Chapter Thirteen
Grant felt like he could lasso the moon and pull it down from the sky. She’d said yes!
They were going to see a movie that felt like their movie…
well, one of many. But watching The Muppet Christmas Carol from the dark back of the movie theater with Ivy Weaver by his side was engraved in his memory: his Santa hat barely clinging to her untamed explosion of curls, how she had to hold it on her head when she laughed so it wouldn’t slide off.
And she laughed so much. There wasn’t a single joke that passed without Ivy partaking in the merriment of the moment.
Gravity hardly had a hold on him when he left the Weavers’ house. He practically skipped down their front walkway and into his truck.
He was taking Ivy to a movie. He was going to buy her popcorn and a soda and, if she wanted, some candy. Red Vines or Junior Mints. Those were her favorites.
“Tony!” Grant shouted his name before he even had a chance to say hello. “I did it! I asked out Ivy!”
Silence crackled over his truck speakers. Then, “You actually asked her out?”
“Yes. To a movie. And she said yes!”
“Back up,” Tony said. “How did you even get close enough without her biting you?”
Grant turned out of his parents’ neighborhood. “I dropped off Piper and when I left the house, Ivy was up the tree in the front yard with her parents’ cat.”
“I have so many questions, but go on.”
“I helped her get down, carried her to her house—”
Tony interrupted him. “I’m sorry. You carried her? Over your shoulder, fireman style? Or like, An Officer and a Gentleman style?”
“An Officer and a Gentleman,” Grant clarified. “Duh.”
Tony hummed his approval. “That’s the good stuff. Continue.”
“Please stop imagining yourself being bridal carried by Richard Gere. It’s weird when I’m telling you a story.”
“I’m a simple man, Grant.”
“Anyway”—Grant looked both ways before rolling through an intersection still icy from being in perpetual shade—“I carried her back to her house, warmed her up, we had a good talk about what happened between us, and I asked her out.”
“You warmed her—”
“Tea, blankets, and a fire,” he clarified before Tony’s imagination took him off course.
“How does Austin feel about this?”
Grant frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Considering you had a grade-A crashout on my couch last night about your brother kissing Ivy, I’m going to take a flyer here and say that he also has feelings for her.”
Grant’s brain went blank. His head was suddenly filled with the dial-tone buzz that was part of the soundtrack of his childhood.
“Grant? Are you still there?”
“Uh, yeah.” He gripped his steering wheel with both hands instead of one. “I mean, I asked how the date was and she made it sound like it went badly.”
“How did Austin describe it?”
“I…didn’t ask.”
“I don’t think Coeur-de-Lac is big enough for this not to get back to him,” Tony said. “Did you have a plan, or just thoughts and prayers?”
“I don’t even have a thought, let alone a prayer.” Grant groaned. “Why didn’t you point this out last night?”
“I didn’t think you’d actually ask her out! You have a history of being chickenshit.”
“Well, I dug deep and found my backbone, so now what?”
“Use that newly found backbone and call your brother?” Tony suggested.
Grant sighed. “I can’t even be happy for ten goddamn minutes.”
“You’re Catholic. You’re not supposed to be happy.”
“The joy really should’ve been my first hint that something was wrong.” He let his hand fall back against the headrest while the two cars in front of him went through the four-way stop. “Do you want to tell him for me?”
“Only to soothe him in a way that would make you uncomfortable,” Tony said.
“You are the least helpful person I have ever met.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers. On the bright side, Austin’s only had a crush on her for about thirty-five seconds, so theoretically he should take it pretty well.”
“Or he’ll throw a fit and act like I stole his favorite toy,” Grant said. His phone screen lit up with his dad’s picture. “Dad’s calling. I’ll talk to you later.”
Grant ended his call with Tony and answered his dad.
“What’s up?”
“Do you want to tell me why I drove by the O’Shaun project and there was still a dumpster out front?” Tim barked. “That rental ended. We’re not made of money.”
Grant bit down on a frustrated sigh and swallowed it whole. “You’re thinking of the O’Shay project, which wrapped last week, ahead of schedule. Are you checking up on me?”
“No, I’m keeping an eye on my business. And if I were you, I’d be more concerned about the bottom line if you’ll be taking over. I’m not going to keep working forever, Grant.”
It felt like his dad was going to be working forever.
For the last five years, Tim had been singing the same old song about how he was going to retire soon and hand the business over to Grant, about how Grant needed to be prepared to take on the responsibility. Always with the undertone that Grant wasn’t ready and lately, how he never would be.
Maybe Grant just needed a vacation farther away than a camping trip at Lake Winnebago, but there were more and more days when he wanted to hang up his tool belt and do anything but run Underwood & Son. Shoveling shit had to be better than dealing with his dad’s passive-aggressive disapproval.
“I know, Dad.”
There was the usual mumble and grumble that was classic Tim Underwood, then he asked, “How was taking Piper to work today?”
“Honestly? She was great. Didn’t even complain when she lost her thumb in the saw blade.”
Tim exploded like a volcano. “She what—”
“It was a joke, Dad. Piper was awesome. We framed and drywalled the pantry in record time. I wish every trainee I’ve ever had was as conscientious and detail-oriented as she was today.
” He wasn’t even padding her performance.
They’d already agreed she could come to work with him whenever she wanted.
“Don’t joke about OJIs,” Tim grumbled. “Especially when it’s your sister.”
“We’ve been marked safe from OSHA for another day.
” Grant parked his truck in front of the Lucky Dragon.
He hadn’t even meant to drive to Coeur-de-Lac’s only Chinese restaurant, but his hindbrain knew he’d need crab Rangoon and sweet-and-sour pork after this phone call. “Did you need anything else?”
“What should I get your mom for Christmas?”
“I don’t know. You’ve been married to her for thirty years. What should I get Mom for Christmas?”
“Don’t be a smart-ass.”
“Better than a dumbass,” Grant mumbled, and before his dad could ask him to repeat what he said, added, “Lorelai probably has a few ideas. She’s good at gifts.”
Tim punctuated his usual grumbling response with, “Get rid of the O’Shaun dumpster,” then hung up. Grant took deep breaths until his heart rate returned to normal.
That phone call deserved an order of egg rolls, too, but first he needed to call his sister and warn her that Tim was in a mood.
“Hey, G,” Lorelai answered brightly after the second ring. “We’re in the van so you’re on with the whole family.”
“Hi, Uncle Gwant!” Gemma shouted from the back seat. She was working hard in speech therapy to firm up her Rs, but he was going to miss it when she didn’t call him Gwant anymore.
“Hey, sweet pea! How are you?”
“Gooood,” Gemma said, dragging out the middle of the word and then giggling at her own goofiness. “I got an award!”
“An award! What for?”
“For kindness,” Gemma answered.
“She was Student of the Month for kindness,” Jodie explained. “We’re very proud of our sweet girl.”
“That’s awesome,” Grant said, most of the stress from his phone call with his father evaporating away. It was hard not to be happy when talking to or about Gemma. “Are your moms getting you ice cream?”
Gemma screamed, “Ice cream!” and Lorelai said through gritted teeth, “Thanks a lot, Uncle Grant.”
“You’re welcome. Are you headed home?”
“Gemma has karate,” Lorelai said.
“That’s so cool. Are you going to show me some moves when you come visit? Break some boards?” Grant asked.
“Hi-ya!” Gemma shouted.
The background sound of the van stopped, and he heard the door slide open.
“We’re here,” Lorelai announced.
“Bye, Uncle Gwant!”
“I’ll see you soon, sweet pea.”
He heard the door roll shut, then Lorelai asked, “So, what did Dad do this time?”
“Is that why you announced you were with the family?”
“Well, you don’t usually call with fun things to say,” Lorelai said.
“Can’t have a paper trail for shit talking,” Grant told her. “Dad’s going to call and ask you what to get Mom for Christmas.”
“How did this become my problem?”
“Because I work with him, and if I’m going to disappoint him, I’d prefer it was on the clock so I can get paid.”
“Why do you think you’d disappoint him?”
“He’s been up my ass so much lately, Lor, I’m going to grab him a change-of-address form the next time I go by the post office. I can’t do anything right, and I don’t know how much more I can take.”
“There’s an easy way to fix this,” she pointed out. “You can quit.”
“I can’t quit.”
“You can. You just choose not to.”
“It’ll pass,” he said while he tried not to think about how he’d been stuck in this pattern with Dad for months. “We’re really busy and he’s stressed.”
“He’s going to give himself a heart attack,” Jodie chimed in and Grant jumped.
“What the hell! Have you been there the whole time?” he asked, startled.
“Yeah. Sorry. There isn’t enough room for parents to sit inside, so Gemma goes in by herself,” Jodie explained. “It’s great. Builds confidence and independence.”
“You got any advice for me?” Grant asked.
“No, because I grew up in a Korean household where my parents showed their love by harassing me about my grades and feeding me tteokbokki whenever I was having an emotion.”
“No wonder my family didn’t scare you off. It must have felt like home.”
“Catholic guilt and Asian guilt have a lot of similarities,” Jodie said. “Grant, I know how having a hard conversation with my dad would have gone when he was alive, so I understand if you don’t want to, but I think you should consider telling him how you’ve been feeling.”
Grant tried to imagine how that conversation would go, but it was so far into the realm of fantasy that he couldn’t begin to conceive of it.
He’d add an order of moo shu pork to his lunch instead.