“No, no, they said I was...” I begin, shaking my head, unable to get those memories to mute for long enough to finish this conversation.
“My favorite person—you still are.” The wrinkles around her eyes are creased in that melancholy happiness that I always thought I was the cause of. Maybe I’ve had it all wrong. Her sadness wasn’t about a lack of love; it was a lack of power.
Grams might love me as much as I love her.
No, not might. She does.
Shedoes.
“I love you, Grams,” I say, biting back tears.
“I love you more, Mari,” she says, and I exhale, taking in the words and feeling them wrap around me as tightly as the embrace we fall into. For the first time in a long time, I know this feeling isn’t one-sided.
We stay like that for a while until Grams takes a heavy breath and pats me on the back. She goes to the kitchen for cookies because after emotional conversations, they’re a necessity. However, she gets distracted and rummages through some papers at her desk.
“Are you hiding snacks around the house now?”
“Now? Oh, honey, I’ve been burrowing around this place like a squirrel for years. But no, after our last call I did a little digging around, and… where did I put—ah! There it is!” She holds up a crinkled piece of construction paper.
It’s a drawing.
My lips curve into a smile as I race up to trace the shaky lines. I vaguely remember sitting at a picnic table drawing, and I can even feel it in the way the paper must have been bent along the wood. I couldn’t have been older than eight when I made this, but the intention is clear.
A stick figure me, next to a green blob with eyes.
Gil.
“You have always had the most wonderful imagination,” she says with more than just a twinkle in her eyes. There’s a question she won’t ask and an answer I won’t tell her.
“Can I keep it?” I ask, the urge to do something special like frame it is so strong; it would fit perfectly at Gil’s house.
It’s been half a day, but God, I miss him already. For so much of my life, I’ve felt aimless, pushed around by the tide, but with him? There is something solid.
I love him, and looking at this shaky crayon drawing, I think I always have.
“It’s your drawing, sweetie, of course,” she says. “There’s something different about you since you got back, and it’s not the faded pink hair dye. I think you should do this sort of thing for yourself more often, maybe even with the new fella. Sounds like he has an awfully nice place on the water.”
“Grams.” I narrow my eyes. “I’m not moving in with my boyfriend of less than a week. Besides, you deserve—”
“Deserve?” She shakes her head. “I’ve had a full life.”
A full life.
She says it like she’s dying and not a poker shark in peak health.
“Mari, it’s my responsibility to care for you, not the other way around,” Grams says, taking a deep breath.
“As much as I lo—likeGil, I won’t leave you,” I argue. “You’ve been the one constant thing in my life since … forever.”
“I tried.” She shakes her head, her voice bitter. I hate that she somehow feels like everything she’s given me isn’t enough. “I can’t pretend I’ve been able to provide for you—a stable home, a place to come to for holidays—”
“I mean, the Jell-O cups here during Christmas are pretty fancy,” I deflect, unable to sit still in the discomfort I’m feeling.
“And everyone appreciates the way you sing Christmas carols in the common room,” Grams says, but she doesn’t smile. Her hand is soft on top of mine, aged with blue veins and wrinkles, which make her seem older—like a flower wilting from not getting enough sun and water. “But I couldn’t give you all the things you deserve. I’ve never been able to give you the things your aunt and uncle couldn’t.”
“That’s not true,” I say. My voice is small, and I wish this weren’t so hard. I don’t want to cry. Then she’ll cry, and I’ll cry harder, but the tears are already falling.Fuck.Because the thing Grams has always been able to give me that my guardians couldn’t is love.
“They never cared about me, but you always have,” I say, and she doesn’t deny it. How could she? Instead, my Grams does the only thing she could ever do, the only thing that really matters; she’s present, and she holds me as our sobs rise into a duet. I wish things had been different, but no matter what, I’ll always be glad we had each other.
