed you, Gage.” She pulled him into a fierce hug, her fragrance rolling over him. He’d probably smell of her all night.
Gingerly, he rested his hands against her back and gave her a light squeeze, his mother smiling approvingly in the background. Jessica pulled away, cradled his face in her hands, and stared up at him with what he could only describe as wonder. Then she pecked his lips and breathed, “I’m so happy you’re back, even if it’s just for tonight.”
Automatically, he gave the answer expected of him by both women. “Me too, Jess.”
“Jessica, I’m just about to pull dinner from the oven. You’ll stay and eat with us, won’t you?” his mother said sweetly.
Jessica’s blue eyes brightened. “Thanks, Nola. If it’s not a bother …”
“No bother at all. Afterward, maybe you kids would like to take a drive over to Half Moon Bay and stroll on the beach. It’s going to be a beautiful night to talk over old times.”
With an inner sigh, Gage resolved himself to the hijacked evening and put aside pleasant thoughts of a curly-haired blond tweeting machine.
On his way to morning skate the next day, he picked up an incoming call.
“Sar-bear!”
“Seriously?” his sister scoffed. “You’re what, twenty-six now, Waffle-Butt?”
He snorted. “It’s good to talk to you too.”
“Well, I got your text and had a few minutes. I figured it’d be easier to talk instead of texting freaking War and Peace.”
“Agreed. And good timing. I’m driving to the rink, which means I’ve also got a few minutes.”
“So what’s going on?”
“When was the last time you saw Grandma?” Gage told Sarah about his visit the day before.
“Shit, I just saw her a few weeks ago, and she wasn’t that bad. But maybe I saw her on one of her better days. How’s Mom dealing with it?”
Gage blew out a breath. “Same as usual.”
“In other words, with lots of drama.”
“She let me know how unhappy she was that I saw Grandma without her.”
“Yep, our mother, the control freak.”
Gage chuckled. “I take it she’s still trying to pick out a husband for you?”
“Not since I moved up here.” Sarah’s tone was unmistakably triumphant. “It’s a lot harder when you live nearly a thousand miles away.”
“Yeah, you always said I’d be better off moving away. I didn’t believe you
until I got traded to Colorado.” He ducked his head to check a freeway sign. One more exit.
“So you’re finally comfortable in Denver?”
It occurred to him he was finally comfortable in his new city. “Yeah, I like being there. No lie, I never thought I’d get used to the change, but now that I am, I realize how much I like the autonomy. Especially after being home for a night.”
Except I miss Grandma. But she’s not Grandma anymore. I’d miss her even if I was home.
Sarah clucked. “I’m guessing that you too are grateful Mom’s not butting into your business, plotting out your entire future.”
Gage let out a wry laugh. “My being gone hasn’t gotten me off the hook. She made sure I saw Jess last night.”
“Oh? And how did that go?”
Was he picking up on a hopeful note in his sister’s voice? Well, shit!
“About as expected. Mom was doing everything she could to push us together.”
“Mom might not be wrong about that one, Gage.” Sarah’s voice had grown solemn.
“Really? You’re on Mom’s side?” A sinking feeling bloomed in his chest.
“Call it being on Jessica’s side. She’s always been perfect for you, Gage. She’s the Barbie to your Ken, even though you haven’t realized it yet. And I know for a fact she thinks you’re it for her.”
Not this again. Gage puffed out an exasperated breath. “Everyone thinks she’s perfect for me. Except me! She and I already went down that road, and it didn’t work. She knows that. I know that. Besides, I think you’re overplaying her feelings in this. We’re just friends.”
“Okay, okay, don’t get your tighty-whities twisted,” Sarah soothed. “Selfishly speaking, I always hoped you two would get back together. She’s one of my best friends, and—”
“You forget we weren’t ever together. Dating for a couple of weeks doesn’t count.” Gage guided his car down the off-ramp toward the arena. “Hey, Sis, I’m almost there. I need to cut this short.” Truthfully, he had a few more minutes, but he wanted out of the awkward convo.
“Okay, Little Bro. Go score some goals!”
