I didn’t respond and instead reached into my bra and pulled out my car key, all while Batman watched me, biting his bottom lip as if he were trying to keep something to himself.
“It’s been a pleasure, Poison Ivy,” he finally said.
I found myself nodding in response. “Agreed, Batman.”
I unlocked my jeep and hopped inside, the drive home feeling better than I had in my entire life, yet somehow even more confused than when I’d arrived.
8
BALL OF STRESS
Ember
Siftingthrough boxes for a school project wasn’t how I wanted to spend my Saturday morning, but what was a girl to do? My History teacher said we had to write about a family member we’d never met. That sounded stupid, but when you were in the eighth grade, what else were you supposed to do but listen to what you were told?
I couldn’t tell my teacher to bite me because this project was lame, so here I was, digging through boxes.
Technically, I had met my Grandma, but she died when I was like two, so did it count? I was going with no, it didn’t count.
“What are ya doing up here, doll?” Grandpa Joe asked from the doorway. I couldn’t help but jump when he announced himself. For an old man, he sure was stealthy.
I turned and smiled. “I’m digging through boxes trying to find some stuff that belonged to Grandma for a school project.”
His eyes widened for a moment, and he nodded. “Well, what is the project for?”
I set the couple of photographs I’d found of her and Dad down so I could fully turn to talk to him. Grandpa Joe valued eye contact and people who got straight to the point. I’d spent a lot of time with him over the years, and I was starting to notice small habits I’d picked up—such as the eye contact and never beating around the bush, as he said.
Sitting on the dusty attic floor instead of asking for his help was probably also one of them. The stubbornness in this family was intense, I’d been told.
“We have to write an essay about a family member we have never met. The idea is to interview those close to them, find old stuff they owned, and compose a paper on what they were like, hobbies, their job, and whatever else we may find interesting.”
Grandpa smiled. “Is that the assignment word-for-word, Ember Rae?”
I nodded. It was, and I tried not to roll my eyes at the fact that he found me so predictable.
“Come on, doll,” he said as he started back down the stairs.
I grabbed the photos I’d found and sprinted after him. “Do you have stuff not in the attic?” I asked as he led me to his room.
Grandma had been gone a long time, so I assumed Grandpa had packed everything up already and tucked it away. When I’d asked Mom about the project, she told me it wasn’t normal to keep dead people’s things.
It was rare that I went into Grandpa’s room, but as he pushed open the door and wandered over to his wardrobe, I looked around. It was still decorated the way it had been with Grandma was alive. He said he saw no reason to change it—her taste was exquisite. A deep part of me hoped I’d find a guy to love me that much.
To see no reason to change anything about our lives together, because everything we built side by side was already perfect theway it was. To hold onto some of my stuff just to keep me close when I was gone.
Grandpa opened his wardrobe and dug around the back before pulling out a small wooden box; tiny bees, flowers, and birds were carved around the piece, and it looked old. Way older than anything I’d found in the attic.
“What’s that?” I asked, curiosity clawing at the inside of my mind.
He chuckled as he sat on the edge of my bed. “Come sit, Doll.” I plopped on the bed next to him, my hands sitting in my lap, fingers intertwined as I waited somewhat patiently for some information. “This was your grandmother’s recipe box. It has all her favorite recipes she’s made over the years, and even some she was given from her family. If you dig through, some of the recipes have little pieces of her.”
I stared up at my grandfather’s face—he looked so much more emotional than I’d ever seen him. My eyes dropped down to the box he was clutching in his palms.
“So, um, Grandpa?” I asked.
“Yeah, doll?”he returned, though his eyes didn’t leave the box.
“The project isn’t due for another week. Do you think we could go through the recipes together? Maybe we could make a couple? It would really help me get a better idea of who she was, and you’re the best person to sous-chef for me.”
