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“But it’s true, Sage. Those differences will never go away and love will not make them any easier to ignore. I was married to Walter for forty-seven years. He was in the Navy for twenty of them and I burned my bra and went to Woodstock.”
I laugh, biting my lip at the image of a young Gladys running around high on everything she could get her hands on.
“There were fundamental things we couldneveragree on. Things we were raised to believe that would never change. Good things and bad. He could be a stubborn, pigheaded asshole, and so could I. But Ilovedhim more than anything in the world.”
Tears moisten her eyes as she speaks, shutting them for a moment as she gets lost in a feeling.
“How?” I whisper. “How could you get past all of that?”
“Because,” she replies, “we built a life together. A life we loved. And underneath all the bullshit and all the things out of our control, we agreed on the things that mattered. And no one had to change.”
Reaching out, I touch her hand. “That was beautiful, Gladys. Thank you.”
“Sage, baby. You deserve all the happiness in the world, whether it’s with him, someone else, or all alone.”
“I love you,” I whisper as she pulls me in for a tight hug.
Just as we part, I look up and see Adam emerging from the stairwell. He’s dressed in the same bloodied clothes he wore last night because he doesn’t have anything else at my apartment.
As soon as he sees me, he smiles. Then he crosses the room with his disheveled hair and sleepy eyes.
“What’s going on?” he asks, running his hand over his head.
“Mary made enchiladas,” I answer as I scoop a bite from my plate and lift it to his mouth.
“Who are all these people?” he whispers before wrapping his lips around the fork. Immediately, he makes a satisfied face as he chews.
“Just…people in the community,” I reply.
“We had extra food, so we’re sharing,” Gladys adds.
His eyes are on my face, and his expression is warm. Something like surprise and pride radiates off of him. “You do this a lot?”
I look at Gladys and we both shrug. “I don’t know. Like…once a month or so.”
His smile grows. Then, it slides away like melting wax, as if he’s retreating into a memory.
Before he can start to beat himself up, I tug on his shirt. “You need to get out of these clothes so we can wash them.”
Then I pull him toward the back of the long room. “Where are you taking me?” he asks mischievously.
“Getting you something to wear.”
That wrinkle between his brows deepens, watching me as I open the large closet behind the industrial dryers. Inside, we have a folded array of clothes. “This is almost as bad as your bedroom,” he mutters, and I laugh. “What is all this?”
“Oh, just clothes that got left behind over the years. We keep it all clean and folded here in case anyone needs something.”
I pull out a dark-blue T-shirt and hold it up to his frame. When he glances down, he lets out a chuckle. “You must be joking.”
“Hey, it fits,” I reply, stifling my own laughter. Then, I pull his bloodstained polo over his head, watching so as not to hit his bad hand. Then I slide the blue T-shirt on, running my hand down the front and over the wordsWorld’s Best Grandpa.
He holds his hands out, letting me admire his new look. I’m trying not to grin too much as I nod in appreciation.
“Okay, unbutton those now,” I say, gesturing to his pants.
Laughing to himself, he shakes his head as he does. As he pulls them off, glancing around the corner to make sure no one else is coming to see him in his boxers, I riffle through the closet, looking for a pair of pants that will fit.
When I find a pair of green joggers in what I assume is his size, I pull them out and hold them up for him. He laughs again but doesn’t argue as he snatches them from my hand and slides them on.
