And I hoped that when Blane tipped his head back and looked up the at the imposing presence of the Freedom Tower, his dad knew that Blane had done a remarkable job of picking up right where he left off, fighting for everything that magnificent building represented.
Freedom. Liberty. Life.
Love in the face of hate.
WHEN WE WALKED BACK INTO the house after being gone all day, the place was absolutely buzzing.
As tentative as I’d been to leave the house now, right in the middle of everything I’d hoped would never happen, I’d done it for Blane. And it was hard to find any regret in that.
My mom and dad zigzagged across the kitchen working together to do God knows what as Gram sat comfortably in the living room watching a marathon of Soap Operas.
It seemed that as the time with all of her craziness neared the end, my mom realized that maybe Gram should be allowed to cause a little bit of drama.
“Oh yeah!” she yelled out, her enthusiasm as obvious as her failing health. “Slap that bitch.”
I laughed a glance at Blane as he settled his hands onto my hips from behind, his smile hard to miss.
Thankfully, the last week with Gram had been good. She fell more ill every day, the fact that she told me at the last possible second undeniable. But her thoughts seemed to be her own, and she still recognized each of us individually and together as her family. She joked, teased, and laughed often even as I watched the brightness of her light fade slowly out of her eyes.
I went straight to her, pulling Blane along with me, and sat down on the couch next to her, not hesitating to snuggle my body into hers. Blane dropped into the chair across from us, his body facing us rather than the TV. Apparently, he knew where to find the real show.
“Catch me up,” I instructed as I tucked my knees deep into my chest, eager to find out how the whole Patrick, Robin, Sam love triangle was going to play out on General Hospital.
So far I knew that Sam and Patrick had joined forces when Patrick thought Robin (Patrick’s wife) was dead. Of course, she wasn’t and was instead working to restore life to a sleeping Jason (Robin’s best friend) who’d been frozen in some sort of coma in a cryogenic holding tank. Or something. Upon news of Robin’s being alive, Patrick was eager to reconnect, but Robin wasn’t able. Robin was being held captive, forced to lie to Patrick as to the nature of her whereabouts, and ineligible for release until she not only found a way to revive Jason, but also the evil Helena and Stefan Cassadine. Pushed to her last resort, Robin was forced to ask Patrick for a divorce in order to create distance and uphold her lies.
“Alexis suggested that Sam date Patrick to get over Silas. But Patrick, old buddy, withheld information from Sam about their investigation. Sam was obviously hurt, and thus the possibility of them getting in each other’s pants has been delayed. Kiki learned that Sonny and Carly slept together again, so it’s only a matter of time before she tells Franco.”
“What about Robin?”
“Still captive.”
“Wow,” I breathed, the speed with which these shows moved almost painfully slow and cyclical. I stopped watching over a decade ago, and things were basically the same as they were when I left off. Sonny and Carly had been having an on and off love affair for the past twenty-five years. Or something close to that.
As the music crescendoed into a commercial, I glanced at Blane before asking the question that was really on my mind. “How are you feeling?”
“Well, to be honest, I’m a little shocked to see that men still hook up with Carly expecting that she won’t eventually sleep with Sonny again.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”
“No shit.”
“Gram.”
“I’m comfortable,” she lied by omission.
“Gram.”
“It’s going to be soon,” she whispered with conviction.
I held her tighter, leaning more of my body to connect with more of hers.
But this time, following her and Blane’s advice, I didn’t try to stop the manifestation of my sorrow as it cascaded down my face.
IT WASN’T A FULL TWO days before I found myself doing exactly what I’d thought was a ridiculous thing to do.
I stood in my kitchen, rolling little crescent roll bikinis and burkas around mini hotdogs while my mom kept my grandmother company in the bedroom, a hole nearly chewed clear through my lip.
Gram was determined that today would be her last, and if I had to find the positive spin of it all, it would be that she still had her spunk.
I hoped to God she had it up until the very last second.
Blane’s arms came around my waist, and his lips settled into the crook between my shoulder and neck.
Resting my weight on his body, I breathed him in.
He’d been in charge of welcoming guests for her party at the door, everyone from his mom to Roger from the shelter. Cynthia was there with her kids running around, and Tony was talking to one of the administrators from the hospital.
Thankfully, everyone had been super understanding about my extremely extended vacation from work.
This, the Passing Party, was a hell of a first outing for my new friends, but they were all being good sports, their theories about the party much the same as Blane’s.
It might be out of the ordinary, but it wasn’t morbid or creepy. It was the celebration of a long, unforgettable life.
Soft music buzzed in the background, a mix featuring the theme songs from all of Gram’s favorite Soap Operas and other easy listening that a certain tall, handsome man had made for me the night before.
“How you holding up, pretty girl?” Blane asked against my neck, his hands giving each opposite hip a squeeze, his arms crossing each other on the front of my body.
“I feel like I’m in an alternate universe,” I admitted. One where people threw parties to celebrate their death and invited not only all of their family, but their friends and acquaintances.
“Is it at least a cool place?” he teased, replacing his lips with his chin, obviously stooping down to my height to do it.
“Well, it’s not too bad. I guess it’s better than the normal way these things go. And it’s drama. Which, you’re right, is perfectly her.”
Looking at the pigs over my shoulder, he offered solicitously, “How about I throw those in the oven while you go sit with her and your mom?”
I shrugged, lifting his chin off of my shoulder as I did.
Emotion choked me. I didn’t know if I could do it.
Reaching around me he took the cookie sheet out of my hand and ordered, “Go. Your dad and I will handle everything out here. It should be the three of you in there.”
I forced a rapid and jerky nod, stepping into his chest and wrapping my arms around him before I went. His lips rested on my head, and he dropped the pigs on the counter behind me so that he could hug me back.
“Go, baby.”
I went.
It took me a full minute to talk myself into going in, standing outside of the room pacing, but as soon as I breached the opening of the door, I never even considered turning back.
Gram was nestled in the purple pillows and bedding from my teen years, something I’d used to decorate her room the day before I left for Florida. She spent enough time under those covers all those years ago that I figured it would make her feel like she was coming home.
Seeing her laying in them now took me back.
“NeeNee,” she called, noticing me for the first time and looking the worst I’d ever seen her. She patted the bed directly beside her and my mom scooted over to make room.
I lowered myself to the bed, reaching out to take Gram’s frail hand in one of mine and my mom’s in the other. My bones rolled with the pressure from my mom but I held on, being there for her when I knew she needed it.
As much as she and my Gram fought, the reason why was obvious to everyone who knew them. Two thickheaded women had spent the bulk of their years under one roof, and lik
e a well-oiled machine, they stuck to what they knew. And bickering was the easiest way to express their love.
“I love you,” Gram whispered to me, and I swallowed around the golf-ball sized lump clogging up my throat.
“I love you too.”
She nodded, her movement slow, weak, and slight, but noticeable all the same.
“So…” she started and then stopped. I rubbed my thumb along her hand, coaxing her to get it out.
“You’re gonna be pissed.”
My chin jerked in surprise.
“But the anger’ll make it easier to let me go,” she whispered, throwing her free arm over her eyes.
I rolled my own at her theatrics.
“What’d you do?” I asked, knowing that if she saved it for her death bed, it was bound to be good.
Her arm came off of her eyes, and their chocolate appeared from beneath the lids. “I sent Blane that care package. And kept the letter I got in return. Well, the letter meant for you that I got in return.”
Fuck. The letters. He’d mentioned the letters several times, but I’d been a little busy since.
Letters. Plural.
Narrowing my eyes, I interrogated, “There was just the one letter?”
Her eyes crawled away.
“Gram.”
A huffed weakly. “Okay, I sent several packages.”
“Gram!” I yelled at the same time my mom snapped, “Ma!”
“And in turn, there were several letters,” she continued as though we hadn’t yelled.
Deep breathing through the disbelief, I tried to rationalize it in my head. “Okay, I can see why you’d send the packages, at least in theory, trying to do something for me that I should have done for myself and all that.”
She nodded.
“But why on earth did you keep it up when he started sending letters back and not tell me!” I kept calm until the very end, my voice going up a full octave on the last three words.
Her eyes closed and stayed that way, avoiding the question.
“Why would she do that?” I asked my mom, her hands going up in a defensive I don’t know gesture in answer.
“Gram,” I called as I turned back to her to find her eyes still closed, her grip on my hand loosened.
“Mom,” I choked, the fear and desperation of my voice echoing in my ears. Shifting two fingers to her wrist I pushed on her pulse point and waited.
Only to come up empty.
I laughed at the same time that I cried.
Turning to my mom, her wet cheeks reflecting the overhead light, I declared, “Only she could time her death perfectly to get out of having to answer a question she didn’t want to.”
Because there was no doubt in my mind. She had planned it, and tired of her nagging, destiny had no choice but to submit.
THE TREE TOPS SWAYED IN the chilly breeze, one of the first truly cool days of the season warring with the sun as it shined down on us.
The Reverend’s speech had been heartfelt and eloquent and altogether inappropriate for a funeral for Gram.
Still, it’d been nice.
Family and friends came out in droves and found every opportunity to share some tale of antics that they’d experienced with Gram. I’d listened with a smile on my face, the amount of happiness associated with her passing completely foreign to my heart and culture.
But I laughed when something was funny. And I laughed while I cried at something sad.
Because Gram would have wanted me to.
I wanted the eulogy to be special and crafted several drafts as a way to make it just that.
But today when I’d gone up there in front of our loved ones and seen them looking back at me, I’d only been able to think of one thing.
The one thing Gram wanted more for me that anything else on the entire planet.
So I’d trashed the speech, and spoken only a few words from my heart instead.
“My grandmother was a special person. Special in the way you normally think of, and special in a lot of others.” A few chuckles drifted up from the crowd. “But above everything else, she did her best to teach me one thing. People say to live like you’re dying. She would have said to love like you are.”
When Blane smiled at me, I knew I’d said the perfect thing.
And now that the crowd had cleared, Blane and I were the only two people left, the last of my grandmother’s physical being in the ground in front of us.
He stood by my side patiently, and I knew he would do it for as long as I wanted, until I was ready to leave, no matter how long.
“Why do I always find myself standing next to you at a funeral?” I asked, my face upturned toward the sky.
He laced his long fingers with mine.
“Because, through all the loved ones we’ve lost, I’ve always loved you.”
BLANE AND I SAT TO the back of the office, my parents just in front and to the side. I’d expected that my mom knew the contents of Gram’s will, but when questioned, she’d surprised me by saying it was a mystery.
Gram had played her I’m not leaving anything to you so it’s none of your business excuse. My mom knew that she’d made changes or new provisions within the last year as she taken her to the lawyer’s office in Florida, but that was it.
Of course, Gram didn’t trust anyone she didn’t know well, so all that lawyer had been responsible for was passing along the information to her executor, Harvey, up here in New Jersey.
We listened as he spoke. “I’ve known Ellie for a long time, and just like everything else, she added a little bit of her flair into the bequeathal of her assets. Lydia, she addresses you specifically, stating that “death must have softened her, because she’s giving you every last penny.”
My mom just shook her head. And then cried. My dad’s arms wrapped her up and didn’t let go.
None of us cared about the money, and in the end, neither did Gram.
“Whitney, as far as you’re concerned, she’s left you a letter and has instructed that I’m to read it aloud. One of many attempts to not only taunt you, but me,” Harvey continued, his face warm with the genuineness of someone who knew Gram well.
“Maybe she just thought it’d be better coming from you,” my dad offered diplomatically, my mom still tucked safely under one of his long arms.
“Nope,” Harvey disagreed, pointing to the paper in his hand and turning it to face my dad as reference. “She says right here that the purpose is specifically for her own amusement even in the afterlife.”
I bit my lip, a watery smile settling into the lines of my face as I glanced at Blane. He gave me a squeeze on my lower thigh as a show of support.
“So, if you’re ready,” Harvey said, addressing me specifically, “I’ll begin.”
“Oh. Yeah,” I mumbled. “Go ahead.”
After clearing his throat, he began to read, and when he did, the words rolling off of his tongue in Gram’s rhythm and cadence, I closed my eyes and let his voice fade into hers.
Hey, NeeNee.
I know what you’re thinking.
Let’s address it.
First and foremost, you’re wishing I hadn’t called you NeeNee, but, guess what? I’m dead, and I’ll do what I want.
You’ll get over it.
“Why wouldn’t she ever let that stupid nickname go?” I asked through a small chuckle, unable to stop myself from commenting.
Blane’s hand squeezed in mine, and when I looked at him, the surprise in his eyes was obvious. “You don’t know?”
“Obviously not,” I pointed out.
“Every time you let her get away with it, she knew how much you loved her.” My head shook slightly in confusion. “Think about who you’re okay with letting tease you. It’s the ones you love the most.”
I was stupefied by the realization that he was right.
Suddenly, I gasped. “That’s what you’ve been doing all these years?” He waited for me to explain. “That stupid Elbow thing is about letting me prove how much I love
you?”
He shrugged, his cheeks puffed out in a grin.
“Why Elbow?”
I glanced briefly to the man waiting to read the rest of the letter, but he stood patient, trying to absorb his body into the bookcase behind him in order to become invisible and stay out of our conversation. My mom and dad sat unmoving in order to do the same.
“Are you sure you wanna know?” he asked, turning our clasped hands over and back and bringing my attention back to him. He didn’t notice anyone in the room but me. “The mystery’s way better then the truth.”
“Spill it,” I commanded, my heart in my throat. It’d been pushed right out of my chest by the amount of his love filling me up.
“Alright,” he grumbled on an exhale. “Just keep in mind that I was fourteen when I came up with this and a million miles shy of a nobel prize winner.”
“Blane.”
“I heard your grandmother calling you NeeNee. I knew, even though you never said it, that she was probably your favorite person on the planet. I wanted my own spot in that position. I wanted you to look at me like you looked at her.”
“With annoyance?”
His head shook. “With love.”
“So you heard her call me NeeNee—”
“And decided if she could call you a knee, I could call you Elbow,” he confirmed with an embarrassed shrug.
“God, that is stupid.”
“I know,” he laughed.
“I’ve never loved it more.”
Time and people disappeared as his lips touched mine, the walls of the room fading and turning to black as pleasure took over my vision. Not just the pleasure associated with arousal, but the feeling of being so complete that you could never believe you’d existed any other way.
When I came back from the brink, I realized the room wasn’t devoid of people, but in fact filled with my parents and a stranger.
Apologizing with an ‘I’m sorry’, I blushed. Blane didn’t. He wasn’t sorry.
Harvey cleared his throat once more and continued.
Secondly, you’re probably hating me something fierce right now. I know, hiding your letters from Blane. That is so The Notebook.
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