Mawmaw nods and pats my hand. “And he’ll continue as long as you let him.”
Swallowing hard, I ask, “How do you know? After what happened with Chad—you know that wrecked me.”
Mawmaw falls silent, her eyes going hazy, and I fear she’s retreating back into memories of the past. But then she speaks again.
“Josephine. Anyone with eyes could see Chad wasn’t right for you. You wanted a way out.”
“No—” I begin, but she pats my hand to stop me.
“Yes, dear, you did. You were living with your grandfather and me, and you wanted out. I know being raised by your grandparents always made you feel different. Then you had Abby, and you wanted to create a family of your own. Chad was your way out. Also,” she adds, a twinkle in her eye, “I might have gotten nosy a time or two. I know about the letters in that shoebox. Abby’s father is the only man who would ever be right for you. Whatever happened between you and him, well, that’s a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing.”
All these years I convinced myself I imagined it. That I made that night out to be bigger than it was. But Mawmaw saw it, too. She was able to read some letters in a shoebox and see it.
My chin starts to wobble, bitterness lacing my next words. “And my father? He left. Didn’t even stick around till I was born. He never even gave me a chance to prove I was worth raising.”
Mawmaw’s eyes soften sympathetically. “Oh, my sweet, sweet Josephine. Your mother’s choices are not a reflection on you. Surely you know this. She’s my daughter, and I love her, but we both know her taste in men leaves something to be desired. That man leaving is his loss.”
I chuckle softly and nod. But so many times throughout my life I’ve feared I inherited that same trait from my mother. That all I’ll attract is terrible, useless men.
Mawmaw squeezes my hand, bringing my eyes back to hers. “Josephine, your mother suffers. You know this, yes?”
I nod and she goes on. “Not a single one of us is capable of judging the suffering of another human being. No matter the ramifications of their suffering, whether it be poor choices or whatever they leave in their wake. What’s easy for one person might be a feat for another. Leaving you and your brother wasn’t easy for her, believe me, but she knew the two of you were better off with me. That was her act of love.”
She leans to cup my cheek, a smile on her wrinkled face. “You’re a wonderful mother to two beautiful children. A handsome man has shown up at your doorstep to sweep you off your feet. Now, stop all this tomfoolery and let yourself be swept up. Marry him and live happily ever after.”
The smile I offer my grandmother is watery, but my heart is full from this moment with her. I gather and tuck my grandmother’s words, like precious jewels, into the crevices of my heart, the place I need them most.
We chat for a few more minutes, but slowly the sundown takes hold of her mind and she drifts to the past. I am, once again, her sister Evelyn. It truly was a good day while it lasted. Tears prick my eyes at the thought. A good day is no longer a phrase I have the luxury to take for granted. Growing up, a goodday would have meant we did something special, a trip to the movies or our favorite restaurant. Slowly, I’m adjusting to the reality that now it means a day where my Mawmaw’s mind is still here with me, in the present.
Today, I’m so grateful for a good day, however short it lasted, because I know a time will come when this is a rarity.
When I go to hug her, I hold on tight and keep my arms around her a little bit longer. Advice from my Mawmaw is exactly what I needed, and I consider it a gift that I had this window of time with her today. She has always been my touchstone who grounded me to reality, and with her mind leaving like sands through an hourglass, I’ve felt bereft. She’s slowly becoming less and less the woman who raised me, and a day will come when she’s gone completely.
On the short drive home, I’m struck by the realization that time is fleeting. It’s the one commodity there’s not enough of and I can’t get back. So what do I want to do with the time I’m gifted? I want to make memories with my Mawmaw while I still can, I want to be fully present in the moment with my children, and I want to love wholeheartedly. I want to fall in love with Tyler and be loved in return.
My grandmother’s words repeat on a loop in my head.“Abby’s father is the only man who would ever be right for you. Whatever happened between you and him, well, that’s a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing.”
Tyler stands, waiting on the porch when I pull into my driveway, and joy at seeing him floods my senses so suddenly, I feel unsteady, dizzy with it. The first thing I notice is he’s wearing a charcoal suit and tie, his facial hair neatly trimmed. A lopsided grin plops onto my face, memorizing just how handsome he looks right now.
Tyler steps from the porch to meet me at my car, and the closer he gets, I see his brows are pinched and he’s not returning my smile.
“What’s going on? You’re all gussied up and your resting stress face is back.”
Tyler’s lip quirks, but just as quickly his jaw ticks and the frown returns. I’ve only ever seen Tyler solid and steady, but right now he is neither of those things.
“Jo, before we go inside, I need to say something.” As he speaks, he takes me by the elbow to guide me back toward the house. When we’re at the porch, I climb to the top step and he’s two below, bringing us nearly eye to eye. He draws in a slow breath. “We have to tell Abby. Today, preferably. I can’t keep doing this. It’s gutting me knowing my daughter”—he jabs a finger toward the house—“is right there and she has no idea. This isn’t fair to me or to her.”
I don’t move, rather I let his words settle over me. “But listen to me, Jo.” Tyler’s voice breaks. “I have to get this right. There’s no room for error here. I missed years of her life and that alone is enough to bring me to my knees with regret. There are no screw-ups from here on out. Please tell me how to do that.”
His words, his voice, the way it breaks, cracks my thawing heart and I reach for his arm. “Tyler,” I say gently, “there will always be mess-ups. To some extent, every parent fucks up their kids. None of us will escape this life without needing therapy. Your parents are great, but they’ve fucked you up a little.” Tyler’s eyes narrow, and I squeeze the arm my hand is resting on wanting to hug him and shake him both at the same time. “Listen to me. You want to know how to be a parent? You’re already doing it.” Then in a whisper, I repeat, “You’re already doing it.”
Tyler’s thrumming his thumb on his thigh, his tell-tale sign he’s nervous.
We stand there for a long moment, both letting the other’s words sink in. “So, how do we do this?” I finally ask.
“You mean how do we explain that night, or that, despite my absence, I’m Abby’s father?”
Before I can answer, a quiet gasp comes from the door, and Tyler and I both turn. To my great horror, Abby stands there, one hand covering her mouth, eyes brimming with tears.
