CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
It’s the day of Grandma’s wedding anniversary. After work, I arrive at my parents’ house with a bouquet of tulips, Grandma’s favorite flower, and a ribboned box of macarons I picked up earlier from Beth’s Bakery. Lisset has spent the better part of an hour sketching a portrait of her Great-Grandpa John from an old photograph of him. In the oven will be shepherd’s pie, my grandfather’s favorite meal. We always eat it on this date in honor of him.
I know from previous years that Tess will have written Grandma a personalized collection of outrageously bawdy greeting cards. Too outrageous to pass around at a family gathering. Later, once we’ve all left and Grandma is alone in her bed, I’m sure she’ll have a chuckle or two as she reads them out loud to the ghost of her husband. Tess has the enviable knack of making people laugh, even when they’re cloaked in sadness.
In the kitchen, I greet Grandma with a careful hug, pressing her for a few extra seconds into the crook of my body. Her small-boned figure seems more frail than usual, her eyes dimmer, her face tired.
“There’s no need to make such a fuss of me,” she protests when we’re all seated at the dining table.
Of course, this declaration only generates more fussing, which she longs for and is in need of, even if she won’t admit to it. We’re all fiercely protective of her around this time. She might have lost the love of her life, but it’s our family’s mission to let her know she’s still surrounded by love. We’re all aware that there are pieces of her soul longing to join her husband, but she’s lingering here on this earth without him for us. And we’re grateful— I’m grateful—because it feels inconceivable to imagine a world without my grandmother in it. She’s such a fixture in our lives.
“To Grandpa John,” Tess says loudly, raising her glass.
“To Grandpa John,” we echo, lifting our glasses, and my eyes are involuntarily drawn to the empty chair next to my grandmother.
We eat the shepherd’s pie my mom made and the conversation at the table drifts in and out of various topics, but invariably returns to Grandpa John. We dust off our memories of him and take turns sharing them. Grandma quietly soaks them up, no doubt storing them away in her mind to be pored over later.
At one point in the meal, I reach over and squeeze my mom’s hand, checking to see how she’s doing, knowing she misses her father. She offers me a brave smile and my dad wraps an arm around her shoulders. I’ve observed him watching her attentively throughout the evening, ready to act as her cushioned landing if she stumbles from sorrow.
After the meal is finished, I’m in the kitchen stacking the dishwasher, when Lisset asks, “Mom, will GG ever stop being sad on this day?”
My chest tightens. “I don’t think so, Lis. She married Great-Grandpa John on this date and she misses him. We all do.”
Just then Grandma wanders into the kitchen to overhear Lisset saying, “I wish I could take GG’s sadness away.”
Grandma reaches for Lisset and strokes her hair. “Some things can’t be taken away, darling, they can only be carried. That’s what it’s like with grief.”
Lisset throws her arms around her. “I’m sorry you’re sad, GG.”
“Thank you, sweetie.”
“I know something that can make you feel better.” She turns her head slightly. “Hey, Google,” she begins.
I stiffen and quickly interrupt her. “Not a good idea today, Lis.”
Disregarding me, Lisset says loudly, “Hey, Google, give GG a hug.”
Straight away, Google replies, “Sending a virtual hug your way.”
Grandma’s eyes widen in surprise. “That machine is finally good for something,” she mutters, but a thread of tender affection is woven through her words.
The following evening, I’m about to start dinner when the doorbell rings. Gideon stands on my porch wearing dark pants and his red Reading Dogs T-shirt. No man should look that good in red. Around his neck hangs a lanyard with his name in big, bold letters. I suddenly remember that Thursday evening is story hour at the library.
It’s been three days since Gideon took Lisset through Uno’s routine. It definitely impacted her because she hasn’t stopped talking about it since then.
“I have a little something for Lisset,” Gideon says, holding up a gift-wrapped present.
I’m touched by his thoughtfulness. “Thank you. She’ll be so excited.”
I half turn to call Lisset, but my daughter has radar ears where Gideon is concerned and comes barreling down the stairs, skidding to a halt next to me. Every inch of her wants to launch herself into his arms, but she holds back. Gideon’s not family. I think she’s as confused as I am regarding his status in our lives.
“Hi, Gideon!”
“Hi there, Lissy.” He offers her the gift-wrapped package. “I wanted to give you a small present before I head off to the library.”
Her face lights up. “For me? Really?”
“Really.”
She rips off the wrapping paper and gasps. Gideon has gifted her with a red T-shirt and a lanyard with LISSET on in big, bold letters.
“You helped Uno get ready for story hour, so now you’re officially a Reading Dog volunteer, like me.”
Lisset immediately slips the T-shirt on over her clothes and loops the lanyard around her neck. “Mom, I have a job!”
“You do, Lis,” I say, my throat tight. “A very important one. And you are totally up for the task.”
“This is the BEST present ever!” she exclaims. “Thank you, Gideon.”
“My pleasure.” He kneels so he’s at eye-level with her. “Now part of being a volunteer handler is to practice reading with the dogs.”
She gazes at him, silent.
“It would only be a page or two, but it’s how Uno continues to be so skilled at what he does. I could also really use the help. What do you think?”
I’m holding my breath, waiting for her answer.
Gideon is acting casual, but I know him well enough by now to pick up on the tension in his jaw. He’s as hopeful as I am.
Lisset gnaws her bottom lip, taking her time thinking it through.
We don’t rush her.
“Just a page or two?” she asks.
“That’s all,” he confirms.
She fingers the lanyard around her neck, clearly torn. “Okay,” she agrees at last.
“Great.” Gideon holds his hand up for a breezy high-five, as if this isn’t at all a momentous occasion.
“Thank you again for the present, Gideon. See you later,” Lisset calls out and disappears inside the house.
I bite my knuckle to contain my excitement. “You did it,” I whisper.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he cautions. “She might still balk at the last minute.”
“But she said yes. That’s huge!”
“It is huge,” he agrees. “I just wish we understood what caused her to dislike reading in the first place. Hopefully, though, we can get her to fall in love with it again.”
Before I second-guess myself, I find myself asking him, “Do you want to hang out with us Saturday night? Maybe watch a movie?”
A slow smile steals over his face. “I thought you’d never ask.”
On Saturday, Gideon pitches up at our house holding a bulging bag, the contents of which I can’t see because it’s one of those insulated shopping bags that zip shut. I lead him to the kitchen where he stops abruptly, gazing in horror at the platter on the counter. “What’s that?”
I glance at the cut-up sticks of carrot, celery, and red peppers surrounding a pretty bowl of hummus. Isn’t it obvious? “Movie snacks.”
“No, no, no.” He can’t stop shaking his head. “Those aren’t movie snacks. Where’s your sweet stuff?”
“I’ve got some frozen grapes. And there’s tons of fruit in the fridge.”
He deposits the bag onto the counter. “Just curious, have you ever had a movie night before?”
I draw myself up straight. “Of course.”
“And this is what it looks like?” He gestures around the kitchen.
I’m assuming his gesture encompasses the vegetable platter and the fruit in the fridge. “Yes.” My brow furrows. “What’s the problem?”
He drums his fingers on the countertop and glances down at Lisset, who’s sitting on a bar stool and watching the exchange with wide eyes.
“Is this really what your mom does for movie snacks?” he asks her.
She nods sadly, milking it.
His gaze returns to me. “Kate, movie nights are for junk food and indulging.”
I point triumphantly to the oven. “That’s why I have pizzas cooking away in there.”
Gideon and Lisset exchange a look I can’t decipher. I’m starting to feel the odd one out here.
“What?” I ask.
He unzips his bag. “I’m about to introduce you to movie night essentials.”
Lisset, seeming to sense that change is on the horizon and looking like she’s all for it, leans forward eagerly in her chair.
Gideon starts pulling out popcorn, chips, Smarties, pretzels, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, and chocolate raisins from the bag and laying them out on the counter. “These are movie snacks.”
I gape at him. “These are a hyperglycemic trip to the hospital.”
He tut-tuts. “Only if they’re part of your regular diet. Right now, they’re treats for a special occasion. My first movie night at your house.”
“It’s looking to be your last one with the way this is going,” I mutter under my breath.
Gideon, however, simply grins at me, unfazed.
When he starts ripping open packets, Lisset jumps into her role of willing accomplice and yanks open cupboards to locate bowls for him.
I end up going along with the both of them, because the playful energy in the air is too contagious to resist.
I draw the line, though, when Gideon empties a box of Smarties into his bowl of popcorn.
I grimace. “That’s so disrespectful to the popcorn.”
“Savory and sweet. Don’t knock it ’til you try it,” he says with a gleam in his eye, scooping a handful of the disgusting mix into his mouth.
It takes us fifteen minutes to choose a movie. We eventually settle on Jumanji and Lisset and Gideon make themselves comfortable on the three-seater couch.
I set up my ironing board in the space to the left of the couch.
Gideon frowns over at me. “What are you doing?”
“I’m ironing.”
Lisset speaks around her mouthful of popcorn. “Mom always irons when we watch TV.”
“Nuh-uh.” Gideon points to the couch cushion next to Lisset. “Sit. Watch the movie.”
“I am watching the movie.”
“You’re ironing.”
“And watching the movie at the same time.”
He gives a shake of his head. “Nope. Not happening on my watch.”
I pick up the iron. “I feel I need to explain multitasking to you.”
“And I fear I need to explain relaxing to you.” His eyes fasten intently on me. “Tell me, Kate, do you spend every minute trying to cram in as many tasks as you can into that minute?”
I nod slowly.
“And how do you feel?”
“Well, I get a lot done.”
“No, Kate, how do you feel ?”
Exhausted. Swamped. Anxious. Tense.
I stay silent, but my face must communicate all the words crashing around in my head, because he pushes to his feet and walks toward me. He takes the iron gently from my hand and sets it back in the cradle. Unplugs it. Then he grasps my hand and leads me to the couch.
“Sit.”
I stare at the clothes pile sitting on the wingback. The clothes pile that will be waiting for me tomorrow. All I’m doing is adding another chore to my never-ending list. “But—”
“Movie night,” he reminds me in a soft voice. “No thinking about tomorrow.”
“I’m always thinking about tomorrow.”
“Right now, right here, we’re living in this moment.”
For some reason, I find myself listening to him. I flop down next to Lisset and munch pizza and popcorn and chocolate while I watch the movie. When I’m saturated with sugar, I rest my head on the armrest, but my feet dangle awkwardly off the couch, so I bring them up and tuck them against my chest, making sure I don’t encroach on Lisset’s space. But the fetal position is truly uncomfortable.
Gideon’s chest lifts and falls as he sighs. “Swap with me, Lissy.”
Before I can protest, he’s traded places with Lisset so he’s sitting in the middle of the couch. My stomach flips when his warm, strong hands wrap around my ankles. Liquid warmth spreads up my legs, pooling in my stomach. How long has it been since a man touched me like this?
Gideon lifts my feet and places them in his lap so I’m able to stretch out my legs.
“Comfortable?” he asks me, his eyes staying on mine.
I’m not sure comfortable is the word I’d use in this very moment. I clear my throat. “Yes, I’m comfortable.”
Energy swirls around us.
I feel the weight of his hand resting on my ankle.
He asks Lisset for a blanket and she fetches a cream one from the basket, grabbing a pink one for herself. Using one hand, he drapes the blanket over me.
He still hasn’t removed his other hand from my ankle.
That feels like an important bullet point. And the fact that I like the reassuring weight of it there.
I’m attempting to watch the movie playing out on the screen, to be as entranced as Lisset is by the action sequences, but I’m too aware of Gideon sitting so close. Surely he feels the intimacy of this moment as intensely as I do? But he’s looking straight ahead, laughing along with Lisset while he watches the movie.
I don’t know at what point I fall asleep, but the next minute Gideon is gently shaking my shoulder. “Hey, Kate, the movie’s finished.”
I sit up, throwing off the blanket and knuckling my eyes. “I can’t believe I fell asleep. Where’s Lisset?”
“Getting ready for bed. I told her you’d say goodnight to her.”
“Okay.” I cover a yawn with my hand. “Sorry I bailed on you. I wasn’t the liveliest movie companion.”
“No apologies necessary,” he says. “It was a fun night. I’m glad you invited me.”
I’m glad I did too. But I don’t say it out loud.
After I see Gideon out, I lock the front door and turn off the hallway light. Yawning, I return to the TV room to switch off the lamp there.
My eyes land on the wingback.
And the pile of clothes sitting there all neatly ironed.