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"My Aubrey." She pulls me into a tight hug. The woman is just over five feet and as strong as an ox. I look over her shoulder and see a new creature, one that wasn't here a month ago.
I pull back. "Gram, did you get another cat?"
"I don't find the cats, they find me." She smiles, and I give her a warning look. "What? They need food and a warm home. I give it to them."
"Someone is going to report you."
She waves her hand away. "They can go bend over."
I giggle. My grammy isn’t one to ever curse.
Placing my purse on the table, I look around, and my brows furrow. "How many do you have?"
"I stopped counting."
I draw in a deep breath and frown. "How does it not smell like kitty litter in here?"
"I have nothing better to do with my life at my age, so I keep my house clean and change litter boxes often. Then I go to bingo. Enough about me. How has school been? How's Natalie doing?"
I take a seat at the little dinette table and watch as she bustles around the kitchen wanting to feed me. The cushions are covered in plastic and the Formica counter is peeling at all the corners. For a woman in her late seventies, she's light on her feet. She attributes it to the cheap red wine and the fact she doesn't have a man in her life. She pays three dollars for the bottle and only allows one glass a night. She says it’s because her cats need her.
I wasn't going to argue with that. Heaven forbid one of them coughs up a fur ball while she’s on a bender.
I tell her all about the classes I'm taking, the professors, and of course Natalie, who she loves.
"Seems like you have your work cut out for you this semester. Think you can handle it?"
"Oh, yeah. It's nothing new, really. The classes are a little harder and I took on an extra one, but I think I'll be fine."
Her eyes soften and I catch a little water in them. "Your parents would've been so proud. I know I am."
I look down. I miss them more and more every day.
Grammy fills me in on all the neighborhood gossip—who she can't stand, which of their dogs are always shitting on her lawn, who's sleeping with who, and how she's got one person down the street trying to convert her to veganism, and another always preaching about God. She refers to the last two as a Jesus freak and a plant-eating hippie. Her New York accent is so strong that it makes her storytelling animated. She might not have much to do, but she sure has an interesting group of people surrounding her.
She places a plate of fresh-baked cookies in front of me. The little thumbprints with a chocolate kiss right in the center smell divine and are my favorite. I pick one up and pop it into my mouth, and sigh over the sugary softness. I watch as she reaches under the kitchen sink for a large bottle, then places it on the counter. She retrieves two tumblers and pours us each a drink of the clear liquid. I lean over to sniff it when she sets the drink down in front of me. The scent singes my nostrils and burns.
"I didn't take you for a day drinker," I say.
"Aubrey, I have waited for this day for years."
I chuckle and eye her. "To have a drink with me?"
"Yes, you're twenty-one now."
She must've assumed I've never tasted alcohol in my life, which is cute and naive of her. I'm in college, of course I have, but I'll let her believe I haven’t.
I lean over to smell the contents again, and my face pinches up. "What is this?"
"Sambuca."
"Do you just sip this?" I ask. I've never had it before.
She sits down in front of me and raises her glass and levels a stare at me. "You're going to shoot it."
My brows raise up. "A shot?"
"Yes," she says, like it's obvious.
