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That’s okay. I have my own money. I can buy my own ticket to Jersey. She’s not going to stop me once I’m there.
“Okay.” My voice is a whisper. It’s a million degrees today, but I feel cold. It might be months. And if it might be months, it might be weeks.
“Grandma wants to talk to you. I’ll hand the phone over soon. When’s your next class?”
“Half an hour.”
“Tell me about it.”
I do. I spill all the details of my day. My inability to sleep. My talk with Emma this morning. My professor bragging about all her Latin tattoos.
I don’t say anything about how awful it feels, knowing Grandma might only have months.
Or about how bullshit it is that they’ve been keeping that from me.
I don’t want to focus on that.
I want to focus on the good. On soaking up what I have while I have it.
“I really am proud of you, Kay. You’re such a talented young woman. I wish you could be here,” she says.
“I could be there.”
“I know, baby. But then you wouldn’t be at school. And I didn’t want that weight on your conscious. Grandma either. We don’t want you to feel guilty for choosing school over family. We don’t want you to give up your life.”
Something flutters in my chest. Not quite warmth or forgiveness but something close to it.
Mom didn’t want guilt on my shoulders.
That’s why she didn’t give me a choice.
It doesn’t excuse everyone treating me like a child.
It doesn’t do shit about the realities of the situation.
But it does lessen the sting.
Just enough to make it bearable.
“I love you,” she says.
“I love you too.”
“I’ll grab Nana.”
“Okay.” I press my fingers into the back of my cell. The anger in my gut fades to a dull ache. This is a shitty situation and Mom is making the best of it. Or trying to.
“Kay-bear.” Grandma’s voice fills the speakers. “Tell me the truth about your classes. One of them was boring.” Her voice is rich. Light. Full of life. Like she has decades.
“No. Latin was tough. I’m rusty.”
Grandma scoffs. “It’s a dead language.”
“I know.”
“Pointless.”
“Like life?”
Grandma laughs. “You know me to well, Kay-Bear.” Her voice drops to something sincere. “You doing okay staying with that hot friend of yours?”
“Brendon?”
“Hmm.”
“Huh?”
“Your voice changed. Something’s wrong. Don’t tell me it’s school.”
“No. It’s good. Really.”
“Work?”
“No. Jake gave me the schedule I requested. Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night. Closing shifts.”
“No wonder you’re cranky. Who wants to work all weekend?”
“People who want money.”
She laughs. “You and Em okay?”
“I think so.”
“Kay.” Her voice lifts. “It’s that boy, isn’t it? Things going okay with him?”
“I don’t know.”
“They’re not. I know that tone. I was your age once, you know. I remember how it felt, those early crushes. It was like he moved the stars.”
That’s a good way of putting it. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too, Kay-Bear. But you need to focus on school.”
“But—”
“No buts. You have a bright future. You’re the first woman in my family to go to college. That’s what I want for you.”
I have a million objections. I can start school next year. She might not be here next year. What’s an extra year of education compared to time with Grandma?
“Tell me you’ve got something good to read me. Something Days of Our Lives.”
“I haven’t been watching.”
“Then another one about Peeta and Gale double-timing Katniss.”
“Grandma!” My cheeks flush. “I didn’t write that one. It was something I found on that fan fiction website.”
“Why not write the sequel?”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Anything good with Draco and Harry?”
“I’m working on it.”
“How dirty?”
“Oh my God, Grandma. It’s about the relationship, not the sex.”
“No. It’s about the sex.”
I laugh. Talking to her makes me warm all over.
It’s like this empty part of me is full.
But I can’t think too hard about it. Or I’ll think about how she’s running out of time…
I won’t be able to talk to her like this soon.
I…
“Tell me about the boy. Same one you mentioned last time?” Her voice gets mischievous. Like she’s a teenager.
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“He’s… I messed up.”
“You?”
“Yeah. I did.”
“Is it unforgivable?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so, but he’s hard to read. He’s…”
“It’s him, isn’t it?”
“Who?” I ask.
“Your hot friend. The one who’s supposed to watch out for you.”
“It’s not like that. He… He’s always saying that we can’t. That it’s wrong—”
“Always? You nagging him?”
“No. He said it once. But he kissed me too.”
“You think it’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. I… I get that he’s older. That he’s supposed to be in charge of my well-being. That he’s paying for my place to stay and my food. Well, I’m trying to pay my share of the food, but he argues about it.”
“Kay-bear, do you think it’s wrong?”
“No… I… I really like him.”
“He’s hot. I don’t blame you.”
“Does Mom know?” My chest is heavy. Not from the threat of Mom coming between me and Brendon. But from how good it feels talking to Grandma like this. From knowing there’s a time limit on that.
