by Abby Knox
The surgery is a success, and Betty spends the whole next week in the hospital under close observation. At the same time, Karen, Eliza, and I buzz around her. The tension ebbs and flows because we all know now’s not the time to bring up the assisted living suggestion.
In the meantime, Betty is recovering nicely, according to Dr. Palmer. Karen does her best to ignore me, other than making side comments about my lodging situation. “Don’t know why anyone would impose on an old lady for food and a bed, but I’m not privy to this club of three you all seem to have,” or some variation of that, becomes an oft-repeated refrain.
Between hospital visits, Eliza and I finish three-fourths of the jam orders. We only use one or two jars’ worth of strawberry jam for purposes other than intended. And get plenty of use out of the shower afterward.
On the day they’re ready to release Betty to the rehab facility, Karen broaches the subject of the assisted living facility.
The tension of watching these three have a family meeting resembles a three-way discussion among Thor, Loki, and Odin, but without the toxic masculinity.
“Karen, I’ve been gardening and making jams for your whole entire life; why would I stop now?”
“Mom, I’m not asking you to completely stop. I’m putting a stop to this hare-brained money-making scheme that my daughter has put into your head.”
“It’s not hare-brained,” Eliza says.
I have to bite my lip, but Grams says precisely what I’m thinking. “If you think anybody believes that making jam is going to make anybody rich in a short amount of time, you really don’t know anything about anything. Ask Garrett how much money he makes in the beekeeping business.”
“He is not a part of this discussion. Did you know I found him in bed with Eliza? The second you’re not around to manipulate, he’s worming his way into Eliza’s life too.”
“I hope so,” Grams says. “He’s a good boy, and they’re perfect for each other.”
Eliza is beet red, but uncharacteristically blurts out, “I wouldn’t use the word ‘worm,’ but okay, Mom.”
I choke on my coffee. Eliza is determined to kill me in the middle of this argument because she keeps going.
“Mom. You have filled in the gaps with this cockamamie story about Garrett, and you don’t even know him. How could you? Can you just take a breath and listen? Have a little faith in people? It’s not too much to ask. Ever since I failed to turn into the person you wanted me to be, you’ve been largely dismissive of my motives, my choices, everything. I know you have your own ideas about what is and what is not a noble career, but did you ever stop to think outside of your own bubble? Yes, medicine is noble. But maybe I’m helping people too. I’m successful because I help people. And I’m going to do more of it. I’m quitting my job in New York, and I’m going to stay here with Grams and start my own business making planning pages. With or without your payment for services rendered. I’ll find my own seed money, somehow. If I make zero money making planners, helping people organize their goals and objectives, and make business plans, I will still do it. I’m sorry if that’s not enough for you.”
Karen purses her lips. “Awful hard to trust you when my mother is in a hospital bed because of your little romantic tryst.”
Eliza shakes her head. “You have to get that notion out of your head.”
Everyone is quiet for a long time.
Finally, Karen offers, “Mom, if you agree to at least take a look at Sunset Towers, I’ll back off and let you carry on with this business scheme. In another week, if it looks like you two are getting her too riled up, and she’s not doing her physical therapy, then we’re going to revisit the assisted living discussion.”
Eliza and Grams exchange a look. Eliza nods. Grams says, “Deal.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Eliza
Grams doesn’t speak a single word for the entire tour of the place.
There’s a hair salon, bridge club, book club, patio garden club in the central courtyard. There’s a bird-watching section with dozens of birdhouses and hummingbird feeders. A chapel. Regular outings to movie theaters and historical places around the state. Shuffleboard.
Grams is so quiet and serene; it scares me. It starts to make me wonder if she’s had another stroke in the middle of this tour.
When we get Grams settled into the van, she looks at me, and I know. I know I’m going to have to back her up, and it’s not going to be pretty.
“Well, Mom. What did you think? I told you it was great.”
“It’s charming. Very peaceful. Eerily peaceful, pleasant and quiet.”
It’s a good thing I’m driving the van because when I glance over at Mom, she looks like she’s quietly livid in the way of someone who could steer us all into the river and never look back.
“Karen. I love you. I know you want the best for me. But listen. I have bingo and book club at the senior center once a week with my friends. I have Bunco pals who check on me. I have a town full of people who remember me as their school principal and still love me. I have a real garden and a bird-watching gazebo. I have a creek without a fence. I can go to the movies whenever I want. I can walk freely around my town. If I have another stroke, I’ll push a little life alert button, and someone will come to help me. If they can’t help me, then I guess I’ll die. I can’t ask for a better life than that, except one with the acceptance of my own daughter.”
Mom bites her bottom lip, much in the same way as I do when I’m emotional. “You don’t need me to take care of you.”
“No. I do need you. I need you to come to pick me up and take me shopping on your days off.”
Mom’s shoulders droop. “I hate shopping.”
“I know! But I’m telling you this is how you can take care of me, do you get that?”
Finally, something clicks. My mom’s face changes, and it’s all I can do to keep my eyes on the road. Fortunately, there’s a restaurant up ahead where we can catch some lunch, so I pull in there and park.
Mom is actually listening. “It’s not the way I would prefer it.”
“I know that.” Grams glances outside at the restaurant and says, “Let’s go hash this out over some burgers.”
“Salad for you, young lady,” I say, catching my Grams’ eye in the rearview mirror.
I glance over at mom, who shoots me a hint of approval for the first time in I don’t know when.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Garrett
The last jar pops just as the ladies return. The kitchen is crowded with four people, but Karen looks around, her mouth agape.
“You did all this while we were gone?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Garrett! How much did you get done?”
“All finished. And except for that batch right there, everything is crated and ready to be delivered.”
Eliza opens her planner and checks the date. “We’re three days ahead of schedule!”
She throws her arms around me and squeezes me tight.
“You seem happy,” I say with a chuckle.
“I can’t believe you did all this while we were gone!”
“Well, turns out my kitchen is finally finished, so between the two stoves, and with the outdoor burners, it wasn’t that difficult.”
“Oh my god, I love you.”
She kisses me flat on the mouth, and it’s a PG-13 kiss that makes me blush because I know Grams and Karen are watching us. Still, I can’t help but keep her there, plastered against me in my arms. “I love you too, Eliza.”
Grams taps Karen with her cane. “You still think he’s some kind of creep? I don’t think I’ve ever met a creep who works this hard for it.”
“Gross, Grams.”
Karen presses her palms together and brings her fingers to her lips as she thinks. “All right. Here’s my thought. I admit I was wrong about you, Garrett. And Eliza, I’m sorry for not believing in you. I’m going to pay you in full for services rendered, and I’m sorry I got angry and
never paid you. But concerning your grandmother, you have to understand that I only want what’s best for my family, what’s left of it.”
“Thank you, Mom. And I’m sorry too. I’m sorry, I assumed your motives were all about control. And I’m sorry I was too pushy when you hired me. It was early days, and I hadn’t evolved in the way I was handling my clients. I’m a lot more flexible now, so if you want to try again and let me help you, I’d be happy to do it. Free of charge.”
Karen smiles. It’s not the warmest mother-daughter moment, but it’s probably the most cuddly that Karen will ever get, based on everything I’ve seen. “I’m not going to let you work for free anymore; I think we both know that.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Eliza
The welcome home party for Grams is too much stimulation, according to my mother.
All Grams’ Bunco friends, senior center friends, indeed the whole town, have come out to celebrate her coming home from rehab.
A sound system and a bandstand have been set up in the gazebo, and the trees have been hung with party lights. There’s music, food, dancing. Grams talks Garrett into singing his songs that he wrote for me, and I spend half of his set in tears. Everything is perfectly imperfect, just the way I like it and just the way Grams likes it.
When word got around—thank you, diner placemats—that Grams had had a stroke and was expected home from rehab any day soon, people began to contact me: people I hadn’t spoken to since childhood and people I didn’t know.
“I can’t believe all this,” I say.
“Everyone loves your grandmother. I’d be surprised if it wasn’t like this,” Garrett says.
The whole vibe is festive and yet also romantic. If I’m not mistaken, my mom might actually be a little drunk, and flirting with Otto from the diner.
Garrett puts his arm around me and hugs me tight. “Looks like she’s gonna get lucky.”
“Sir!”
“What? Everyone needs a Little woman to get lucky with.”
“Well, I hope she’s planning on going to his place, because the Berry Cottage is full,” I say.
“Is that what we’re calling it?”
I look up at him and notice the wink. “I think it has a nice ring to it.”
Garrett and I are dancing to a sweet love song while Grams is off to the side, chatting with an older man I vaguely recognize as someone she used to work with at the high school.
“I think Grams might be having her own little thing tonight too,” Garrett says.
Sure enough, she waves me over to have a chat.
“Honey,” she says, “I might be having a guest overnight tonight, so do you think you two could, you know, be cool about it?”
Garrett might have to hold me upright as I watch in horror as Grams and her new beau disappear into the house.
“Oh my god, what is happening?”
Garret just laughs. “I think Grams has a boyfriend.”
I shake my head. “Guess we’re both sleeping on the porch tonight, ‘cause she’s gonna hang a sock on the doorknob.”
“Nah, we can just go to my place.”
“What?”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you? It’s all finished.”
I turn to him and lightly punch him in the shoulder. “No! When were you going to tell me?”
“Tonight.”
He delivers a kiss that travels down my toes, back up to my head, and fogs me up completely.
“Will you marry me, Garrett?”
He laughs. “But where? When? Where are we going to live, and who’s moving where? We need a church? Or do you want an outside wedding? And who’s gonna cater? We have to plan!”
“Shut up,” I say, and he does, with the help of another kiss.
Epilogue
One year later
Eliza
The drama of those first few days back home in Piper’s Grove gave me the push I needed to make a change in my life.
I don’t rush into decisions lightly; of course, I made a pro-con list in my journal.
I won’t lie; I might have let Garrett sweat a little bit while I holed up with my notebooks, spreadsheets, and planners.
The end conclusion looked a lot the same as my reason for spending my vacation in my podunk hometown: Grams wasn’t going to be around forever. The difference was that now, I had even more reasons to stay.
When I showed the pro-con list to Garrett, of course, he didn’t take all of that at face value.
“You’re going to miss New York,” he said.
“I can always visit,” was my reply.
He looked at me and said, “How about right now?”
As soon as things calmed down with Grams, and all her jam orders had been delivered, I’d eked out quality time with Nora and those squishy babies. Garrett surprised me by making a plan of his own.
My mom took some time off to helped with her continued physical therapy, so Garrett could come with me to New York to pack up my things. We made a meal out of that trip: we stayed a month and toured the city. I turned in my notice at work, to no one’s surprise. I showed some of my favorite sites to Garrett and showed him off to my friends; he, in turn, provided me with a list of places he’d always wanted to see. He enjoyed it so much, he now wants to visit at least a couple of times a year.
A year later, and everything has changed. Mom has invested in my planning and organization business, which I’ve started as a work-from-home venture. In addition to all his home renovations, Garrett had also secretly built me an office in his house. Correction: our house.
Living next door to Grams, sharing life with Garrett, and seeing my mom more often, feels like I’m on a permanent vacation.
We ended last summer with a small but beautiful wedding ceremony in the meadow, surrounded by our friends and family, and no shortage of barnyard animals.
The bride’s mother was too focused on her new beau, Otto, to get too upset about a pot-bellied pig named Carl serving as the ring bearer. Between Grams, Garrett, and I, we put our mark on the rustic chic wedding aesthetic. I didn’t have to buy a single hobby-store mason jar centerpiece, of course. Grams is the real deal, and her house has always been crammed full of them.
Today Garrett’s brother’s family are visiting, and all of us have met up at Otto’s Diner for breakfast. Me, Garrett, Grams, Mom, and Nora, and her entire brood as well.
Garrett, whose baby nephew is fast asleep against his shoulder, reaches over to fill my coffee cup, but today all I really want is juice, and I tell him no thanks. I’m not much of a juice drinker, but lately, grapefruit juice has been my go-to.
He gives me an odd look; I never turn down Otto’s coffee, but all I do is smile knowingly.
“Hey,” Grams says when the server comes to refill everyone’s water. “I didn’t get a placemat. What’s going on?”
Nora’s too busy tending to one of the toddler twins while I’m bouncing the other one on my lap.
My mom does notice, however. “I didn’t get one either. That’s a bit unsanitary.”
Grams huffs, “I don’t care about that; I want the news.”
Wyatt scans the table. “Hey, Garrett, you got a placemat, and nobody else did. What gives?”
Grams squints across the table. “Yeah, how did that happen? That’s very unlike Otto.”
The server looks like a deer in headlights and then mumbles something about coming right back to take everyone’s order.
“What’s with her?” I ask. But the thing is, I’m a terrible actress. I try to sell it a little too hard.
With one hand on his baby nephew, Garrett pivots toward me and stares me down. “What’s going on?”
Nora pipes up, “Yeah, I was hoping to see the announcement in the placemats about B&G Enterprises.” That is the entire reason we all came out to breakfast together. There’s supposed to be a blurb today about Gee’s Bees combining forces with the Berry Cottage to form one company selling honey, soap, preserves, and sweets to small markets all over
the state. Grams has agreed to let Garrett and me vet applicants. Come this summer, we’re going to have actual employees.
I shrug and blink at my husband innocently, and take a sip of my water.
“I don’t know, babe, why don’t you read your placemat and leave me alone?” I suggest.
He shakes his head and reads the first announcement at the top.
I wait for it.
“Hold on. This says the Little-Strongs are expecting their first baby in eight months. That’s not right; that’s us. We’re them.”
Grams shrieks. “A baby?!”
My mom shouts, “Eliza Jane Little!”
Nora looks up from her fussing toddler and covers her mouth.
The little one in my lap slaps my cheek playfully. “Baby!”
Garrett removes his cap and scratches his head, then puts the cap back on, his face awash in confusion. Then he looks up at me and asks, “Is this a typo?”
I shake my head. “It’s not a typo.”
He hands his nephew back to the baby’s mother, Erin. He hasn’t said anything yet, and I’m dying for him to speak. Something is stirring in the depths of my cool, collected husband, and I decide now is the time to hand this toddler back to his daddy, Jake.
It’s a good thing I do because, in the next moment, Garrett has knocked his chair over and is kneeling in front of me, his chest rising and falling rapidly with emotion.
He places his hand on my tummy. “In here?”
I laugh and nod my head. “You’re gonna be a daddy!”
Bewildered, he takes my hand and stands, pulling me upright. Saying nothing, Garrett sweeps me up off my feet and marches us toward the door.
“I guess we gotta go,” I say, waving to the rest of the diners, who clap and cheer as we make our way outside.
He sets me gently into the cab of his truck, buckles me in, and drives me home.
