by Sarah Skye
“Oh? Did Harmony set you up again?”
“Nah, this was an app match. We’ll see.” I shrug and study the menu.
Lily touches my hand. “How’s Gram?” she asks, her voice going tender.
“It’s been a few days, but I guess she’s okay. The reports are good, but we go back to the doctor next week. Hopefully, her strength will be a bit better by then.” I thread my hands in my hair. “It’s killing me to be away from her right now.”
Lily nods and gives my hand a little squeeze. “I know it is. Mercedes must be the best nurse on the planet for you to trust her with Gram.”
Guilt bubbles up again, compounded by the fact that, no, Marco is not the best nurse on the planet. He’s not even the best organic matter on the planet. He’s probably not even the best broken-down douchebro on the planet.
But he was there. And it was Gram’s decision. And if I want to afford any legit nurse to take care of her, I have to accept this for now.
And never, ever, tell Lily about it.
“The situation isn’t what I wanted, but choices are limited with her insurance.” I squeeze her back and choke on the bile in my throat.
Lily’s brows furrow. “Did she change providers or something? I thought they didn’t cover a live-in—”
“I was able to work something out.” I can’t even let her finish. I can’t handle the worry and the lie and the details. “What are you drinking, Calder? I need a recommendation.”
“Sonce whiskey, neat.” He doesn’t even blink.
I laugh. “Brand rep all the way, huh? Fine, order me a whiskey. It’s that kind of week, am I right?”
“Come now. Every week is that kind of week,” Calder scolds, and with that the conversation shifts.
And I can breathe again.
Right after I sneak a glance at my phone and read the text.
Mercedes: Thanks. Hated to bother you.
Me: Ask me anything, just take care of Gram.
Mercedes: Anything, hmm? Trust me yet?
Me: Not any farther than I can throw you.
Mercedes: At least that’s a finite distance. I choose to take the W.
I bite my lip to keep from laughing, then look up to see Calder feeding Lily a bite of bread from the basket. My mind flashes back to when Marco would sit beside her, one arm draped around her chair sometimes and one eye always on his phone.
But try as I might, I can’t quite process that image with the man who rushed to do CPR on Gram last week. It’s almost like they’re two different people with the way I visualize his concerned expression, his wary gaze.
They’re not. Wolf in sheep’s clothing is the oldest trick.
“This is the very least I can do… I want to be a better person… I just didn’t want to mess up.” His words ring in my ears no matter how hard I try to hold onto the sound of his sarcastic barbs aimed my way at dinners of old.
Universe, I need to know if this guy is dangerous. Give me a sign, will ya?
But of course the universe doesn’t work that way. And so I shake it off—again—and enjoy time with my true, trustworthy friends.
7
MARCO
There’s a knife in my neck.
Wait, that’s not a knife. It’s a cramp. Goddamn it.
In my half-asleep state, I start to turn. The imaginary knife-slash-cramping pain intensifies, shooting like fire through my neck, into my shoulder. I groan into the pillow smashed against the arm of the couch, awake enough now that I have the presence of mind to try and muffle the sound. I don’t want to wake Nina.
I should be used to it by now. I’ve been staying with her for several days, and every night I’ve had to contort myself to sleep on the couch in the living room. I’m more than a foot taller than her, so it’s no surprise that I don’t fit most of her furniture.
Gritting my teeth, I swallow through the pain. Even though my eyes are still pressed shut, I can tell by the warm sunlight on my face that it’s morning.
I hear a soft thud, and my eyelids fly open. My blanket tumbles to the floor as I shoot up into a sitting position. That neck pain is a dull tinge compared to the panic coursing through me now. I look in the direction of the hallway. Shit, did Nina fall?
A clunk echoes from the kitchen. I jump up, run into the room, and freeze. Nina is standing on a chair that’s shoved against the kitchen counter. She’s reaching for one of the top cabinets.
“What are you doing?”
She doesn’t answer and instead gets on her tip-toes, frowning at the open cabinet door. Just then, the chair starts to wobble, so I dart over and scoop her into my arms. She yelps.
“What in the—”
“Nina. For the love of God. You can’t be doing that. You’ll fall and hurt yourself.” I do my best to keep my tone steady. She almost gave me a heart attack with that move, but I can’t lash out at her.
I expect a huffy noise or another explanation about how she’s fully capable of doing things for herself. What I don’t expect is for her to throw her head back and cackle.
“I haven’t been held like this since my wedding night. Thanks, big boy.”
She pats my shoulder, and we both burst out laughing. I set her down on the floor and ask what she was reaching for.
“More of that Splenda or Splendid or whatever it’s called. The jar on the counter’s empty, and I can’t have my coffee without it.”
I reach up and grab it, then hand it to her. “Why do you keep it in such a high place?”
She chuckles, the crow’s feet flanking her eyes deepening. “Morgan puts it up there sometimes when she goes shopping for me. I think she forgets I’m not as tall as her.”
A smirk curls my lips. “She’s not tall either. She must have to climb up like you just did to put it there, am I right?”
Now Nina is laughing merrily. “Maybe so, but to me, she’s a giant.”
“Well, we’ll move it to a better spot, but anytime you need something, just ask. This is why I’m here, you know. To do these things for you so you don’t have to. So you can rest.”
She walks to the tiny kitchen table and sits. “I know. I just didn’t want to wake you.”
“Nina,” I say gently. “Seriously. Wake me whenever you need anything.”
She smiles at me, and I get a flash of Morgan. That’s her smile, too.
If I’m honest, Morgan has been on my mind since I last saw her. I wonder how she’s doing, how work is going, if she’s too worried about her grandma to focus on anything right now. I’m tempted to text her and ask, but that would be weird as hell. We only ever communicate about Gram.
I try to ease her worries by sending her a photo of Nina smiling whenever I think of it. It seems to work. Except for that one day I called her asking about lotion. Jesus, what was I thinking? I heard the panic in her voice the second she picked up. That “I need help” text I sent right before probably made it worse. I need to be better about prefacing my calls and texts so that she doesn’t automatically think that something terrible has happened. It’s pretty clear she assumes that most times anyway.
I can’t imagine what that must be like, always worrying about a family member. I haven’t spoken to my family since I lost my shit at them at the restaurant. Not once have they crossed my mind, other than when some random memory pops in my head. And then all I feel is anger and resentment.
But to be in Morgan’s position—to have her grandma, who’s battling health issues, as her only living family. I’d be worried sick too.
“Something wrong with your neck?”
Nina’s question pops me back to the present, and I realize I’ve been rubbing the side of my neck for the past few seconds.
“Just a little sore from sleeping on the couch.”
“You can sleep in Morgan’s room, you know.”
She gestures down the hall to the closed door that I assume is Morgan’s room. I haven’t stepped foot inside of it since I’ve been here.
“It’s not like she’s using
it,” Nina says. “And she’s got a queen-size bed in there. I’m sure someone your size prefers a king, but that’s a heck of a lot better than the couch.”
I force a polite smile and shake my head. I’m certain Morgan would neuter me if I just took over her bedroom like that. Even though she’s not staying here, it feels like a weird invasion of privacy even just to open the door. Actually sleeping in her bed? No way in hell.
And besides, if I did that, I’d be surrounded by that woodsy, floral scent of hers. Ever since I caught a whiff of it while standing next to her that day, I can’t stop thinking about it.
I shake my head again, as if that’s going to magically erase it from my memory. I know it won’t—and I know I shouldn’t be thinking about the way Morgan smells. All the more reason to stay the hell out of her room.
I glance at Nina. “I’ll be okay on the couch. Thanks though.”
I walk over to the coffee machine and make a pot, remembering how Morgan showed me how to use it before she left. I’ve gotten better at it every day, but every day with this routine, an image of her hands flashes through my brain. How swiftly they move when she gestures. How long and delicate they looked.
How soft I imagine they’d feel if they were on my body.
What the fuck was that?
I grit my teeth and welcome the pain in my jaw that it brings, unnerved at where my asshole brain decided to go just now. Why am I all of a sudden thinking about Morgan’s hands on my body?
It must be the shitty sleep I’m getting.
I squint at the coffee machine, hyper-focused on pouring water into it… and not completely convinced that sleep is the problem.
“I feel like I’m bothering you all the time,” Nina says.
“I promise you’re not,” I say as I turn to look at her. “Besides, your granddaughter will burn down my condo if anything happens to you. So please don’t climb on the counter again.”
Nina laughs. “Fine, fine. I promise I won’t.”
I swipe the blood sugar test kit on the table and check her levels.
“Oh wow,” she says after it’s done. “That didn’t hurt at all.”
“You’ve said that every time I’ve done this.”
“Well, you’ve got a real knack. If I didn’t know this was your first time taking care of someone, I would have guessed you do this for a living.”
A strange kind of giddy feeling hits me at what she’s said. I’m actually good at something other than dissecting contracts and manipulating legal jargon in order to facilitate a corporate merger. Being good at caring for someone makes me feel like I’m a decent human being.
Her coffee finishes brewing, and I hop up and make her a cup. When I deliver it to her, I ask what she’d like for breakfast.
She jokingly requests a sweet roll, and I shake my head.
“I think you know the answer to that, Nina.”
She chuckles. “Honestly, I’m not all that hungry.”
“You need to eat something. Even if it’s just a little snack.”
She nods like she knows better.
“Smoothie?” I offer. “I make a mean green smoothie. It’ll make you feel as energized as the Hulk.”
She laughs and says yes. After I make the smoothie, I excuse myself to run to the bathroom so I can piss and brush my teeth. I come back to the kitchen and see Nina reading the newspaper. Not wanting to interrupt her, I turn to leave, but she stops me.
“Why don’t you have some breakfast too? Keep an old gal company.”
I grin and make a smoothie for myself and take the seat across from her. She hands me a section to read.
“It’s been a while since I’ve held a newspaper in my hands,” I say. “I’m used to reading everything on my phone.”
“You youngsters, doing everything on phones and iPads and whatnot,” she says as she straightens her glasses. “I’d go blind if I had to stare at a screen all day. Be thankful for your young-person vision while it lasts.”
“I’m not that young.”
“Oh please. You’re Morgan’s age, right?”
I nod.
“I’m in my eighties.” She raises an eyebrow at me. “You’re a baby.”
I laugh and go back to skimming the paper. I can’t remember the last time I shared breakfast with someone. Not since Harmony, but we never really shared that time together. Most days we’d pass each other in the kitchen as we rushed off to work. There were family brunches every month or so, but I fucking loathed those. Always full of snide remarks from my dad and Leo trying to one-up me on some random bullshit. It was never like this. Pleasant with easy conversation, in the presence of a person who seems genuinely happy to have me there.
After a few minutes, Nina speaks. “I have to say, I’m having a hard time figuring you out.”
Her words catch me off guard. I let out what sounds like an uneasy laugh, despite her sweet tone. “I don’t know what you mean.”
She waves a hand. “I just mean…” She pauses, her blue eyes studying my face. “I’ll be blunt: Morgan made it sound like you were a womanizing bastard.”
A gulp of smoothie sticks in my windpipe, nearly choking me to death. I quickly wipe my mouth with a napkin and cough a few times.
Nina thumps me on the back and continues speaking. “But you don’t act like one. And believe me, I encountered quite a few bastards in my younger years. Truthfully? You’re coming off like a real sweetheart.”
“You must bring it out in me.”
She chuckles and shakes her head. “I mean it. Deep down, it seems like you’re a good person, Marco.”
There’s a tightness in my throat that hits as I process her words. It has nothing to do with the smoothie. I have to take a second before I speak.
“You’re seeing me in a little different light. I was pretty terrible. Morgan got a front-row seat to a lot of that behavior.”
It’s weird admitting that to her grandma. But Nina’s so warm and kind, so welcoming and supportive, that I can’t help but be open and honest. I can tell she’s not going to scold or judge me.
“For a long time I only cared about myself,” I say. “I hurt a lot of people.”
She leans forward slightly. “I’ll let you in on a little secret: if you’re lucky enough to make it to my age, it’s a guarantee that you’ve hurt some people along the way. Doesn’t mean it’s right or okay. Just means that you’re human. The important thing is that you don’t stay that way forever.”
I nod along, impressed at how simply she puts it.
She stands up. I stand up too, but she motions me back to my seat.
“Goodness, I’m just getting a glass of water. Here, you can watch how safe I’ll be.”
She slips to the sink and fills a glass, then walks back over.
“I should take a photo. For Morgan.” I start to aim my phone at her, but she waves her hand.
“Oh for god’s sake, not another photo. You’ve taken one of me almost every day since you’ve been here. I feel like a hostage in a proof of life video.”
I chuckle at her phrasing. “I want to show her you’re okay.”
She gestures for me to come next to her. “If you insist on taking a photo, you’re going to be in it, too.”
I sigh and walk over, then crouch down to snap a selfie and text it to Morgan.
Her reply is immediate.
Morgan: Just had to be in today’s photo, didn’t you?
Me: It was completely against my will. She made me.
Morgan: Riiiiight
As I sit back down, I smile at the teasing tone of her messages. I’ve noticed over these few days of texting back and forth that Morgan never uses emojis. She’s straightforward and blunt. I like that.
I mention making shellfish stew for dinner, and Nina beams.
“Oh, I love shellfish. Been ages since I’ve had it. Sugar Pea’s not a fan.”
“We’ll save some leftovers for her to try when she comes back tomorrow. It’ll change her mind.”
Something about the way she says it sticks. I’m about to ask her what she means, but she speaks first.
“Would I be pushing my luck to ask for something sweet for dessert?” she asks.
An idea pops into my head. “As long as we check your insulin first and keep the portion small, that should be okay. Actually…” I search for a recipe on my phone. “There’s a recipe my grandma used to make when I was a kid. I bet we can make it diabetic-friendly. Do you like banana pudding?”
She tilts her head. “Now, how’d you know that was my favorite?”
“We’ll swing by the store later to get the stuff we need for dinner.”
Nina’s smile won’t quit by now, and it’s making me grin, too. Even outings to the grocery seem to liven her up.
She pats my arm as I pick up the dishes and head for the sink. “Your grandma must be tickled pink to have such a doting grandson.”
Just the mention of my grandma makes me freeze. “She, uh, she’s actually passed on.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Nina cover her mouth. “I’m so sorry, dear.”
“It’s okay. It happened a long time ago. I was barely twelve.” I keep my eyes focused on the cup I’m rinsing, hoping she can’t tell just how sad I am. But a second passes, and Dr. Imana’s assignment from our session lands in my brain.
I wouldn’t normally talk about my grandma. Maybe that means I should.
I look up and see Nina still looking at me, a tender expression on her face like she’s ready to listen if I want to say more.
“I miss her,” I admit. “We were close.”
She smiles softly. “What was her name?”
“Sofia.”
“Lovely. Was she as handsome as you?”
I chuckle. “I remember she showed me pictures a few times of her and my grandpa when they were younger. She was really pretty. Everyone says I have her eyes.”
The way she smiles sends warmth through my chest. “Well, if she could see you now, I’d wager she’d be pretty darn proud.”
