3. Willow Delmont
Chapter three
Willow Delmont
“Who’s there? I have a gun and I’m not afraid to use it!” my grandmother yells as I enter through her front door.
I sigh. “It’s Willow, Granny!” I call out. “You can put away your shotgun.”
I set my purse on the oak table by the door. Coming into this house always feels like stepping into the past. It’s as if I’m a little girl again, sliding off my shoes by the door so I don’t get scolded. It became such a habit that, even now that I’m older, I not only take off my shoes at her home but at my own place too.
“You scared me half to death! Why didn’t you call?” she says as I round the corner.
Granny Mae is not a woman to be trifled with. Her sweet southern demeanor might fool you into thinking she’s helpless, but anyone who knows her knows that’s the last thing she is. Case in point: the antique rifle she’s lowering beside her recliner. The thing is older than she is, but Granny Mae says it still shoots, and insists on keeping it handy in case an intruder comes barging in.
“You gave me a key and said to come by whenever I wanted to,” I tell her.
She narrows her eyes, brushing her palms over her floral dress. “That doesn’t mean you come by unannounced. Now come over here and give your granny a hug.”
She opens her arms and I have to bend down to wrap my arms around her. I’m five-foot-nine and I don’t get my long legs from her, so hugs require a little stretching. Her powder rose scent envelops me and I smile.
“How are you doing this week?” I ask as I pull back.
“Have you eaten today?” she asks instead of answering my question.
“Yes ma’am, I ate dinner before coming over here.”
“Then you need dessert. I have banana pudding in the fridge.” She heads in the direction of her kitchen, and I follow behind her while shaking my head. Like a true southern grandma, she makes sure her grandbaby is well-fed. It’s one of the many reasons I loved visiting her here in Alabama as a kid.
“I’ve been doing just fine,” she answers my earlier question as she pulls out a Country Crock butter container. She lifts the lid and frowns when she sees butter inside, then trades it for an identical container. This time when she opens it, it’s filled with pudding and topped with vanilla wafer cookies. She sets the container on her kitchen island. The afternoon sun casts rays of light onto the old tile countertops.
“How has your arm been?” I ask while grabbing two bowls down from the nearby cabinet. I know this kitchen as well as my own with all the time I’ve spent here. Granny is a creature of habit in many ways, so the layout of her small farmhouse has changed little since I was a child.
“My physical therapist says I’ll be done with sessions next week. I feel a lot stronger.” She takes out two silver spoons with roses engraved on the handles. They match the light pink roses on the bowls I set on the kitchen island.
“That’s great. I was worried about you.”
She waves me off. “It would take more than a broken arm to keep me down.”
A few weeks ago, she fell while trying to sort through her china cabinet on a small step stool. Thankfully, she only hurt her arm and was still able to dial my number. I don’t know what would have happened if she had broken something worse or hit her head hard enough to disorient her. I try to check in often, and my parents both call her once a week, but it still could have been some time before someone got her help for a serious injury.
“I still worry. You know, the lease on my apartment is almost up–”
She gives me a sharp look. “No. I do not need a babysitter. A young thing like you needs to be out on the town, not knitting with her grandmother.”
“What if I like knitting?” I say as I scoop some pudding into my bowl.
“You can knit when you’re married.”
I laugh at her blunt response. “Based on how my last date went, I don’t think that’s happening anytime soon.”
“Was this another one of those app boys again?”
I smile around a bite of pudding. Granny tries to keep up with the times, and often asks me for lessons on things like dating apps or TikTok. When she first asked me about dating apps, I thought she was trying to find a man for herself. But she told me she was too old to date, and that no one could compare to my grandfather anyway, so there wasn’t a point.
Granddaddy passed away three years ago, but sometimes I catch myself looking out toward the empty barn like I’m going to see him leading a horse out into the ring. After he died, my dad came down from Canada and sold off all the horses so that Granny didn’t have to worry about them. The land seems lifeless without them, but I know it was the right decision.
“Yes, I met him on a dating app,” I answer, blinking away the memories clouding my mind.
“Why don’t you date one of those boys on the Lions? They seem very nice in those videos you make. Especially that one boy–oh, what’s his name?” She taps her spoon against her lip. “King! Funny name, but he seems nice.”
My lip curls. “His name is Jason. His nickname is King, and he’s not nice, he’s obnoxious.”
Granny frowns. “That’s not how it looks on the videos you make.”
“I edit out all the bad parts,” I say, which is true, but Jason doesn’t really have much to edit out. Besides the occasional flirty line he throws my way, he’s great on camera. All the women who follow us think so too, as proven by how they gush over him in the comments. I’d be embarrassed to have my name attached to their messages, but they’re unabashed in their drooling.
“Well.” She sniffs. “I’m sure at least one of those players would make a suitable husband. And they’re rich, which is a nice bonus.”
My mouth drops open. “Granny!”
“What? Your grandfather wasn’t rich when I married him, but he had ambition. A man should either be rich or have a good work ethic. Preferably both, but you can settle for at least one.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I don’t know what to do with you sometimes.”
“What you should be doing is putting on a little dress, going out, and taking my advice.”
“I came here to visit with you and you’re kicking me out already?” I ask, earning an eye roll. No wonder I’m sassy, this is who helped raise me.
“I’d like to see my great-grandbabies before I die. You’re my only granddaughter, and you’re wasting all the beauty I gave you.”
I laugh. “Granny, it’s a Tuesday . No one is out on the town.” I repeat her lingo from earlier.
“How would you know? You never go out.”
I give her a flat look. She smiles back at me.
“I went out last Saturday.”
“And it was a dud. Maybe if you went out on a Tuesday, you’d find someone better. Like a handsome, rich football player who wants to settle down right away.”
“I’m not going to date anyone on the team,” I say with an exasperated sigh. “If something goes wrong, it would be too messy.” My spoon clinks against the bowl as I dig in for another bite. “Can we drop this, please?”
“Fine, but only because I need you to help me fix my television. I can’t figure out how to get my shows to come up in a list like you had them before.”
“I’ll fix it.” I smile, grateful to be done with the dating talk.
I’d love to give my grandmother some great-grandbabies to spoil, but the chances of that happening anytime soon are slim. It’s not like I’m old though. Twenty-three isn’t ancient. But I’m also not a fan of going out on date after date, only for it to end the same way–an awkward goodbye and a deleted number. I wish I could skip to the part where I find my soulmate. For now, I’ll have to keep doing what I’m doing. It’s not like I have any other choice.
My little one-bedroom apartment isn’t nearly as cozy as my granny’s house. While the main reason I offered to live with her is to help take care of her, I’d also love a house like hers. A place with breathing room. Homewood, Alabama is no New York City, but it’s still too crowded for my liking. I’d love a house on a big piece of land where I could ride horses like I did with my grandfather. I’d even settle for a place in a little suburban neighborhood like the one I grew up in back in Canada. Anything is better than listening to my upstairs neighbors’ kids treat the floor like a bounce house every evening while I’m trying to relax.
I hang my keys on the hook by the door while I slide off my tennis shoes. After a long day of editing content, meeting with interns, and then talking with Granny for a few hours, I’m ready to curl up in bed. But I still need to check on all the content I posted today. My nightly routine consists of eating a snack and responding to a few comments per post so that the team seems accessible. Then I go to my own social media accounts and do the same.
Only a month into working with the Lions, people discovered who I was. I’d posted a few videos and photos on my personal accounts, but I was so focused on the Lions that I didn’t fuss with it. Until I did a video interviewing the players and showed my face. Suddenly, thousands of people were following me. I decided to capitalize on that and build my own brand. Now, I post lifestyle content as well as some behind-the-scenes of what it’s like being a social media manager. It practically doubles my workload, but it also adds to my paycheck through the small brand deals I’ve gotten so far.
I head into my kitchen and rifle through the cabinets for an adequate snack. While searching, I remember the Twizzlers I’d found in my backpack right before the game on Sunday. I still haven’t had a chance to begrudgingly thank Jason. I don’t know why he hides them or how he found out I love them. But since they are my favorite…I walk over to my backpack and pull out the half-eaten pack. The five-dollar bill is still attached, making me roll my eyes the same way I did when I first saw it.
After settling in on the couch, I open up TikTok and watch a video featuring none other than the man plaguing my thoughts far too often lately. It’s rather difficult to avoid him when he’s the quarterback and the most famous player on the team.
The comments are a slew of praise, mixed in with a few nasty hate comments. I delete those when I come across them because even though I don’t like the guy, some of them are downright venomous. I’m about to respond to a few of the most liked comments when one from Jason himself pops up. He replied to a comment where someone credited him with the win.
@JasonTheKing: The whole team did amazing on Sunday! They deserve all the praise. Thanks for the love.
I like the comment–because it would look bad if I didn’t–and move on. Athletes give credit to their teammates all the time, but it doesn’t mean they’re sincere. I’m sure it’s some kind of ploy to rebuild his image after years of partying. He probably doesn’t even run his own account.
I click away from the video and shake off all thoughts of Jason the King . He doesn’t deserve to take up space in my head.