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“She’s already on it,” I shout back, making sure to lean toward his left ear, which is slightly more functional than his right.
“Huh?”
“Grandma is making coffee!” I shout.
“Tell her to make some,” my grandfather yells back. The TV blares in the corner,Wheel of Fortuneplaying an old rerun. Even if my grandfather’s hearing was perfect, I doubt he could hear me over the noise of the show. I sit down on the couch next to my grandfather.
He shifts to look at me. “Maude said there was a leak at Mia’s place?”
More like a geyser, but I just nod.
“I’m working on it,” I answer.
“Good.” He nods at me, and I wonder how it is he can understand me perfectly when I’m not even trying.
I give him a thumbs-up. “I’m going to go check on Grandma!”
“Go see your grandmother,” he tells me, gaze returning to the TV. “She’s probably in there making coffee.”
Down a narrow hallway to the back of the house is the old kitchen. Nothing in here has changed since my grandparents moved in. The same curtains hang in front of the window above the sink, once-white fabric with lemons and leaves dotted over it, now faded to a dull beige after years of sun exposure. The oven and microwave are relics. The table in the corner is scarred and stained.
It’s always felt like home—which is a rare occurrence for me.
“Here, honey,” my grandmother says, placing a mug of hot coffee in front of a chair at the table. “Sit and drink that. We’ll let your grandfather watch his show. He’ll be asleep in a minute, anyway.”
“How did the doctor’s appointment go yesterday?” I ask.
My grandmother waves a hand, not meeting my eyes. “Oh, you know. We’re two old farts now. Your grandfather is going to be ninety-five next February. I’m not far behind.” She’s turning ninety next year.
“You don’t look a day over seventy-five, Grandma.”
She laughs, sliding into the chair at the head of the table. “Sweet talker.” She squints. “Now. Have you found a nice woman yet, or what?”
“Grandma,” I groan.
“I’m just asking.” She pats my forearm. “You’re a handsome, smart young man. I don’t understand why you haven’t found anyone yet.”
“Maybe I’m not as handsome and smart to other people,” I answer. “And I’m forty-one years old. Does that still count as a young man?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” My grandma sits down with her own mug of coffee. She watches me over the rim. “Does that mean I’ll still have my usual partner for the Thanksgiving race?”
I sip my coffee to buy myself some time. “Hmm. Maybe.”
Her eyes gleam. “Maybe? Does that mean…maybe not? You might be bringing someone?”
If a certain blonde deigns to continue speaking to me after I reveal who I am.
Instead of committing to bringing a date, I decide to change the subject. “How did the three-legged race start, anyway?”
My grandma leans back, grinning. “It was a Thomas tradition that your great-grandmother started. Arthur’s mother. She was competitive as all heck. She made the trophy and declared that every year, we’d get all the adults racing for it. It started as an egg-and-spoon race, then a sack race, and finally evolved to a three-legged race around the time your father was born. I won the race the year I was pregnant with your uncle Reggie.”
“He was three years older than Dad, right?”
“That’s right.” Grandma Maude smiles. “Reggie, then Wendy, then your father. The year I won was the last sack race. Everyone was up in arms about a pregnant woman participating, never mind taking the trophy home. Well. I showed them, didn’t I?” She grins. “But we decided to try a three-legged race the next year to welcome your great-aunt Martha into the family, and the race has been a couples’ affair ever since.”
I smile. “And now it’s tradition.”
“Now it’s tradition,” my grandmother repeats with a nod. She holds my gaze and gives me a small smile. “But you know, darling boy, I’m getting older. I don’t know that I’m quite up to it this year. If there’s someone special you’d like to bring to race by your side, I’m happy to give up my place of honor beside my favorite grandson.”
