Chapter 27
Declan
Since moving to Port Myles, my mom and I have stuck to our schedule of meeting for dinner on the second Wednesday of every month.
I try to schedule my appointments so I can leave a bit early on those days, usually getting to her apartment around seven or so.
We have dinner – sometimes she cooks, sometimes I bring takeout – and we make small talk, sometimes watch a bit of TV. I’m usually home by nine at the latest.
We don’t usually stray from our schedule, since Sasha thrives on her routines, but we’re both willing to make exceptions for special occasions.
Tonight’s a special occasion.
“There he is,” the booming voice that was the soundtrack to my childhood calls out the second I step through Sasha’s apartment door.
My grandfather rises from his seat on the couch and makes his way over to me, immediately pulling me into a hug and clapping me on the back.
I’m not one to show much affection, but I grip my grandfather in a tight hug for a few seconds.
“Missed you, Pops.”
I haven’t seen Pops and Gran since they came up to Boston at the end of winter.
They’d planned to visit me in Port Myles sooner, but their neighbor’s husband passed and she can’t do much on her own, so they’ve been helping her until her daughter could get some things squared away and arrange for in-home care.
“We missed you, too, bud.”
“Where’s my grandson?” a soft voice calls from the small hallway beyond the kitchen.
When Gran appears, I’m struck by how small and thin she looks.
I know it’s just the effects of aging – they’d tell me if anything was wrong – but it’s jarring nonetheless.
The knowledge that the only two people who have always been there for me are aging and don’t have as much time left on this earth as I’d like scares the shit out of me.
I don’t know how to exist in a world without them, and I hate that I’ll someday have to find out what it’s like.
“Hi, Gran.” I grab the hand that she reaches out toward me and squeeze, pulling her into a hug.
“Oh, my sweet boy,” she says, sounding near tears as she hugs me back. She’s called me that for as long as I can remember, though I don’t think I’ve ever qualified as being sweet.
When we pull apart, I look over to my mom.
The four of us aren’t together very often, and when we are, there’s always a layer of awkwardness in the air.
It’s a strange dynamic, when Sasha is the one who gave birth to me, but Gran and Pops are the only real parents I’ve ever known.
We’re trying to work on that, sure, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’ll always be more comfortable, more affectionate, with them.
I can tell that it bothers her, but she’s never said anything.
Now, though, she’s smiling as she watches the three of us. “I’m so glad you could come over.”
“Me, too,” I tell her, and I mean it. Even if Gran and Pops weren’t here, I’ve started to actually enjoy my visits with Sasha.
Turns out she’s not so bad, when she doesn’t have enough narcotics coursing through her system to make a grown man keel over.
She’s even kind of funny, and she always has entertaining stories about the dental office where she works as a receptionist.
I take a seat on the couch next to my grandfather, and Sasha and Gran sit side-by-side on the loveseat. “How long are you in town for?” I ask.
“A whole week,” Gran says proudly. “We want to see your new town and where you work, maybe visit with some friends in Portland. Whenever you can make some time for us this week, we’ll be here.”
“I’d love to see your new place, too,” Sasha says softly.
It’s been a month since we opened the shop, and a bit longer than that since I made the big move from Boston to Port Myles.
I have yet to invite her out to check out the town, the shop or my apartment.
I know she’s been dying to, but I haven’t felt ready to have her in my space – in my life – like that. Not yet.
But with my grandparents in town, I don’t think I can put it off any longer.
Time to rip the Band-Aid off.
“Sure,” I tell her. “We’ll plan something for this week. I think I have a light schedule on Tuesday. I’ll check the books tomorrow and let you know.”
“You know,” my grandfather muses, stroking his mustache thoughtfully. “I think maybe I’d like to get a tattoo.”
My eyes shoot to my grandmother but she only smiles, like this isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation.
“What would you get?” Sasha asks, sounding as shocked as I feel.
Pops has never once looked down on me or said an ill word about all of the tattoos on my body, but I never got the sense that he particularly cared for them, either.
“I’ve been thinking about a pinup gal on my leg,” Pops says, tugging up his slacks on one side and patting his calf. “Got the perfect spot right here.”
If you had given me fifty guesses, none of them would have been that.
“A pinup?” I question, just to make sure I didn’t mishear him. “As in, a woman?”
“Exactly,” Pop nods.
Again, I look to Gran, who’s grinning even wider now. “You’re okay with this?”
Not that I think anyone has a say over anybody else’s body, per se, but the two of them have been married for over fifty years – they’re bound to have some strong opinions about these things.
“Who do you think I’m getting tattooed on me, boy?
” My grandfather scoffs, like it should have been obvious.
“I’ve got an old photo of your Gran to use as inspiration.
Though she still looks like a pinup girl at seventy-three,” Pops says, winking at Gran.
She rolls her eyes, but she looks pleased.
Maybe even a little bit flustered. She straightens the throw pillow next to her on the couch and brushes something imaginary off her pant leg.
“You’re going to get a half-naked Mom tattooed on your leg?” Sasha asks, incredulous. Then she starts laughing, and we all join in.
“I tried talking him out of it,” Gran says, though she’s still smiling. “I’ve given up.”
Pops finally lets his pant leg go and settles back into the couch cushions. “What do you say, Deck? You up for it?”
“Tattooing my half-naked grandmother onto my grandfather’s leg?” I chuckle, wondering how the fuck we got here, but knowing I can’t say no. “Sure, Pops. I’ll double check that schedule tomorrow and let you know.”
The conversation bounces between all of the topics I expected: the new shop, how work is going, my apartment, how I’m liking the town.
I try to turn the conversation back around to my grandparents, asking about what they’ve been up to in Virginia and the friends of theirs that I met when I visited, but they always turn it back to me.
It’s nearing 9 p.m. – far past my grandparents’ usual bedtime – when we reach my grandmother’s favorite topic.
“So, Declan, honey,” Gran begins, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Been seeing any nice girls lately?”
I usually don’t have anything to tell Gran, because I know when she says seeing, she means dating – which is not what I’m typically doing with the women I spend my time with.
It’s too early to be blabbing to my family about her, but even so, I find myself saying, “I actually have a date tomorrow.”
The look of shock on all three of their faces almost makes me laugh.
I haven’t brought a girl home since I was a teenager living with my grandparents, and as far as I can remember, I haven’t talked about any since then, either.
Certainly not to my mother, though she’s tried to broach the subject a handful of times over the years.
“Oh, I’m so happy to hear that,” Gran says excitedly. “Tell us about her.”
I’m surprised to find that I actually want to talk about Elsie with my family. It’s different with Sean, who knows her and probably has his own opinions about her. The opportunity to talk about her to people who haven’t been lucky enough to meet her yet is too tempting to pass up.
“Her name is Elsie,” I begin. “She owns the flower shop that’s in the same building as our studio.”
“A business owner,” Pops says, the admiration clear in his voice. “That’s great.”
“Have you gone out before?” Sasha asks, taking full advantage of the opportunity to get some real information out of me. She’d never push the subject this much on her own.
“Not yet. Tomorrow is our first date.”
“Oh, to be young and going out on a first date,” Gran says wistfully. “Those are just the best times.”
“What’s she like?” Pops asks.
Any other time, my hackles would be raised with the three of them interrogating me like this. I’d evade their questions, probably give some smartass responses. With Elsie as the topic of conversation, though, I find that I don’t mind the third degree.
“She’s sweet,” I tell them, though it feels like an understatement.
“Everybody in town loves her, and she’s always giving people flowers.
” I grin, remembering one of my favorite Elsie moments that I got to witness through that damn window.
“I once saw her run after a teen who’d gotten into a fight with their girlfriend on the sidewalk right outside our shops.
It was impossible to ignore; we could hear the whole thing.
When their girlfriend stormed off, leaving them crying, Elsie went after them with a full bouquet, probably one of the most expensive ones she had in the shop. ”
“She sounds lovely,” Sasha says.
“Will we get to meet her this week?” Gran asks.
How do I kindly tell her the answer is a resounding absolutely not?
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I say instead. “We haven’t even gone on a date yet. If things go well, I think it’ll be a while before we hit the ‘meet the family’ stage.”
“You kids,” Pops says, shaking his head. “In our day, it was expected to go over and meet the family, introduce yourself and make a good impression before you could even ask your lady out on a date.”
“Yeah, well, get with the times, old man.” I grin when he tosses a throw pillow at me.
“You little shit,” he chuckles.
The conversation turns to the Red Sox and their epic win against the Yankees in the eleventh inning last night.
I try to follow along, but my mind keeps wandering to Elsie and our date tomorrow.
I’m planning a picnic at the small park by the fishing docks, where there are a handful of picnic tables under a pavilion and benches that overlook the shore.
I’d stumbled across it when I was out on my bike one night, getting some fresh air and exploring the town.
It occurs to me that Elsie still hasn’t texted me with her address like she said she would. I decide to text her instead, not caring if I sound desperate. Where she’s concerned, it’s a given.
Me: Still waiting on that address
It’s not until after I’ve hit send that I wonder if maybe it was intentional, her not reaching out. Maybe she’s had second thoughts and doesn’t want to go out anymore. Maybe she was putting off telling me, or planning to ghost me entirely. Maybe she –
My phone chimes with an incoming text. I check the message and see an address with a smiley face emoji. I can’t help grinning back at the tiny yellow icon.
Me: Was starting to think you’d changed your mind.
Her response is almost immediate.
Elsie: Definitely not! I’m so used to everyone knowing where I live, I forgot you needed the address.
Elsie: When you get to the wooden sign that says Lavender Dreams, turn left and head all the way to the end of the drive. You’ll see my cottage along the back of the property, on the right.
Me: Got it. I’ll see you at noon.
Elsie: See you then!
When another text comes through with an emoji, this one showing all of its teeth with squinted eyes, my answering grin is so wide I can see it in the reflection of my phone screen. I’m tempted to text her again, to keep the conversation going until I get to see her tomorrow, but I leave it alone.
It doesn’t stop me from opening our conversation and staring at our texts throughout the rest of the night, though. Those tiny yellow faces reassure me that I’m not the only one eager for this date.
I might be a fucking goner for her already, but I’m starting think she just might like me, too.