by Inda Herwood
“Where did you move from?” Georgina asks, sparking a line of questions the Cromwell’s are left to answer.
“What field of industry were you a part of?” my grandfather asks Mr. Cromwell a little while later, the first he’s spoken all night.
Looking surprised by the question at first, Mr. C answers, “Auto,” but doesn’t explain any further.
This naturally isn’t enough for someone as nosy as my grandfather, who lives to interrogate people until they’re left sweating under his intense stare. Sitting back in his chair, the first done with his plate, he says, “I was involved in a few automobile manufacturing operations in my day. What did you specialize in? Foreign? Domestic? Experimental?”
I feel Blaire fidget next me, her eyes darting to her father every few seconds. Her hand grows warm in mine, causing me to look at her and mouth, “What’s wrong?”
She instantly wipes off the worried look from her face and replaces it with a hesitant smile, saying under her breath, “Nothing.”
“Mainly domestic,” he says shortly.
Grandfather harrumphs, brow raised like he’s trying to remember something. “Strange. I’ve never heard the name Cromwell mentioned in the industry before. What was the name of the company you were a part of? Maybe I know your associates.”
“I never understood man’s obsession with cars,” Nana says before taking a long sip from her wine glass, saving Mr. Cromwell from having to answer. “They all have four tires and a steering wheel that get you from one place to the other. What could be so interesting about that?”
Grandfather’s wiry gray eyebrows shift upward towards his steadily receding hairline, staring at Nana with something akin to dismay. “Cars and their manufacturing are a part of what built this country, and what continues to do so today. Saying they have little importance is just ignorant.” He huffs, ruffling the hairs of his mustache that could give Tom Selleck’s a run for its money.
“Apparently you don’t listen very well. I never said they had no importance. I just said they weren’t interesting. There’s a difference,” she says, unperturbed by his insult.
The table grows silent while Grandfather’s eyes bug out, not used to being put in his place, or told when he’s wrong. In fact, I think Nana is the first person I’ve ever seen actually do it. Theodore Lyons is an intimidating guy, not just in his professional career, but as a man as well. He’s tall and well-built, even for a man in his eighties, and he’s always had a vibe of superiority that follows him around like a second shadow. And yet here’s this tiny woman who’s looking at him now like he’s a pesky little fly that won’t stop buzzing around her.
It’s hilarious.
“And what kind of work did you do, Mrs. Hawkins?” he asks, trying to regain some control of the situation. “Anything that would qualify you as an expert in the field?”
“It’s Ms. Hawkins, and I was a makeup artist for the entertainment industry. A profession a snobby blue blood like yourself looks down upon, I imagine,” she replies with a haughty expression and a snort, the mood of the table growing even more uncomfortable than before.
Blaire drops her head in her hand, a quiet moan coming from her lips.
I kiss her on the temple to conceal my smile.
“What right do you have to assume I’d look down upon anyone, Ms. Hawkins?” Grandfather asks, sounding more flustered than I can ever remember him being.
“Well let’s see,” Nana says, moving her plate aside to cross her arms, staring down her nose at him, like he’s the one she sees as inferior. “You ignored your daughter-in-law’s guests when they arrived, sulking by the window like you were too important to make small talk with lesser beings. You scowled throughout dinner like it was a professional sport, and then you questioned my son-in-law like he was an ant under your shoe. All of this allows me to come to the conclusion that you, sir, are one of the righteous elite that believes the ground he walks on is gold, and that other’s feelings hold no importance. Now, am I right? Or am I right?”
Not a single mouth at the table isn’t gaping at Delfina Hawkins when she finishes her report on my grandfather’s behavior this evening, me included. Even the Kelly’s, who don’t know my grandfather or his reputation, can tell that what just happened was not a common occurrence for him.
I think Blaire would crawl under the table and disappear if she could. That’s how upset she looks.
A few more moments of silence go by, and Nana doesn’t look remorseful about what she said in the least, continuing to glare at him without fear. It’s damn impressive if I do say so myself. Catcher and Leigha look like they would slow clap for her if it weren’t inappropriate.
“In all my life,” Grandfather begins, sounding perplexed, “I have never had someone speak to me like that.”
Nana huffs a small, unamused laugh at his expense. “I can tell. Because if you had, you might not be as insufferable as you are now.”
“Mom, that’s enough,” Mrs. Cromwell hisses at her after she comes out of her shock, her skin pale and eyes pleading.
“No, she…she’s right,” he says with a defeated sigh, making us all look at him again. “Mary always said I was too hard on people. I only got worse after she passed.” Looking at Nana, a surprising amount of regret in his blue eyes, he says, “My apologies to you and your family.”
I have never, and I mean never, heard my grandfather apologize to anyone before. Least of all look guilty about what he said to offend someone. The rarity of this moment is like seeing a unicorn. It just doesn’t happen. Ever.
“I accept your apology, Theodore. And I’m sorry about your wife. It isn’t easy losing a spouse,” Nana says, looking down at the table, the fierceness gone from her voice.
“Thank you,” he says, voice gruff, his eyes looking anywhere but at her.
***
The rest of the evening is uneventful compared to what happened at the beginning of it, the shock of it still lingering in my system as I walk along the beach with Blaire’s hand in mine, enjoying the twilight sky over the ocean.
“On one hand I’m not surprised she did that, but on the other I’m appalled. Sure, your grandfather was being a little rude by ignoring everyone, and then grilling my father, but did she really have to go full-on savage with him like that?” Blaire stares down at the sand making prints beneath her feet, teeth chewing on her bottom lip.
“I’m proud of her for what she did, even if it made things a little awkward. Grandfather has been almost impossible to deal with since Grandma died a couple years ago. He needed a strong woman to remind him what humility is,” I say in her defense. “Just like you did with me.” I bump her shoulder with a grin.
“That’s right,” she says, pretending to sound like she had forgotten. Looking up at me, she says, “You must have gotten it from your grandfather then.”
“And you got your sharp tongue from your nana.” With her hand in mine, I spin her around in a circle, making her smile. “I guess we’re more like our families than we’d like to admit.”
“Maybe.” A minute of silence passes before she asks, “Tell me what your grandmother was like,” leading us closer to the water so our ankles get splashed in the baby waves.
I tell her about Mary Lyons and what a wonderful grandmother she was, always cooking and inviting people over to share it, something that annoyed my grandfather to no end, but he put up with it because he knew what a social butterfly she was. She tells me about what she knows of her maternal grandfather whom she never got to really know, and how her father’s parents had died in a fire when he was in his early twenties.
“So it’s always been just you, your parents, and Nana.”
She nods. “I can’t imagine it being any other way.”
“But what if my plan works and we get your nana a man? She wouldn’t be living with you anymore. Would you be okay with that?”
She takes a few minutes for herself, eyes focusing on the last wisps of sunset before they fade into night. “It would be hard to get
used to, but if it made her happy, I wouldn’t stand in her way. No matter what age you are, I think everyone deserves a chance at love.”
What she said stirs up thoughts I’d rather not think about. Shaking my head with a shutter, she asks, “What is it?”
Gah. Should I tell her? “I was just imagining what eighty-year-old love looks like.”
She lightly slaps my shoulder before she starts laughing. “Why did you have to ruin such an innocent moment?” She shivers, looking grossed out. “Now you’ve got me thinking about it, too. Thanks a lot.”
“Sorry,” I chuckle. “Can I make it up to you?”
In the waning light, I can just make out her skeptical expression. “How do you plan to erase the damage you just caused? Because I don’t think that’s possible.”
“I don’t know. Maybe a piggyback ride to the house?” I offer, reminded of how it felt when she held onto me in the ocean, and wanting to experience it again. Just without the searing pain this time.
“One, that isn’t going to help the mental scar you just branded me with, and two, I don’t know if you can carry me for that long. It’s a good mile back to where we started, and your leg still isn’t in fighting shape yet,” she says, looking at the long stretch of beach we’ve already walked and then down at my blemished leg.
“Is that a challenge?” I ask, wrapping my arms around her middle, pulling her closer.
“No, just an observation. But since you’re a man, of course you would think that.” She rolls her eyes, letting her hands rest on my chest, picking at the button on my shirt. “I like this color on you.”
“Thank you.” I kiss her cheek, earning a smile in return. “So, piggyback or walk back? Your choice.”
She shrugs. “If you think you can do it, Nota, then go for it.”
“Oh, so I’m Nota now?”
“If I’m Kahlo, you’re Nota. And don’t even act like the origins of his powers have nothing to do with you.”
I bop a small kiss on her lips, saying, “Guilty as charged,” before turning around so she can jump on my back. Lacing her hands around my neck, she hops on and I grab her legs to keep her there.
“Wow,” I hear her say when I start taking us back towards the house.
“What?”
“Is this what it’s like to be tall? It’s amazing.”
I laugh at the innocence in her voice, the wonder she shares without fear, and it suddenly hits me, in this moment, feeling her hold onto me with absolute trust. I know I don’t just have a crush on Blaire Cromwell – artist, teacher, friend, beautiful soul, and the one who makes my heart beat like no one else.
I love her.
CHAPTER 18
Blaire
“I have to tell him,” I blurt out the following week at breakfast, not able to keep it in anymore. I’ve officially reached my breaking point. And over a piece of half burnt toast, no less.
Three sets of eyes stare at me, spoons held halfway to their mouths.
“Tell who what?” Dad asks, the first one to come unfrozen.
With a deep breath, I explain to them, “I don’t want to lie to Beckham anymore. I have to tell him the truth about where we lived, how we got our money – everything.” I let my toast drop from my hand and onto the plate, my appetite nonexistent until I can get a response from them.
“But why now? You’ve gone the whole summer without it bothering you,” Mom says, making the hot poker of guilt in my belly twist again.
“That was before…” I trail off, feeling my breath escape me as I discover something. Something huge and new and brought to the surface because of her simple question: a feeling I didn’t know I felt until this moment. But it shouldn’t be surprising. The petals on this flower have slowly been falling off, one by one all summer, until all that was left was the simple truth.
“You fell in love with him,” Nana says, her voice quiet, eyes thoughtful. Not nearly as upset as I thought she’d be.
“What?” Dad splutters over a bite of his Wheaties, dropping his spoon. “Love? You’re too young to be in love.”
“Herald, would you mind giving us a minute?” Mom asks him, a silent conversation passing between them before he finally stands up, grumbling as he walks away with his bowl in hand. I catch something to the effect of “I’m not ready for this stuff yet” before he vanishes up the stairs.
Turning back to me, her arms crossed on the table, Mom asks evenly, “Is it true? Do you really love him?”
For reasons I can’t define, tears start to spring up behind my eyes, and all I can do is nod.
“Oh, honey. You should be happy about this,” she says, walking over to sit in the chair next to me, wrapping her arms around me in a tight hug. I feel Nana grab my hand, giving it a comforting squeeze.
“I’m not upset because of that,” I say around my tight throat. “I just don’t want him to fall for a version of myself that isn’t real. It’s not fair to him.”
“Blaire, I’ve seen how you’ve been around him all summer, and not once did I witness you being someone other than yourself. But if you want to tell him the truth to clear your conscience, then…well, we won’t stop you,” Nana says.
I wipe my eyes of tears before they can fall, a huge weight coming off my shoulders when both her and Mom nod their heads in agreement.
“Really? You wouldn’t be mad?”
Mom shrugs. “We might have a little explaining to do with his parents, but hopefully they’ll be understanding once we tell them about our past experience.”
That only makes me think of another roadblock. “Do you think Dad will be okay with it?”
“I think so. But if not, I’ll tell him that his daughter’s happiness depends on it. That’ll shut him up,” she says with a sly smile, pushing a piece of hair behind my ear.
“Thank you,” I tell them both.
At that moment, a beeping sounds from Nana’s watch, startling Mom and I, and she turns it off with a grin. Looking at us and our matching puzzled expressions, she says, “Well, I’m glad we fixed this in time before I have to leave.” She stands up and collects her bowl, taking it to the sink without explanation.
“Mom, where would you have to go at this hour?”
Nana turns around, starting to take the curlers out of her hair when she tells her daughter, “I have a date.”
I think we both nearly fall out of our seats with that small, tiny declaration. Sounding like she’s choking, Mom asks, “W-with whom?”
“Theodore Lyons. We got to talking with each other on the porch last night, and I told him about how I was going to the farmer’s market today. He said he had never been before, and I asked if he’d like to join me.” She fluffs her hair, looking at it in the reflection of the metal fruit bowl on the counter. “Don’t expect me back until tonight. I might convince him to get dinner as well.” Smiling, she gives us a little wave before walking to the back of the house and into her room to primp.
Mom and I remain silent, blinking slowly with dazed expressions, like we just witnessed a car crash at high speed.
“Did…did she just say she’s going on a date?” Mom asks, swallowing audibly before looking at me for confirmation.
“I think so.”
“With Mr. Lyons?”
“Yeah.”
“So I’m not going crazy?”
I shake my head no, still staring after where she left.
That’s when we start laughing. It’s quiet at first, but then it turns into all-out belly laughs that make my sides hurt, stealing my breath. The house is filled with our hiccups of giggles when Nana walks past us a few minutes later, dressed to the hills, and flipping us the bird like any normal grandmother would do.
***
“You won’t believe what happened,” I tell Beckham when I call him after breakfast, sitting in my window seat, staring at him across the way. Today he’s working on his essay, so we’re not going to have much time together, but I figured a ten-minute phone call couldn’t hurt.
“What are you talking about?” he asks, sitting in his lounge chair, a laptop balancing on his legs while he watches me.
“My nana and your grandfather have a date this morning. I checked the weather reports after she left, and hell has indeed frozen over.”
“What?” He lets that sink in for a second until the shock wears away. “He said he was going out for the day, but he didn’t say where.” Smacking a hand to his forehead and keeping it there, he says under his breath, “Oh, my gosh.”
“What?”
“I could have sworn he blushed when he said it. Now I know why. He’s getting jiggy with your granny and just didn’t want to tell us.”
Ugh. “I swear, if you say the words jiggy and my grandmother in the same sentence again, I’m hanging up on you,” I inform him, letting my pencil glide across my notebook while I draw the barest of outlines; a permanent smile making my cheeks hurt. But it isn’t long before that warm and fuzzy feeling Beckham always instills in me evaporates, thinking about how I’m going to have to tell him the truth soon – and the consequences I’m most likely going to face when I do. But with finally getting the green light from Mom and Nana, I don’t have any excuses anymore not to do it. And the longer I keep it from him, the worse it’s going to be.
There’s also the matter that I love him. Talk about another big confession I don’t know how to tell him. We’ve only been together officially for a couple of weeks. I don’t know if I told him now if it’d freak him out or not. And besides, I’d rather tell him I love him after I explain the truth to him. If I do it before, I’m afraid he’ll think that, too, is a lie.
“Your Nana is getting jiggy with it,” he says with a crap-eating grin, aimed at me over the top of his laptop.
Holding the phone out from my ear for him to see, I make a big show of hanging up on him.
He throws his head back and laughs.
I stick my tongue out at him like the mature lady my grandmother taught me to be.
A few seconds later, my phone lights up with a text.
I’m ready to hear it.
I seriously think about not writing him back, but my curiosity gets the better of me.
