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It’s like looking at a couple who won the lottery and wondering if life will give you such luck.
I swallow. Even the hot gravy can’t warm the chill that’s come over me as I think about my current luck.
At least I haven’t told my grandparents about Todd. Whatever happens in New York stays in New York.
As far as my grandparents are concerned, I’m living my best life in the city, in a swish new apartment in Manhattan, and I’m working for a top designer; single by choice.
I plan to keep it that way. The kindest thing to do for them is to not burden them with all of my worries.
Worries like, will I ever earn a decent salary? Will I ever live somewhere that doesn’t creak all night long?
And will I die alone?
I realize I’ve been stuck in my head for several long minutes and now my grandma is staring at me like she’s looking at a ghost.
“You’ve gone pale, are you feeling all right?” She presses the back of her hand to my forehead and her mothering touch fills me with a flood of peace, soothing all my worries in an instant.
“You’re clammy. Let me get you a cold compress.”
Before I can argue, she’s shuffled out of the room again, leaving me with Grandpa. He drops his fork and dabs his mouth, staring at his half-eaten food like he’s considering hiking up a mountain.
“It’s amazing Grandma still makes home-cooked food,” I marvel aloud, hoping to steer the conversation away from me. My grandpa glances at the kitchen door, then looks at me with a twinkle in his eye.
“Between you and me… She pays a lady down the street to make the food. She just warms it up in the oven.”
I suck in a breath. “What?”
Grandpa chuckles quietly, like a boy who just found out where the Christmas presents are hidden. “I pretend that I don’t know, because I know she wants to make food for me until I die.” He smacks his lips together. “Honestly, this could be dog food for all I know. I’ve not been able to taste anything since the nineties.”
I tilt my head as I study my grandpa, thinking about it.
If he just told Grandma the truth, she wouldn’t feel so much pressure to keep cooking for him.
But he won’t tell the truth until she admits her own.
Relationships are hard.
My mind draws back to Logan and his odd reaction when I asked about his parents. “Grandpa,” I ask, setting my plate on the table and sitting back. “Do you know anything about Logan’s parents? How are they?”
The kitchen door swings open, and my grandma returns with a rolled-up towel. “Did you say Logan?”
She looks far too delighted to hear his name again.
I can’t figure out why, after all these years, she’s so eager to talk about him.
I mean, I visit my grandparents at least once a season, and he rarely comes up in conversation. Even then, it’s to remark what a blessing it is that we didn’t end up together.
“NFL players are not husband material,” Grandma always used to say.
So, what’s changed her tune now?
One thing I do know is that Snowdrop Valley has a thriving rumor mill. If anyone knows what happened to Logan’s parents, it’s my grandma. She lives for gossip.
“I did bump into Logan earlier and—”
My grandma interrupts me with a delightful exclamation.
“How is he? I knew something must have happened; you’ve got that sparkle in your eyes again…”
