An Interlude Izzy
An Interlude
IZZY
“Whoa, whoa. Hold up.” My mind is a freaking mess. It’s not so much racing as it is zipping in reverse and crashing everywhere. I look closely at Nainai. She looks back patiently. “You can’t say she’s the love of your life.”
“Is this one of your ageist things again?”
“No! It’s because of Yeye. Remember him? The guy you were married to for the last—oh, I don’t know—fifty-something years? Had a family with.”
Irritation flashes across Nainai’s face, and I get the sudden sensation that I’ve seriously miscalculated here.
Just because Nainai has been talking to me so candidly about her past, I’ve let my guard down and am speaking to her like an equal, when she is anything but.
It’s like skating down a frozen river and hearing the ice crack beneath your feet.
“Uh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. ”
The moment stretches painfully, her sharp gaze slicing into me. Then she says, “When I was your age, I hated people saying things like: ‘You are so young. You’ll understand when you’re older.’ But Izzy, you are so young. And you will understand when you’re older.”
I hate people saying that to me too, but when Nainai says it, it’s clear that she doesn’t mean it in a condescending way.
Then she adds, “Well, I could be wrong. You could be exceptionally thick, in which case you won’t understand even when you’re older.”
“Nainai,” I groan.
She smirks at me. “I’m just fucking with you, Izzy.”
“Nainai!”
She laughs. “Am I not supposed to say ‘fuck’?”
“Definitely not, and definitely not to your grandkids. Jesus, Nainai.”
“My, lots of rules for seventy-three-year-old women.”
“No more than there are rules for sixteen-year-old girls.”
Her smile fades. “I know.” We continue walking, arm in arm, quietly for a while.
“Please continue your story, Nainai.”
She smiles at me. We’re about the same height, and even in the dark, I can see the many laugh lines crinkling around her eyes.
“We’re just getting to the good part,” she says.