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They argued a lot when they were younger, or so I heard, but by the time we grandkids were old enough to notice, they’d ironed out their differences.
“But the one thing we agreed on wholeheartedly was you, our little wildflower.” She took a sip of wine. “You are patient like a wildflower, waiting for just the right conditions. Even when you were a child. You’d watch your siblings squabble and wait for them to hash things out before you got involved. You’d think with your heart, not your head with them.”
“I suppose that’s true.” I nodded.
“But you never ignored your heart, either, and that is something I don’t want you to forget. If you cut that off, you have nothing but a mind that sees only logic.”
I stared at her, unsure where she was going with this analogy.
“And logic will talk you out of things that could be quite good for the heart.”
A smile touched my lips.
“The wilds of the heart are a special thing. Listen to these whispers. Let those whispers become shouts when it’s a matter of the heart.”
“That’s true,” my grandpa agreed.
“It’s okay to go a little crazy, do wild things. You’ve never let things stop you before.” She smiled at me. “I know I’m your grandma, and you probably don’t want to take advice on your love life from an old lady.”
“Not true,” I assured her.
“But what’s the worst that could happen if you listened to your heart instead of your head?”
I sat quietly for a few seconds.
She tried again. “It’s like with your poetry. It’s beautiful. It’s from the heart.” She tapped her chest. “It’s raw and vulnerable.”
I stared at my Mimi, wondering how she knew anything about my poetry.
She smiled and tipped her chin toward the living room. “You left a copy tucked in the chair. You’re very talented.”
My cheeks warmed. “Thank you. It’s kind of a secret.”
“Those words on that paper are freer than anything I’ve seen come out of your mouth in a long time.” She glanced at her husband and then back at me. “Don’t let life wear you down before you’ve had a chance to live it fully.”
“But I could lose a friend, or I could get my heart broken beyond repair, or both.”
“Maybe you’ve already crossed that bridge,” Mimi suggested. “But what if you have something so special and resilient at your fingertips but you lose it?”
I sighed and pushed around my chicken. Mimi was right.
It had been two days since our kiss near the beach. I’d texted him a couple of times, and he texted back. I was trying extremely hard not to fold up into my cocoon and ignore him like last time.
And he was still on Marigold.
I looked down at my food and smiled. “I think I’ll wrap this up and save it for later.”
Mimi looked pleased and nodded. “Good idea.”
I made my way to the kitchen, wrapped plastic wrap over the plate, and found a spot to prop it in the fridge before texting Lucas.
How’s Oscar?
He wrote back almost instantly.
Could be better.
I tapped my foot and brought in a breath.
