Diem dug another biscuit from a plastic zip bag he kept in his pocket and handed it to Hazel. “Tell her to lie down now. See if she’ll listen.”
Hearing Diem’s words, Echo didn’t wait for Hazel’s instructions and lay at her daddy’s feet. Her eyes never left the treat.
I turned to Aaron, whose gaze was on me and not the dog show. The man had rearranged his busy schedule to meet with me today, and I was holding him up. Regardless, when I apologized, his return smile was genuine.
The day we met, he introduced himself as “Aaron Daily at your service.” The lax handshake, soft lisp, and coquettish once-over stirred a memory. For a time, I was certain that we’d met a few years back at Gasoline, but I’d since dismissed this theory. Aaron was simply a flirt like all the past hookups I’d once enjoyed.
Diem either didn’t notice the excess attention or pretended not to. The fact that Aaron was good-looking and emitted a distinct vibe identifiable by most gay men should have pinged on my boyfriend’s overprotective, often jealous, radar, but, for whatever reason, it didn’t.
At some point over the past year, Diem had found comfort in our relationship. He no longer snarled at Memphis when he came over, and he’d stopped making claims that he didn’t deserve me.
Trust. Diem was learning to trust. Himself and his worth more than anything.
Baby steps.
“Better drag me out of here, Aaron, or I’ll stand and watch the show all day. At my age, excitement over a dog doing tricks for biscuits is concerning. I swear I have a social life.”
Aaron’s fingers grazed my elbow as he motioned with the tablet to a nearby hallway. “Come on. I’ll show you the room we have available. I think yourbig boywill be fine for five minutes by himself.”
Aaron’s administrative position involved plenty of duties, which included organizing various functions for the residents. He was Evergreen’s self-proclaimed Event Coordinator, among other things, and had agreed to assist me in planning Hazel’s ninety-third birthday.
The celebration was my idea—how often did a person turn ninety-three?—so although Diem had begrudgingly agreed, his preoccupation with entertaining his grandmother and the other residents was a clear sign I was on my own, and he wanted no part of the planning phase.
Aaron guided me along a corridor and past a vast dining room, where a few residents shared tea, cookies, and conversation. The scent of cafeteria brought me back to my high school days, and I suspected meat loaf might be on the menu that evening if my sniffer-recall was correct.
Eww.
Someone tinkled clumsily on the piano in the corner. A battered upright grand. It was painfully out of tune, but no one seemed to care. Another resident stood to the side, swaying as he sang. I didn’t recognize the song, but I suspected anything from the bygone era of its birth was not appearing on my Spotify recommendation list.
We left the dining room behind, passing what I assumed was an administrative office, a medical supply room—or so claimed the plastic sign on the door—and a janitor’s closet. A middle-aged woman in blue scrubs with yellow gloves to her elbows carried a mop and pail from within. The sudsy water sloshed as she shuffled her load, so she had a free hand to close the door.
Upon seeing us, the woman beamed and greeted Aaron with a warm, familiar smile. “Hey, sweetie. Cleanup in aisle three.” She motioned to the mop leaning against a nearby wall and tittered. “Someone didn’t make it to the bathroom.”
“I see.” Aaron offered the woman a tight smile, a hint of color rising in his cheeks as he ushered me along. The janitor headed back the way we’d come, humming as tunelessly as the music bleeding from the dining room.
Once she was out of earshot, Aaron muttered, “Sorry. That’s my mother. She doesn’t understand that addressing me assweetieat work isn’t professional and might come across wrong if people don’t know we’re related. Or maybe she lives to embarrass me. Probably the latter.”
“Ah. I understand. I have a mother too. I’m sure she means well.”
At the end of the hall, wooden wedges propped open a set of double doors that led into what Aaron called theEvent Room.
“Here we are.” He guided me ahead. “When there’s nothing on the schedule, we use the room recreationally. All the shelves and whatnot can be rolled out of here at a moment’s notice. We have a surplus oftables and chairs in storage, so these aren’t all of them. Do you know how many you’ll need?”
“Um… no. Not yet.”
At present, four folding tables and matching chairs occupied the rectangular room. Standard fire safety protocol and building maps were pinned to the wall at both exits. A fire extinguisher hung beside the door. Several mobile shelving units contained a collection of battered paperbacks and board games I’d enjoyed as a child. Scrabble, checkers, Sorry, Yahtzee, and more. Another shelf contained an array of crafting materials, organized in white plastic bins.
Two elderly gentlemen played backgammon at one table, a trio of women surrounded another, scrapbooking and cackling like hens. Alone in the corner, a cardigan-wearing man with a shiny pate surrounded by a ring of neatly trimmed gray hair, chicken pecked at a laptop, his youthful eyes gleaming and reflecting the light of the screen.
“Do you know how many people you’re expecting?” Aaron asked.
“Not exactly. It will be a small affair. Maybe a dozen?”
Kitty promised to scrounge up a few of Hazel’s knitting companions from over a decade ago, but celebrating a ninety-third birthday meant that many of the friends made over a lifetime were long gone.
“I’m not sure if she’s close to anyone here, but the residents who want to attend are more than welcome.”
“That’s a lovely offer. I’ll be sure to let everyone know.”
