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“And I my Rhonda.”
“Grandma,” Seymour says softly. Reverently.
Oh my gosh, what the heck is happening here?
“We reconnected when Peter came here,” grandma supplies.
“And it was like no time had passed.”
There was nothing to say after that, I couldn’t if I wanted to because my brain fritzed out, so the four of us got to know each other. Sharing laughs and stories until Seymour and I need to go. Our grandparents seem tickled that we’re walking out as a unit. As we exit the building and make a beeline for the parking lot, he stays in step with me, accompanying me to my SUV.
“That was…you know, I don’t think the word to describe that has been invented yet.”
I giggle at that and helpfully suggest, “Surreal could work.”
“So could unfathomable.”
“Jarring.”
“Awkward.”
“Uncomfortable.”
“Icky.” We both laugh at that one.
“I like that best,” I assure him as I unlock my door and toss my purse inside.
Seymour sighs, the sound coming from down deep and reverberating into me. “What are the chances we’ll get them to leave this place?”
“Separately, not good,” I admit. “I don’t know what to do.” The whole thing seems so daunting now. “Maybe I’m being selfish by trying to force her to move in with me.”
“You aren’t. Neither belong here. They’re too young and each have a lot of years left.”
“Any ideas?”
“They want to stay together,” he reiterates, neatly summing up their whole argument against going. “So, why don’t we let them?” My shoulders slump with resignation. I’m about to agree, albeit reluctantly, but he’s not finished. “The four of us could get a place.”
