by Hazel James
“Seeing you run through the door looking for me.”
He laughed again. “Yeah, I guess I did sort of bust in there, didn’t I?”
“You stormed in like a caveman ready to defend me. It was sweet.”
“I felt like a caveman. The thought of something happening to you…” His smile vanished as he stared into the air above my shoulder. “It scared the shit out of me, Tuesday. And that brings me to the last thing I need to tell you.” He framed my face in his hands as he locked eyes with me. “I’m following you home. I already lost about ten years off my life tonight. I can’t afford any more heart attacks.”
“I’m not going straight home. I have to drop off Selena and Aunt Alma first.”
“I’ll follow you wherever you need to go, and then I’ll follow you home. My anxiety will be bad enough this winter knowing you drive to work at midnight. Let me make sure you’re safe tonight.”
This was it. Right here in the dimly lit parking lot of the Liquor Locker. Years later, when our children were old enough to listen to our story, I’d tell them about the night Aunt Alma almost had her purse stolen and I realized I was in love with their dad.
Because I was. So utterly, hopelessly in love.
I sucked in a breath of cold air and nodded. “Okay.”
Jack
Should the drapes match the carpet? As soon as that question floated through my brain, a high-definition image of Tuesday’s carpet immediately followed. She kept hers trimmed in a thin landing strip, so I guess it was more like a small entryway rug than an actual carpet—and for the record, it was a few shades darker than her drapes. Thanks to my overactive imagination, I now had a raging hard-on, which made me look like a creeper who really loved window treatments. Fuck.
Dragging a hand through my hair, I forced myself to focus on the issue at hand. Drapes… curtains… whatever they were called. Should I add them? I consulted the drawing in my notebook and mentally included a set on the window at the top of the stairs. It would be cute, but I didn’t want Taylor to think she could scratch those ones up and, in turn, do the same to the rest of the curtains in Tuesday’s apartment.
“There you are.” Grandpa said from behind me. He dropped a package of drill bits in the cart and followed my gaze to the displays of fabric I was standing in front of. “I thought you came here for wood.”
“I did.” And apparently that included the kind in my pants, too. “I’m debating whether to make a little window seat for Taylor with some curtains she can hide behind.” I pointed to my drawing to show him where I was talking about.
Grandpa’s eyes bounced between the notebook and my face. “I know you said it was a cat condo, but you realize they aren’t actually condos, right?”
“Of course. I just want her to have options.” More options meant more places for her to hang out while Tuesday and I were—ahem—enjoying each other’s company. No more accidental threesomes.
“Well from the looks of this, it’s going to take up half of her living room.”
Hmm. He had a point. “You think I should scale back a little?”
“All I’m saying is your mockup has a porcelain sink.”
“Duh, that’s the best part. I have it on good authority that cats love sinks, and there are a few on clearance that I want to check out.”
Grandpa studied me for a moment before cracking a smile. “Then by all means, lead the way.”
“So how did it go last night?” I asked, steering the cart to the lumber section. After being a widower for the last decade, he’d recently started dabbling in the dating scene. Nothing serious yet, just a few casual dinners with friends of friends, but I was proud of him for getting back out there.
“Last night was… underwhelming.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his well-worn jeans. “I might be seventy-four, but shuffleboard? Really? What’s next, prune smoothies and his-and-hers denture cups? I still have my teeth, dammit!”
I shouldn’t have laughed, but I did. Grandpa was one of the most active old people I’d ever known. Case in point—despite his age, he could still line dance with the best of ‘em and crank out custom pieces of furniture in his shop. When he wasn’t working, he was fishing or whittling or helping his favorite grandson make a wooden masterpiece for a cat. “Sounds like you need someone feisty enough to keep up with you.”
He sighed and stared at a stack of pine two-by-fours, his hands automatically lifting the end of a board and peering down its length to make sure it wasn’t warped. “Maybe I should give up. I’ve been fine on my own for this long. What’s another ten or fifteen years before I kick the bucket?”
“Come on, you can’t throw in the towel yet. You’ve only gone out with a few people.”
“A few people too many if you ask me. I never should’ve let your mother talk me into this nonsense.”
We always joked that Mom could sell a fan to an Eskimo, so I knew when she first mentioned setting up an online dating profile for Grandpa that it would only be a matter of time before he caved. Everyone deserved companionship no matter how old they were. What he needed now was a reason to keep his mind open. Remembering what Tuesday said when we finally made it back to her place last night, I pulled out my phone and fired off a text to her.
Me: Are you still shopping this afternoon?
Tuesday: Yep. We’re on our way to the mall now. Aunt Alma’s driving and Mrs. Fairchild is regaling us with stories about her days as a train engineer.
Me: Wow. Who knew?
Tuesday: Right? Anyway, what’s up?
Me: Remember your idea to help Mrs. Fairchild find someone so she’s not alone?
Tuesday: Yeah
Me: I have a plan.
My phone rang as I drilled the second of four screws into the platform of the first tower on the cat condo. “Can you grab that, Grandpa?”
He set down his staple gun and crossed into the kitchen. “Ooh, it’s your giiirlfriend,” he teased, waving the screen at me.
I laughed and rolled my eyes. “Just answer it, old man.”
“Jack’s phone, Grandpa speaking. Sure, one second.” He held the phone away from his mouth and said, “She wants to know if you can come over and help her with something. She says it won’t take long.”
“Tell her I’ll be there in a few.”
Once he relayed the message, he went back to his workspace, also known as my dining room table, and I finished attaching the platform to the vertical stand. “Hey, why don’t you come over with me? I’m sure Tuesday would love to say hello again since you didn’t get much time to talk on Thanksgiving. And you can get an idea of where I think her cat condo would go in the living room.”
The plan Tuesday and I hatched earlier at the home improvement store was relatively simple. She’d invite Aunt Alma and Mrs. Fairchild over for dinner after their afternoon of shopping and would call me for help to get us over there. Then she’d invite us to stay for dinner, and Grandpa and Mrs. Fairchild would fall in love and live happily ever after.
Okay, it wasn’t an exact plan, but we were relatively confident.
Tuesday opened her front door immediately after I knocked. “Hey! Thanks for coming over on such short notice.”
“I’m always happy to help.” I kissed her on the cheek and handed her the pink poinsettia I’d picked up. I thought of her immediately when I saw it and knew it would fit in perfectly with her holiday décor. If my mom were here, she’d go apeshit over Tuesday’s knack for decorating her home. Her tree was a masterpiece of pink, silver, and white bulbs. Jars of matching ornaments and tiny white lights accented the coffee table. The only thing that bothered me were the two stockings—one for her and one for Taylor—that hung from the mantel of her electric fireplace. If I had anything to say about it, by next Christmas we’d be in our own home with a real fireplace and three stockings on the mantel. But I digress. Back to tonight’s goal. “Tuesday, you remember Grandpa, right?”
“Of course! It’s great to see you again. This actually
works out well, because we’re looking for a man’s opinion.”
“On what?”
We purposely kept this part of the plan vague so it was more believable. I had no idea what she needed.
“So Aunt Alma invited Mrs. Fairchild to her annual Christmas party next weekend. Today we went shopping to find an outfit for her to wear. She thinks it’s too sparkly and wants to return it tomorrow, but Aunt Alma and I think she looks fabulous.”
“I already told you, red isn’t my color. I look like a holiday disco ball,” Mrs. Fairchild shouted back from the bathroom.
“Pipe down and get your marvelous butt out here, Elaine,” Aunt Alma countered.
Grandpa leaned in and whispered, “Holy shit, is that Alma Weiler?”
I nodded, and Tuesday and I both laughed at the way his eyebrows climbed his forehead. I might’ve forgotten to tell him about her famous relative, but honestly, I forget she’s a star myself. After meeting her on Halloween and having my own version of what Tuesday called a fangirl moment, Alma was just Tuesday’s aunt—and an awesome one at that. I hoped to be as full of life as she is when I’m her age.
Tuesday gestured to the dining room table and said, “Mr. Price, this is my great aunt Alma.”
He closed the distance and shook her hand. “Harold. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Then Tuesday raised her voice to add, “And the woman taking nineteen years to come out of the bathroom is my neighbor, Elaine Fairchild.”
“Fine, fine,” she muttered as she plodded down the hallway in a red, shimmery, floor-length dress. “Are you happy now?”
“You look incredible,” I said with a reassuring smile. “Isn’t that right, Grandpa?”
When he didn’t respond, I glanced over and saw him staring at Mrs. Fairchild in wide-eyed wonder. My first thought—that we were witnessing a case of love at first sight—died the second I saw Mrs. Fairchild’s murderous glare.
“You.”
“I take it you two already know each other?” I asked, waving my finger in the space between them.
“Regretfully,” she said. “Why don’t you tell everyone how you know me, Harold?”
Gripping the back of his neck, Grandpa cleared his throat. “She was Elaine Schmotzer back then. She and I—”
“We went steady our entire senior year! I baked cookies for him every week and he even sat with my family during Sunday church. Everyone thought we would walk down the aisle as soon as we collected our high school diplomas because he was shipping out to the Air Force that summer. Why don’t you tell them what actually happened, Harold?”
She said his name like it was a curse word. My balls shriveled in sympathy.
“Well, I—”
“He asked me to the prom and then dumped me!” Mrs. Fairchild flung her arms out and let them fall to her sides with a dramatic slap. “My dad worked extra shifts to buy the most beautiful fabric I’d ever laid eyes on, and my mother spent twenty-seven hours sewing it for me. That’s longer than she labored the day I was born. And then the day before the dance, he decided to take Betty Ann Dibbler, who had a vagina the size of a hippo’s yawn. Did you have fun throwing your hot dog down her hallway that night, Harold?”
“I didn’t—”
“Save it for St. Peter and the Pearly Gates, you no-good floozy-doer!” With that, Mrs. Fairchild spun on her heel and stomped back to the bathroom, slamming the door.
The room was dead silent until Aunt Alma burst into laughter. “Harold, I don’t know what you’re doing next Saturday evening, but I sincerely hope you’ll come to my Christmas party.”
Tuesday slowly shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea, Aunt Alma. You saw what just happened.”
“Are you kidding? I spent two decades working on a soap opera. This is the best idea I’ve had all year.”
Alma Weiler didn’t own a house, she owned a compound. It was the only way to describe the ornate gate, winding driveway, sprawling farmhouse, and nearby outbuildings. The whole place was decked out in enough Christmas lights and lawn ornaments that I was positive she had her own segment of the Greater Boise power grid. Even the barn had enough wattage to be seen from miles away.
“Good evening, Mr. Price and Mr. Price,” a man at the valet stand said as Grandpa and I got out of his car.
Grandpa raised his brows. “How do you know our names?”
The man smiled. “It’s my job to know who the VIPs are.” He ripped a paper tag from a book and held out his hand for Grandpa’s keys. “When you’re ready to leave, give this receipt to one of our team members and we’ll pull your car around for you. If you’d like to have us warm it up, give us about five minutes’ notice.”
We nodded and thanked the man, then made our way to the front door. After how upset Mrs. Fairchild got last weekend, Grandpa and I went back to my apartment instead of staying at Tuesday’s for dinner. But before we left, Aunt Alma made us all promise not to tell Mrs. Fairchild about Grandpa going to the party. “It’s always better to ask for an apology than permission,” she’d said. Maybe that’s why I felt like I was smuggling in contraband as I knocked.
Almost immediately, the door opened. A grinning butler in a Santa hat greeted us by name. He took our unwrapped children’s gifts—the one requirement for attending Alma Weiler’s Christmas party—and placed them on a long rustic table beside us. Tuesday said they were for the children’s hospital in Boise. “Miss Collins and Mrs. Weiler are in the main living room. Mrs. Fairchild hasn’t arrived yet. Hors d’oeuvres and champagne are being served now, and there’s a bar set up along the far side of the living room if you’d like something a little stronger.”
“Thank you…”
“Jeffrey.”
“Jeffrey,” I repeated. “I guess it’s your job to know who the VIPs are, too?”
“It’s my job to know everything,” he replied with an easy smile. “Heads up, there are about a dozen sprigs of mistletoe hanging throughout the house and a few in the barn if either of you feel like taking a walk with anyone special.” As soon as he said that, someone knocked on the front door. We stepped to the side as he greeted the young family—by name of course—and told the boy who looked to be around six years old where he could find Santa.
His eyes turned to saucers. “He’s here? Mom and Dad weren’t lying?”
“Definitely not. I personally welcomed him earlier today.”
The boy took off toward the back of the house among calls from his parents to slow down and wait for them. Laughing, Jeffrey quickly collected their presents and waved them off just as another knock came.
I tipped my head in the direction of the living room. “Come on, Gramps, let’s go see where Tuesday is.” I hadn’t seen her all day because she’d been here helping her Aunt Alma set up. She texted me a few pictures throughout the afternoon to get my opinion or show me something she’d whipped up, but even without that it was easy to see her influence on the décor. The house looked as festive and inviting as Tuesday’s apartment, except on a much larger scale. If her dream of being a reporter didn’t work out, she could always land a job doing set design, that was for damn sure.
After scanning the living room—which was as big as my entire apartment—I found her in a lively conversation with a small group I didn’t know. She was wearing a strapless pink dress with a heart-shaped neckline and her hair was pulled up, showcasing the delicate lines of her neck and collarbones. It reminded me of the night she cooked dinner in exchange for me helping her with the intro to her sign language blog post. The only difference was now I was allowed to kiss every inch of that skin—and God willing, I would be later tonight.
“You gonna go over there, or are you going to keep staring at her like a creeper?” Grandpa teased.
“I don’t want to interrupt her. Besides, it’s not often that I get to sit back and watch her. I’ll enjoy the view for a little while longer.” I accepted two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter and passed one to Grandpa. “While I st
are at my girlfriend, how about you finally tell me the story of you and Mrs. Fairchild.”
He didn’t volunteer any information after we left Tuesday’s last weekend. Instead, we went back to my place and worked in relative silence. It was ironic, really. I couldn’t count how many times I’d participated in “wood therapy” as I was growing up, except I was always the one processing my thoughts and feelings.
Grandpa peered into his glass for several seconds before downing half its contents. “Simply put, I got scared. I always knew Elaine was a forever type of girl. Back in those days, it was much more common to get married young and I was okay with that initially. I could picture marrying her, starting a family, growing old… But as we got closer to graduation and me shipping out to basic training, I started worrying about how I was supposed to support her financially and if she’d be okay moving away from home. Elaine was an only child and she was very close with her parents. What would happen if she hated wherever Uncle Sam sent us? Would she resent me for taking her away from Idaho and her family? Would they resent me for stealing their daughter?”
“What did she say when you talked to her about it?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, and for the first time in my life, I saw shame on my grandfather’s face. “I didn’t.”
“So instead, you broke things off with her and invited a woman of questionable social morals to the formal dance.”
“I know, I know, it wasn’t my finest moment. I didn’t sleep with her, though. Not that Elaine will believe me when I tell her that.”
“And how do you plan on getting her to listen to you?”
“With a little help from a Christmas elf.” He tipped his chin toward Aunt Alma, who, like her butler, was wearing a Santa hat. “I’ll be right back.”
With Grandpa on a mission, I finally made my way over to Tuesday. Her face lit up when she saw me, and if that didn’t make me feel like a million fucking bucks, the way she bragged to her cousins and their spouses did.
“You should’ve seen the turnout for trunk-or-treating.”
