by Amy Reece
“Why, Ally. I’ve been waiting for you. And who is this charming young man?” she purred in a slightly southern accent that is totally fake. She was born and raised here in Albuquerque and we don’t have southern accents.
“Hey, Grams. This is Jack. He gave me a ride home.” I tried to take my backpack from him quickly so he could leave—preferably before she got her devious hooks into him.
“Hello, ma’am. I’m Jack Ruiz. Ally and I go to school together.” He had apparently saved up all the charm he had been keeping in and decided to let it loose today, judging by the disarming smile he gave her as he took the limp hand she proffered. “She wasn’t feeling very—” he stopped as he saw the hopefully very slight shake of my head. “Um…very much like taking the bus. And I was going this way…so it was no problem,” he finished rather lamely.
Too late. She hadn’t missed the gist of his first statement. “You’re not feeling well, Ally? Oh dear. Well, I’m sure you what you need is a nice cup of tea. Won’t you join us, Jack?” She was already pulling him toward the door.
“No, Jack doesn’t want tea, Grams. His sister is in the car. He has to go.” I tried to spare him, but his little sister had sneakily slipped out of her car seat and the car and now insinuated herself into our conversation.
“I like tea,” she implored my grandmother, with huge, brown puppy-dog eyes. “I’m Megan. Jack’s my big brother.” She was so cute, and obviously a gifted manipulator.
“Well, hello,” my grandmother purred victoriously. “Of course you do. Let’s go inside and have tea and cookies and get to know each other.” She took Megan by the hand and led her inside.
“I am so incredibly sorry about this,” I apologized.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Your grandmother seems really sweet.” He held the door open for me and we followed the other two inside.
“She’s anything but sweet,” I cautioned him as we entered. He flashed me a strange look, but really, he had no idea what he was getting into. Grams and Megan were already seated in the living room, with Megan on the floor beside the coffee table, which was set with all the accoutrements for tea for four, including a plate of dainty-looking cookies. I really hope you’re asking yourself how she knew to prepare for this supposedly impromptu tea party. I absolutely guarantee that she doesn’t make a habit of greeting me and my friends with afternoon tea.
She poured a cup of tea for Jack and asked, “Do you take sugar? Cream or lemon?” Oh my God, it was like a twisted scene from Downton Abbey.
Jack shot me a slightly panicked look and addressed my grandmother, saying, “Uh, just some sugar. Uh, please.” Megan was happily slurping away at her tea and munching messily on a cookie, blissfully unaware of the awkwardness Jack and I were experiencing.
Grams directed an indulgent smile her way before her eagle eye zeroed in on Jack. “So, tell me about yourself, Jack. Where does your family come from?”
Seriously, Grams? This is Albuquerque in 2013, not Atlanta in 1912.
“Well, um,” he stammered. “I, uh, moved here this summer from Taos. My sister and I live with my aunt and uncle.” There was a world of questions left unanswered, but I silently begged her not to probe. It was absolutely not our business why he lived with an aunt and uncle instead of parents.
“That sounds nice.” She let it alone, thank goodness. At least she was showing some hint of sensitivity, rather unusual in someone usually so forthright. “So what do you like to do in your spare time?”
“Uh, well, I guess I like to work on cars. I work at my uncle’s body shop. And I go to CNM for dual credit classes. I hope to have an associate’s degree when I graduate high school.” CNM is our local community college. I was impressed that he was already taking classes there, something I hadn’t thought to do.
“That’s very admirable,” she said smugly. “I do admire your 1965 Mustang. You’ll be painting it soon, I expect? What color have you chosen?”
Well, that won him over completely, as I’m sure she meant it to. “It has to be cherry red. Is there really any other color for a ’65 Mustang? I’m hoping to have time to paint it this weekend or next.”
“Be sure to bring it by so I can see it. I used to go with a young man who drove a Mustang, although it was blue.” She was really getting her hooks into him. I wondered why? He was certainly not the kind of guy most normal grandmothers would want their granddaughters bringing home. Then again, she was not most grandmothers. She would be one to approve of a guy with tattoos, a leather jacket, and a muscle car. “It must be nice to have such a lovely car to take the young ladies out. Do you date often, Jack? Do you have a special young lady?”
“Grams!” I squeaked. “That’s none of your business!” All right, so I really wanted to know too, but I like to think I would have been subtler about finding out. “Leave him alone, please.” I gave her The Look over the rim of my teacup. I noticed Jack looking back and forth between the two of us, but I couldn’t quite tell if he was amused or horrified.
“Oh, I’m sure he doesn’t mind, dear. Do you, Jack?” Nobody can really resist her when she turns on her full quota of charm.
“Um, no, I, uh, guess not,” Jack stuttered.
“Well? It wasn’t a difficult question, Jack. Do you have a girlfriend or not?” Grams was like a pit bull with a rabbit in its teeth.
“No, ma’am. I don’t have a girlfriend.” It looked like he might be blushing under his dark complexion. I shook my head. Megan giggled.
Grams was momentarily diverted, giving Jack a much-needed reprieve. “Now, Miss Megan, tell me all about yourself. What grade are you in and what is your favorite subject?”
As Megan began to chatter with some crumb spewage involved, when my cat deigned to make an appearance, winding himself around Jack’s legs and purring. Jack reached down to scratch his ears and Wicky actually jumped up into his lap. This surprised me since he’s usually not quite so friendly with strangers. What can I say? My cat and I apparently share an interest.
“Hey, Kitty.” Jack continued to rub Wicky’s ears. “So, Wickham, huh? You don’t get to be Mr. Darcy? That’s a raw deal, kitty.” Wow. How many guys his age would get a Jane Austen reference? I was totally impressed.
Grams continued to chat both Jack and Megan up until the teapot was empty and nothing remained of the cookies but a few scattered crumbs.
“Thanks for the tea, ma’am. We need to get going, though. I gotta get Megan home and I need to get to work.”
“Of course, come anytime. I so enjoyed the company. Thank you for taking such good care of my granddaughter when she wasn’t, um, feeling very well. I do enjoy a chance to use my mother’s beautiful tea set. She brought it all the way from County Mayo in Ireland when she emigrated.” She looked like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.
“Wow,” Megan breathed.
“Yeah, well, it’s been great.” I vaulted out of my seat, desperately trying to end this ridiculous encounter. “Thanks again for the ride, Jack. I really appreciate it.” I practically shooed him and his sister out the door and then followed them out to his car.
“Hey, tell your grandmother thanks again for us. She didn’t have to go to so much trouble. Jeez, I’m glad Megan didn’t break her cup. I had no idea it was so old.” He looked somewhat worried.
“She got it on eBay a few months ago. My grandmother is, uh, interesting. You can’t take her at face value. I’m so sorry you had to do that.” I gestured back at the house.
“It was no problem.” He looked carefully at me. “I liked meeting her. You don’t have to apologize. Hey, you sure you’re feeling better? You had me kind of worried at school.”
“Yeah, really. I’m fine. Don’t worry.” I was simply embarrassed at this point, but his concern was flattering.
Megan pulled at his arm. “Let’s go!” she whined.
“Uh oh. The princess is starting to get cranky,” he said but he didn’t sound bothered. He scooped her up and put her on his shoulders. “See
you tomorrow.” He bent to buckle Megan in the car seat, affording me a peek at his boxers escaping the top of his jeans. Sigh.
I marched back inside to beard the lion in her lair.
chapter two
“The truth is rarely pure and never simple.”
–Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest
“Grams! Grams!” As I expected, she was nowhere to be found. I finally tracked her down in her bedroom closet, beige dress and blonde bob wig gone, replaced by a short silk robe and her natural—with a little help from Ms. Clairol—short, spiky blonde hair. “Grams! Really? What was that all about?”
“What was what all about, sweetie?” She bustled by me with her arms full of dresses. “You’re gonna need to scootch ’cuz I’ve gotta get ready for a date.”
“Oh, you’ve got nothing I haven’t seen before.” I flopped down on her bed, determined to wait her out. “So, you’ve been going through my stuff, huh?”
“What do you think of this one? I want to look good for Roger.” She held up a red spandex sheath and waggled her eyebrows up and down. She had been systematically working her way through all the eligible men at her senior citizen center. She was only 58, but she started going to the center on her 55th birthday, saying she intended to make the most of this new chapter in her life.
I waited, my arms folded and jaw thrust forward.
She cast aside the red dress and picked up a blue floral one for my inspection, but I would not be moved. I glared. She finally threw the dress aside in frustration, sighing. “Oh Ally. I go through your things all the time. Who else is going to save you from yourself? Don’t be so fussy.” She plopped down on the bed next to me. “He’s so cute! Why haven’t you told me about him?”
“There’s nothing to tell, as you well know. Do I have any secrets from you? Ugh! I feel so violated, Grams.”
“Oh, seriously, Ally! I worry for you. And a good thing, too. You would have let that handsome boy slip through your fingers if I hadn’t had a lovely tea party set up!” She had the audacity to look hurt.
“Grams! He’s just a friend! Actually more of an acquaintance. I don’t even know him.”
“Well, you should get to know him.” More eyebrow waggling from her. “And what is this about you not feeling well? Why don’t you tell me about what happened at school? I was putting some of your laundry away when I got a strong feeling that you were upset somehow. Then I felt that you weren’t coming home alone.” She put her arm around me. I leaned into her, inhaling the faint, yet comforting scent of Chanel No. 5. Under all the craziness, she’s still my grandma.
“Oh, Grams. I think I might be going insane! I had a vision in the middle of class today that was so realistic and I almost blacked out! This wasn’t like the other things I know.” I’m ashamed to say that I started to cry a little bit.
“Sweetie, tell me everything. This is really important.” She hugged me briefly and set me away from her enough to look into my eyes. “I need to hear exactly what happened.”
“Well, I was listening to this really snotty girl plagiarize Wikipedia, and I was looking at her red belt around her super-skinny waist…”
“You do have a way with words, dear,” she interjected.
“Anyway, as I was saying…I got really hot and heard a buzzing in my ears. All of a sudden I saw, I can’t really describe how, but I saw her in her bathroom doing a bunch of pregnancy tests. They all came back positive. It’s like I was in the bathroom with her, seeing everything she saw, almost like I was her.” I clutched her arm, looking up into her face. “What does it mean? Am I going nuts?”
“Oh, that poor girl! No, sweetie, you’re not going crazy. You know the women in our family are a bit, well, different, right?” She brushed my hair back from my face.
“Well, yeah, but you and Mom don’t have weird episodes like this! You touch stuff and you know what’s going on with the people who own it. And Mom is pretty awesome at finding stuff that’s lost, but nothing like this!” The tears were back.
“Shh. Don’t cry. No, we haven’t been through anything like you described, but we each had to deal with our ‘gifts’ around the time we turned 17. That’s how it happens. It sounds like your gifts may be a bit more extreme than any that have shown up in a while, that’s all. We’ll figure it out, don’t worry.”
“That’s not all. Jack totally noticed! He said he felt the heat ‘emanating’ from me—his word, not mine—and he dragged me out of class because he thought I was going to puke! Nice, huh?”
“Hmm,” she sounded thoughtful. “It’s usually a good idea to keep these gifts in the family, but I sense that he’s very trustworthy. He’s trying to impress you,” she said with an arch look.
“Really? I didn’t think he’d ever noticed me. Oh, Grams, I’ve gotta tell you: I don’t really want this kind of gift.”
“Ally, you can’t choose these things—the gift chooses you. You have to learn to use it to the best of your abilities. You have to be willing to be used.” She was rubbing my hands between hers.
“What does it mean, Grams? Why would I get a ‘vision’ or whatever about some slutty girl who has gotten herself knocked up?”
“Ally, don’t be mean. There is sure to be a good reason for this message to come to you. There always is. You have to be ready to listen and act.”
“Sorry, but if I have to have visions, why can’t they be about something important? It’s not going to be any kind of big revelation that Veronica Albluth is pregnant. Sorry to be so blunt, but—”
“Veronica Albluth? Didn’t she used to live next door? You were playmates, weren’t you?” At my nod she continued, “I don’t know why you had that vision, sweetheart, but I have a feeling you’re going to find out. You need to be patient and wait for more. I’m going to do some research into our family and see if I can find a record of anyone else having this kind of gift. I have to admit that I’ve never heard of visions so vivid and clear,” she mused.
“Grams! I don’t want this! I’m already a freak! I don’t need any more attention at school.”
“Well, whining won’t help any.” And she was back. “Now scoot so I can get ready for my date! Your mom has a date too, so I’m afraid you’re on your own tonight. Don’t wait up.” She waggled those dang eyebrows yet again. Gross. I didn’t even want to think about it.
“That’s okay. Tara’s coming over later when she gets done with orchestra practice.” I referred to my best friend who was a fantastic oboe player, which unfortunately meant that she had a lot of late afternoon band and orchestra practices.
***
Tara showed up late, at about 7:30, but bearing a peace offering of my favorite Thai Curry Noodle Bowl with tofu so I readily forgave her. Sitting on my bed, shoveling noodles in my mouth, I related the events of the afternoon.
“Ugh! Stupid oboe! I miss all the good stuff. You really got a ride home with Jack Ruiz? And your grandmother invited him in for tea? That is so awesome! He’s kinda hot, don’t you think? What was he like?” She flipped her long, blonde hair behind her shoulder and plucked a tofu chunk out of my bowl, making a face as she chewed. “How can you eat this crap?”
“Did you miss the part about the freaky vision I had in the middle of class?” I was incredulous.
“I heard that part—but the part about the hot guy is more interesting. I’ve known you were a complete freak for some time now, so the weird vision really comes as no huge surprise.” She dodged my half-hearted attempt to throw my stuffed dog at her, and then got intense for a brief moment, grabbing my foot. “Seriously, are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine. It was pretty freaky, but Jack was really nice about getting me out of the classroom.” I looked at her from under my eyelashes. “He is pretty hot, huh?” We both dissolved into a fit of girlish giggles. “Oh, Tara! He was sooo nice! He insisted on giving me a ride home and we stopped to pick up his little sister and she’s so cute!” I finally ran out of breath and shoved more noodles in my mouth to f
orestall any more gushing.
“So, what was he like? What did you guys talk about? How old is he?” she prodded.
“Well, we didn’t talk about anything important; just small talk. My grandmother got more info out of him than I did. He moved here this summer from Taos and lives with his aunt and uncle. He doesn’t have a girlfriend. I don’t know how old he is, but doesn’t he seem older than the rest of us juniors?”
“Yeah, he does,” she agreed. “You’ve heard the rumors about him, haven’t you? Word on the street is that he has a mysterious criminal past.”
“Word on the street? Seriously, Ice-T? But yeah, I’ve heard the rumors. I’m having a hard time reconciling the really nice, polite guy that took me home and had tea with Grams with a hardened criminal.”
“So, did he ask you out or anything?”
“No, it wasn’t really like that. I don’t think he like likes me. Ick—that sounded so middle school boy-crazy, huh?”
“A little bit, but I think you can be forgiven this once, since you’ve never been boy-crazy. You’ve always left that to me.” She patted my foot in comfort.
We continued to dissect my afternoon experience until she had to go home without coming to any sort of conclusion. I needed Tara’s perspective on what I was going through. I know Grams said to keep it in the family, but Tara is family. I can’t keep anything from her. We’ve been best friends since 6th grade, when we joined band together. We both played the flute, but she was clearly talented and was switched to oboe and given private lessons whereas I was so clearly not talented and made my way steadily farther down the flute section until I opted out of band in high school and shoved my flute to the back of my closet. She knows all about our family “curse” and has patiently listened to me complain through the years about Grams constantly going through my stuff when I’m not home—sometimes even when I am home! I’ve kept her apprised of my previous episodes of—what should I call them—ESP? Yikes, I don’t know what to consider them—I just sometimes can tell when what a person is saying or showing is not the whole truth. Yep, I’m a real Deanna Troi. That’s a Star Trek Next Generation reference for the non-nerdy. Up until earlier today, though, I’ve never seen what the truth actually is. Knowing, seeing that Veronica is pregnant is really creepy. Why should it be any of my business? I don’t know her at all anymore, except by reputation—which is not great. She has constantly had a boyfriend since middle school; she doesn’t seem to be able to function without a guy hanging on her, and I’ve witnessed her and her flavor-of-the-month playing tonsil hockey in front of her locker more times than I care to. Gross. So not classy.
