43. Zinnia
ZINNIA
I t’s midday when I wake, but I’m not surprised. I hardly slept, tossing and turning as I thought about Nick, replaying the conversation with my friends in the hospital. Trying to figure out why I’m still hesitating, after everything.
I finally dozed off around dawn, falling into a dream where I was buried under a pile of suitcases, pulling me under like quicksand. Every time I struggled to break free, they pulled me deeper, until I finally gave in and let them take me.
I sit up in bed, rubbing my eyes. A dull headache pulses in my temple, and as I stand, my foot catches on something.
My suitcase, sticking out at the foot of the bed.
I yank it out, irritation flaring in my veins. It’s empty since I unpacked weeks ago, but I throw it on the bed, staring at it. Waiting for that familiar itch to come, the one telling me it’s time to move on.
It doesn’t.
I sink back onto the mattress, head clouded with confusion. If anything, the thought of packing makes me uneasy. I don’t want to leave.
I want to stay.
So what is that gnawing feeling? The one still telling me something isn’t right?
“Zinnie, darling?” Gran pokes her head in, smiling. “Oh, good. You’re up.”
My gut constricts. It was late when I finally got in from the hospital last night, and Gran was in bed, but seeing her now it feels obvious. If anything is bothering me, it has to be the huge lie sitting between us.
Right?
Gran’s gaze falls to my open suitcase, her smile falling. “You’re off, then?” she asks. Her tone is light, but I feel the weight behind it.
“No.” I shove the suitcase off the end of the bed, where it lands on the floor with a thud. “I don’t want to leave.”
She studies me, her fuchsia lips pursed. “Then what’s wrong, Z?”
I look at my grandmother in the doorway, the Hermès scarf around her neck, her white hair pinned back, neat as always, and an almighty wave of guilt crashes over me.
She’s nothing but generous, kind, loving.
Supporting me without question. And how do I repay her?
By hiding things. Sneaking around. Lying.
It’s time to come clean.
“Gran,” I begin, voice wobbling. “I have to tell you something.”
Her brow creases with concern. “What is it, my darling?”
I motion for her to sit on the bed beside me, and she ambles over, lowering herself onto the old comforter.
Taking a deep breath, I face her squarely. I can only hope she won’t think less of me for this. Or Nick, for that matter. That she’ll find it in her heart to forgive us.
That I won’t lose the one person who’s always been there for me.
“I’ve been hiding something from you. The man I’m seeing…” I swallow, nerves rippling through me. “It’s Dr. Sweetman.”
Her brow smooths, and for a second I think she doesn’t understand. That maybe she’s forgotten who he is, forgotten she signed me up for his class.
So I clarify, “My professor.”
Her eyes twinkle, and she pats my knee. “I know, Zinnie.”
I falter.
Wait. Wait .
What?
“You…” I shake my head, sure I’ve misunderstood. “You know ?”
“Yes.”
“But, but…” I grasp for words, thrown. “How?”
Gran sighs, wincing. “You’re not the only one who hasn’t been entirely honest, my dear.”
“What do you mean?”
She picks at a piece of lint on the comforter. “You see, I do know Dr. Sweetman through the Met,” she says carefully, “but I know him far better through the university.”
“The university?” I echo. “How?”
She lifts her gaze to mine, smoothing a hand over her Hermès scarf. “I’m one of the major donors to the art history department.”
My eyes widen in disbelief. “What? Since when?”
“For decades.” She waves a hand, as if this is no big deal. “What else am I to do with all the money your grandfather left?”
“All the…” My head swims. All the money ? I cast my mind back over my visits to Gran, how she’s always insisted on paying for everything—dinners out, the trip to Italy, that insane dress. How casually she offered to fund my degree. “Am I secretly a Rockefeller, or something?”
She issues a warm laugh. “I’m afraid not, but your grandfather did very well for himself in business. When he died, he left me a large sum of money. I’ve chosen to spend it on the arts. And you, my dear Zinnie.”
I stare at her, trying to absorb this.
“Dr. Sweetman—Nicholas—and I have had many conversations at those God-awful department fundraising dinners.” Gran’s eyes shine with affection.
“He’s a brilliant man, but always struck me as very closed off.
A little stuck. And I thought…” She lifts a frail shoulder, smiling to herself.
“You could use someone to slow you down. Keep you in one place for a while. And he could use someone to open him up to life.”
My jaw falls open. “You’re kidding.”
“Not at all, darling. When I heard you were coming to town, I thought, why not see if I can get your paths to cross? You’d always loved the Renaissance, and I managed to secure a late registration in his class.”
“And life drawing?”
Gran chuckles. “I didn’t plan that part. June called needing a replacement, and I simply saw an opportunity.”
“So… you wanted us to get together?”
“I want you to be happy , my dear.” Gran gives me a mischievous grin. “I had a feeling about you two, and I’m very glad I was right.”
I blink rapidly, thoughts racing as I try to make sense of this. She’s known all along. Not only known—she wanted it to happen. All this time I thought she’d be disappointed in me. That she’d disapprove, lose respect for both Nick and me. But she saw a chance for happiness. For love.
She looked out for me, just as she’s always done.
“You don’t care that he’s my professor?” I press.
She considers this. “I knew you wouldn’t do anything stupid, Zinnie, and he’s far too sensible for that. I just needed you to meet. To let something blossom.”
I cringe, warmth staining my cheeks. Maybe we were sensible to begin with, but she doesn’t know Nick is my professor again. That he’s taken over my class while we’re together.
“The thing is, Gran…” I rub my forehead. “Nick took over my fall class. We didn’t act on it while I was in his summer class, but now…”
“I see.” She gives a slow nod, taking this in stride. “Yes, the situation requires care,” she admits. “But I trust the two of you to handle it with integrity.”
Integrity .
The word echoes in my head. I grimace as I think about Nick and me sneaking around campus. We probably haven’t handled it with integrity so far, but Nick wanted to tell the department chair. And if I want this with him, I have to let him do that. I have to let him take that risk for me.
Gran touches my arm gently. “Do you love him?”
Everything in me softens. “Yes. So much. He’s…” I huff a laugh, looking down at my hands. “Let’s just say, I’m very grateful you signed me up for his class.”
Her bony fingers give me a squeeze. “Does this mean you’re sticking around, my darling?” The same question Iris asked me last night.
“Yes.”
Her eyes gleam with emotion, and it hits me right in the chest. But as I gaze at her, I think about how absent I’ve been, how distracted. How can I keep seeing Nick like this and still take care of her?
“Gran…” I hesitate, knowing how fiercely independent she is, how offended she gets when I suggest she needs help. “I know you don’t want to talk about this, but I’m worried about you.”
She sighs, withdrawing her hand, and I wait for her to tell me she’s fine, that she doesn’t need me to worry.
Instead, she says quietly, “I do want to talk about it, Z. I just… needed to do it on my own time.”
Relief whispers through me that she’s not brushing it off.
“You and I are very alike, my darling. We both love our independence.” She gives me a wry smile, but it fades. “It’s taken me a long time to finally come to terms with the fact that I have to give up a little of mine to get the support I need.”
“What do you mean?”
She exhales long and slow, then lifts her chin. “I’m moving to a residence nearby, on Remsen Street.”
I frown, not sure I understand. “A residence?”
She nods. “They handle the cooking and the housekeeping, keep an eye on… everything. It’s all very civilized.”
It takes me a moment to piece together what she’s saying. She’s moving to an assisted living facility.
My heart tightens. “Gran, no. You don’t have to do that. Not if I’m here.”
“Zinnia, my sweet girl.” She takes my hands, her skin paper-thin against mine. “I could never ask you to take care of me.”
“But…” Emotion rushes to my eyes. “You’ve always been there for me. Always. I want to do the same.”
“But it’s not the same, sweetheart.” She squeezes my hands. “I’ve already lived a wonderful life, but yours is just beginning. And you can’t live it if you’re worrying about me.”
A tear slides from my eye, and Gran’s bony finger brushes it away.
“I want to look after you,” I say fiercely, and she shakes her head.
“I know you do, and that’s very generous, but you have a life to build now that you’re staying in the city. A life to build with that wonderful man.”
“But—”
She shoots me her signature It’s not happening look, and I laugh through my tears.
“God, you’re stubborn.”
“Or maybe I know what’s best,” she says, smoothing a hand over my hair.
I sigh, realizing she’s probably right. I think about what Poppy told me when we first met, all the ways she and Wyatt had been looking out for Gran before I arrived.
Keeping spare keys to her house, checking that she locks her door at night, maintaining her yard.
She probably needs more care than I realize, and I’d hate for anything to fall through the cracks because of me.
But I also hate the thought of Gran losing what makes her happy.
“What about book club?” I ask. “Your social events?”
“I can still do all that,” Gran says easily. “And they have a great program there.” I must look unconvinced, because she softens, adding, “I know this is a big change, but it’s time. And it’s only a few blocks away, Zinnie. You can visit whenever you like.”
“When are you…”
She straightens. “I’m moving next month.”
Oh. Wow. That’s soon.
I look around my room, taking in the faded floral wallpaper, the rolltop desk, the dormer window, thinking about the hours I spent here as a kid.
How it felt to climb Gran’s stoop the first day of summer each year, that familiar and comforting feeling as I entered her front door.
The smell of her perfume, her cooking, her tea.
While everything around me changed, Gran’s place has always been here, steady and unchanging.
My heart drops as I think about losing that.
“I’m going to miss this place,” I murmur.
When I look back at Gran, she’s smiling. “Hopefully, you won’t.”
I give her a puzzled look.
“I’m not going to sell it, darling.” Her eyes sparkle. “I’m giving it to you.”
I splutter in disbelief. “What?”
She gives a nonchalant shrug. “What good is it to me if I can’t live in it?”
“Gran.” She can’t be serious. “I could never…”
“It’s yours,” she says firmly, giving me that look again. “I can’t force you to live here, but the house will be ready when you are. I won’t sell it, Zinnia. It’s yours.” She softens, her hand squeezing mine. “It’s always been yours.”
My throat closes, and I look down as tears blur my vision. I think of all the years I felt so rootless, all the years I drifted. I’d always assumed permanence wasn’t in the cards for me, that I wasn’t built to settle, but now I know.
This is where I’m supposed to be. Where I was always supposed to be. Whenever I let myself imagine staying in New York, it was in this house. This neighborhood.
You belong here. You belong with me, Zinnia .
That’s when I realize, Nick was right. I do belong in New York. I do belong with him.
But I don’t want to move into his place. I love his apartment, but it’s his . It’s where we go to hide from the world. Where he built a life before me. It’s not where I belong. I belong here, in this brownstone.
The only place that’s ever felt like home.
As this realization settles, all the hesitation, the questioning, the confusion falls away. It was never about being with Nick, about being in the city.
It was needing to stay in this house. Gran’s house.
“It won’t be the same without you, though,” I say, wiping my eyes.
“No,” Gran admits. “But I’ll be nearby. It’s time for you to create your own life here, my dear Zinnie. To carry on my legacy.”
Legacy .
I think of my work at the community arts center, my art history class.
The love of art Gran has instilled in me, and all the ways I want to share that love with the world like Gran has, especially now that she’s finding it harder to do so.
I’d be honored to continue to do that, to build a life of my own in this home.
Maybe it’s the best possible way I can repay her for everything she’s done for me.
But… I think of all the hours Nick and I have spent curled in his bed, how comfortable he is there. That he’s been in that apartment for fifteen years. The way he said, I want you to move in with me, honey .
He loves his apartment.
And I love him . I want him here with me. Not visiting, or hiding. Living here. Building something that’s ours. To put our art on the wall, our books on the shelves, cook together in our kitchen.
To maybe, one day, have a family of our own here.
The thought sends a thrill through me, but it’s quickly chased by another thought. What if he doesn’t want that? What if he doesn’t want to leave his place?
There’s only one way to find out.
I rise from the bed, kissing Gran on the head. “I love you, Gran. Thank you for everything.” I tug a dress from the closet. “But I need to—”
“I know, darling.” She rises too, giving me an understanding smile. “Go to him.”