Page 28 of Never Your Valentine

“Forty-seven years this spring.” He removes his hat, runs a hand over the gray tufts on his head, and replaces it. “Dove’s got that card in a frame next to the cash register.”

I die a little inside. That was a ten-minute job. I didn’t think she’d frame it.

“I’m Roy Jackson.” He puts down his fork to shake my hand across the aisle. “This here’s Fred Garcia and Milt Ingleside.”

“And you’re the ROMEOs,” I say, nodding to the sign. “What does that mean?”

“It stands for ‘Retired Old Men, Eating Out.’ Stan made it up, actually.”

“He was one of you?”

“He got a bit…busy after he married your grandma, but he still came around.”

My throat is trying to close up. I won’t let it. I take a breath and lift the glass of water the server brought me. “To absent friends.”

They lift their coffee cups. “To absent friends.”

“She was something else,” Milt says. “Your grandmother. Evelyn always walked in smelling like paint and lilacs. You could smell her coming before you saw her.”

The words hit me with an electric snap, and suddenly I’m not in the diner anymore.

When I was little, I’d sit on a stool in the bathroom and watch Nana get ready for dates. She painted her face with precision and care, explaining every step to me. And then, she’d let me have a single spritz of her perfume. For the rest of the night, I’d sniff my wrist while coloring with the babysitter, convinced I smelled glamorous.

Nana’s dates never led anywhere. Not until Stan. At their wedding, during their first dance, I watched Stan making little circles on Nana’s back as he held her. I remember thinking, she found him. “I’m glad they had each other,” I say softly. “For however short a time.”

Milt clears his throat. “Stan never talked much about what it cost him. He didn’t want pity, and he knew Evelyn wouldn’t stand for it.”

I blink. “Cost him?”

The others try to shush him, but Milt insists on being heard. “Everyone already knows,” he says. “She should too.”

The server chooses that moment to drop off my food. I don’t touch it. Instead, I turn in my seat to face the ROMEOs. “What is it I should know?”

Milt shifts, glancing at the others. “He sold a lot of his properties. Even that set of cabins on the lake. Your grandmother’s medical bills were rough. They didn’t want to worry you.”

Behind me, someone drops a fork. A small child cries and is comforted. The server refills a water glass, ice cubes plinking into a plastic cup. My mouth has dropped open and I close it with force. I knew Nana had been sick. I lived it. Local doctors. Doctors in Ann Arbor. That one scary time she had to be airlifted. I never knew Stan paid for it.

“He never told me,” I whisper.

“Course he didn’t,” Roy says. “Didn’t want you thinking you owed him.”

My soup is cooling. I pick up my spoon. Put it down again. I turn to the ROMEOs. “Why leave me that building? I still don’t understand it.”

“No one does,” Fred says. “But you’d best make something out of it. That’s all they ever wanted for you.”

Outside, a snowflake drifts past the window. Just one, lazy and slow, like it’s testing the air. I feel the same way. Testing this town. This new life.

“Thank you,” I tell them. “Stan was lucky to have you as friends.”

The ROMEOs nod in that gruff way older men do when emotions make them uncomfortable. Fred pushes away his empty plate. Roy picks up the check. Milt gets a phone call and takes it outside. They gather coats and say goodbye.

Suddenly, I’m starving. I plow through my soup and salad, then order a slice of apple crumble pie, which comes warm, with a dollop of whipped cream in the center.

The booth across from me is now occupied by a family with two little girls. Mom and Dad are each next to a kid, and the sisters are alternately giggling and kicking each other. They’re a normal family, out for a normal weeknight meal. Maybe the girls had an after-school club. Maybe Mom had a hard day at work. Maybe nobody had time to cook tonight. Maybe a grandparent is still in the picture, as a support to the parents, rather than a substitute for them.

I tell myself to stop being jealous of random families. Some people don’t have anyone at all. I had my Nana, who was more than enough. She loved me, she encouraged me, and she always made sure I had the best art supplies.

I set aside my dessert plate to work on the finer details of Darla Lee’s birthday card.