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I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that it was always in the back of my mind that at any time he could turn the tables and decide to get rid of me. Not that there was anything to suggest that would happen, but I guess once you’ve been burned, it’s hard to go near the fire.
“Well, if you ever need to talk…”
She squeezes my arm and then rushes out, closing the door behind her. I didn’t tell Mom about the ring. I didn’t tell anyone. Maybe because I wasn’t sure it would work out.
Grammy crosses her arms over her chest and glares at me. “What the hell are you chuckling about?” she snaps. “You think it’s funny that I’m being locked up against my will and deprived of my basic need?”
Since when is paying a bellboy for sex is a basic need?
Oh God. I cringe, cursing my visual mind.
“Well, Liam?”
At least she knows who I am today. It makes asking her this a whole lot easier.
“Yes, you better call the United Nations,” I agree, putting on a grave expression. “Being held in five-star luxury so your loving family can celebrate your birthday is definitely a violation of your human rights.”
“Oh, so you’re a comedian now, are you?” she snaps. “Well, try this on for size: you’re about as funny as the fungal infection in my toe.”
Toe. Thank fucking God she said toe. I rub my head and laugh.
And this is Grammy on a good day.
She moved into the nursing home nearly a year ago, after accepting that it was too much work for Mom to look after her. But at ninety-eight she is still going strong, but still hard work. The good days are few and far between. She’ll go days where she won’t communicate at all, like she’s shut herself off from the world, but then she’ll have moments like this, where you’d think there was nothing wrong with her at all.
I grab a chair and place it next to hers. She doesn’t look up, because she’s too busy sulking at the television. The two months since I saw her last feel like too long. I drove the ten-hour round trip to watch her stare at a wall for the whole two days we were there.
“How are you, Grammy?” I ask.
“How am I? Sick of watching television, that’s how I am,” she growls. “It’s all I’ve done since we got here.”
“You only got here about an hour ago,” I protest.
“Well it feels like days.” She glares at me. “Whose side are you on, anyway?”
I sigh. “Cheer up, Grammy. It’s your birthday, remember?” I give her a smile and try to change the direction of the conversation. “You must be looking forward to seeing everyone.”
“Birthday my ass,” Grammy snaps. “I think you mean wake. The only reason everyone is coming is because they’re pretty confident I won’t make it to the next one.”
There may be some truth in what she’s saying, but I don’t admit it.
“That’s not true—”
“Oh, bullshit. Tell me this then: was your plane ticket refundable?”
I’m sure the look at on my face says it all.
She nods. “Thought so.”
I sigh, because there’s no point in trying to reason with her. In fact, I’m starting to question whether I should even bother asking her what I came in here to ask.
“So, are you here for a reason or just to annoy me?” she snaps.
Yep. Now is not a good time to ask, but the problem is, I need it for tonight.
“I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“And what’s that?” she snaps. “If you’re going to tell me that you’re here alone because you broke up with that girl—”
“No.” I grin. “We’re still together, and her name is Becca.”
“Well,” Grammy sniffs. “You better not have knocked her up, either.”
There might be some truth in that, too.
“Nothing like that,” I assure her.
“Well, I’m going to die from suspense if you don’t spit it out soon.”
“I’m going to propose to her.”
Her eyes widen. Is that a smile I see? No, probably just gas.
“What? When?” she asks.
“Tonight,” I say. “I thought while everyone is here—”
“You’re going to crash my birthday? The one I’ve been looking forward to all year?”
“You just said it might as well be a wake,” I remind her. “And your birthday is tomorrow. I’m hoping you’ll come down to the bar later, so you can see me propose.”
“You want to give her my ring, don’t you?” Grammy asks.
“Yes,” I say honestly. “I do.”
Grammy said to me a long time ago that her engagement ring was mine, so long as the girl felt right. Both Mom and Aunt Jacquie knew and were happy with it, because they knew it was what Grammy wanted.
For the first time that I can remember in my life, Grammy doesn’t have a comeback. She stares down at her ring and spins it around in circles because it’s too big for her frail, bony fingers. Then she slides it off into her palm and hands it to me. My heart races when it slips into my palm. I examine it closely. It’s still warm, and so full of history and love. And I’m about to continue that cycle of love.
