8. Summer 13
My stomach rumbles grumpily, matching my mood for the morning after waking up at the butt crack of dawn for no apparent reason. I reach into the fridge for eggs, only to discover we’re out. How did we run out of eggs? My family always keep an extra package at the ready.
I sink into one of the barstools at the counter in defeat after putting a slice of bread in the toaster and peeling a banana. I guess this will have to do for now.
Upstairs, I hear a phone ring. It’s pretty early for anyone to be calling, so I step off my stool to patter to the bottom of the stairs and listen. My mom’s sleepy voice is mumbling. After a moment or two, her voice comes through clearer. “What?” There’s a pause as whoever is on the other end answers her question. My mom sounds like she’s crying as she responds. “I can’t believe this. What happened?” There’s a long, stunned pause. “I’ll make plans to fly out as soon as possible.”
I hear my dad’s soft mumble and more movement as my mom’s soft tears turn to loud sobs. I want to rush up to their room and figure out what’s going on, but I don’t want them to know I was eavesdropping, so I just sit at the bottom of the stairs as I wonder what could be going on.
After about half an hour, my mom and dad come out of their room. My mom’s face is stained with tears. My dad has his arms wrapped around her as he holds a box of tissues in one hand. I stand from my spot on the stairs and meet my parents’ gaze. At the sight of me, my mom’s composure falters all over again, and my dad proceeds to console her.
“What’s going on?” I whisper, unreasonably afraid of speaking too loudly.
My dad walks my mom to the couch in the living room and motions for me to follow. I sit down in the recliner. With a voice coated in sorrow, my dad explains, “Grandpa had a heart attack this morning. He didn’t make it.”
My stomach drops. Grandpa was in such good health. Just a month ago, I spent the night at his house, and we baked all day.
My throat closes up and tears build in the corners of my eyes. Dad opens his arms up as I walk over and sit between him and Mom. I cry so hard I begin hiccupping. This can’t be happening. Grandpa was perfectly fine not that long ago. This doesn’t make sense.
We sit in a group hug until my tears finally slow and my hiccups stop. When we separate, I look up at the clock. It’s almost 9. Rebecca must be awake by now. I need to be with my best friend. I mutter some poor excuse for leaving as I run to my room and throw on denim shorts and a sweatshirt. I slip on a pair of flip-flops and walk out the back door without another word.
I head straight to the Martin’s house. They should probably all be awake by now, so I just knock on the door. Luckily Rebecca answers it, and as soon as I see her smiling face, I burst into tears again. She pulls me in for a tight hug and closes the door behind her, walking us out to the front porch. She sits on the steps with me for a long while until I’m able to control the tears.
As I catch my breath and wipe my eyes, Rebecca suggests we walk down to the beach. “You’ll feel better if we walk a little,” she insists. Once we are down there, she picks up a pebble and skips it. I watch it graze the water five times before disappearing into the lake. She hands me a rock. “Let’s do this for a little bit, and then, when you’re ready, you can tell me what happened.”
We stay out there skipping rocks for at least ten minutes before either of us says another word. I take my time before I speak up, knowing she’s leaving everything up to me. I appreciate that. Rebecca’s a good friend. Honestly, she’s one of the best I could ever ask for.
“My mom just got a call from my aunt. My grandpa had a heart attack this morning, and they didn’t get him treatment in time. He’s gone.” I sniffle. “He was just here doing normal things with me, and now he’s gone.”
“Oh, Emma, I’m so sorry.” Rebecca hugs me and hands me another rock. “Don’t stop skipping. We are going for a world record number of skips here.” With a soft smile, she adds, “Based on your skipping, it’s going to take some time.” Despite the insult, I find myself laughing. I didn’t even think I was capable of laughing at a time like this.
“I don’t know what to do, Becs. My grandpa has been such a huge part of my life. It’s only been a couple of hours since I knew he was gone, but it already hurts so badly. I want the aching to stop.”
She kicks the rocks around a little, looking for another flat stone. When she finds one, she hands it to me. “It’s okay for it to hurt. The hurting only means you care. Yes, it sucks that he won’t be around anymore, but think about all the memories you have to be grateful for, all the lessons he probably taught you. When you think about it, you’re lucky to be hurting right now.” She laughs lightly. “I know I sound like a lunatic for saying this, but it means you had someone great enough to be sad about losing. That’s pretty special.” There’s a pause. I hate that she’s right. It’d be so much easier to just spend the day curled up in bed, wallowing in my sorrow, but I know Rebecca isn’t about to let that happen.
She hands me another rock and then skips one of her own. “Tell me more about your grandpa. I want to hear about what made him so special to you.”
I skip mine, and it bounces the most I’ve seen so far today. It’s almost as if Grandpa was looking down and saying look what I can do now. I sigh. “I don’t even know where to begin. There were lots of things that made him special.”
“I don’t have any plans today. Start wherever you want.” She shrugs. “I’ve got time.”
“He was the one who got me into reading. It started as him telling me all kinds of stories about dragons, fairies, and goblins. They were pretty crazy stories. I can’t believe he’d make them up on the spot like he did.” I take a moment to reflect on the memory. “Then he bought me this book that he always kept at his house. Every time I came over, he’d read it with me. It was this giant book, unreasonably sized for being made for children.” I gesture to show her its height and width. “It was filled with different fairytales like The Princess and the Pea and Goldilocks and the Three Bears. He helped me learn that reading can be an escape to another world with exciting adventures I’d never have on my own.”
“I never knew your grandpa was the one who got you into reading.”
“I guess that was something I had just taken for granted.”
“What else did you guys do together?” She prods me to keep talking as she also hands me another rock to skip. I’ll admit focusing on skipping rocks does help distract me from my emotions.
“We baked together a lot. He was a really good chef and baker, but I always preferred baking. He had this chocolate chip cookie recipe where he’d put cinnamon in the cookies. It seemed weird, so I refused to try for years, and then when I finally agreed to try them, I fell in love and regretted being so stubborn.”
Rebecca laughs at that. “So you’ve always been this resistant to change?”
“Hey!” I laugh with her a little before turning serious again. “I guess so.”
We skip rocks simultaneously, and I can’t help but grin when mine skips once more than hers. I am getting good at this. “In the last year or two, he started teaching me other recipes he has like his sourdough bread and sugar cookies. I’m still partial to those chocolate chip cookies though. They’re so soft, and the cinnamon brings out the chocolate. Maybe I can make them for you sometime.”
“Would you want to make them together? Maybe we could bake them today to honor your grandpa.”
“I think he’d like that. I know I would.” I reach out to hug her and show her just how much I appreciate her.
A couple of hours later, I spoon cookie dough onto a baking sheet while Rebecca picks out chunks to pop into her mouth. Despite her lack of help now, she was rather involved in measuring out the ingredients and intermittently washing dishes as we made the dough.
“You know, you’re supposed to wait to eat it until after it’s cooked,” I remark.
“Have you ever tried cookie dough? It’s so much better than cookies!” She picks another glob out of the bowl and tosses it into her mouth before adding, “This stuff is especially delicious. It’s like crack.”
Mrs. Martin clears her throat from the dining room table where she is working on her laptop. She gives Rebecca a disapproving look, clearly not enthused about her thirteen-year-old daughter making drug references.
I try to hold in my laughter, but a small chuckle slips free. “You can’t say the cookie dough is better if you haven’t tried the cookies yet.” I slide the first batch into the oven and set a timer. “Just imagine that cookie dough but with melty chocolate chips and an enhanced cinnamon flavor.”
Her eyes roll in the back of her head as she imagines it. “Ugh, my mouth is watering now and there aren’t any baked cookies to eat! I guess I’ll have to eat more dough.” She pinches her fingers together, picking up another chunk.
“Please wait to try the actual cookies. They’re worth the wait.” I look down at the ground, not able to meet her eyes for the next part of what I’m about to say. “Not to be dramatic, but every time you eat more cookie dough, a piece of my soul diesbecause it means there’s that much less dough for the actual cookies. My grandpa and I never ate the cookie dough.”
A small wave of sadness washes over me. It’s hitting me now how weird it is to make these cookies without Grandpa. “I need to go wash the cookie dough off my hands,” I mutter and beeline for the bathroom.
Rebecca watches me exit the kitchen. I can see the worried, knowing look on her face. I don’t want to make her feel bad. I know this is just her goofy personality shining through and a failed attempt at trying to act like everything is normal for my sake. I wash my hands and hover over the sink, sucking in a deep breath and trying to hold back the tears. I’m so tired of crying. There have been so many tears today.
There’s a knock on the door. “I’ll be out in a sec to help scoop the dough for the next sheet,” I say to Rebecca, trying to hide the shakiness in my voice.
“Are you okay?” It’s Andrew’s soft whisper.
I crack the door open and peer up at him with watery eyes. “I’m fine. Did you need the bathroom?”
He shakes his head. “No, I just saw you walk by and thought you didn’t look so good. I heard what happened. How are you doing?”
I shrug. “I’m sad, but Rebecca has helped a lot. I’m just having another moment. I’ll be fine,” I insist, stepping out of the bathroom. “Thanks for checking on me.”
I start moving toward the kitchen, but he quickly pulls me into his embrace. He squeezes tight and holds on for a little longer than I expected. I let myself sink into the warming comfort of his touch and the dull smell of his cologne. When did he start wearing cologne?
We finally pull away, and I look up at him again, blushing a little. I swear he is too, as if he regrets holding me the extra two seconds. He abruptly takes a step back and throws an arm behind his head, playing with his hair. “I’m here if you need someone besides Rebecca to talk to.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
We exchange one final lingering look before I step away and head back into the kitchen. Rebecca hops off the counter and rushes to me. “I’m sorry for eating the cookie dough. We can make another batch. We can bake all day if you want! Whatever helps you, we will do.”
I grab her hand and squeeze it. “It’s ok. I’m just a little emotional right now and need some time. I know you’re trying hard to be here for me, and I appreciate it.” I peer across the counter, looking for the bowl of cookie dough so we can start making another tray to go in the oven. “What’d you do with the dough?”
“I had to give it to my mom so she could guard it and make sure I wouldn’t eat any more.” She gestures to the dining room table where the bowl sits.
I burst into laughter. “Just wait until the cookies come out of the oven. If you think the dough is that good, you have another thing coming.” I think for a moment. “We better make a second batch.”
Rebecca immediately rushes to pull more butter out of the fridge and goes into the pantry to find the sugars, flour, and baking soda. “On it!”
The timer goes off, and I pull the cookies out of the oven. They’re perfectly fluffy and have slightly golden edges, the sign that they’re done. I set them on the stove and look for my spoon to begin preparing another baking sheet with cookies. “Do you want to help me, Becs, or do I need to keep you away from the dough still?”
“I should be okay now that I can try a cookie fresh from the oven.”
Holding my arm out to stop her, I explain, “The cookies need to sit on the tray for about five minutes to finish cooking through. Then you can try one.”
“Then I take it back. Keep me away from that drug, please!” Mrs. Martin looks up again with narrowed eyes and Rebecca chooses to completely ignore her. “Why do we have to wait five more minutes? I’m so weak! I need help.”
A smile crosses my face as I roll my eyes. “Trust me, they’re worth the wait. You can start measuring the sugar again to keep busy.” I scoop more dough onto the tray.
After five minutes, I pluck a cookie off the tray and hand it to Rebecca on a napkin. “Here.”
She snatches the cookie up and takes a bite. “Oh my gosh!” She yells through a mouthful of cookie. “These are incredible! You were right. They are better than the dough!” With her mouth still full, she asks, “What are you waiting for? We need to get you one too before I eat the rest on the tray.” She pushes past me and snags a warm cookie for me. She places it on a napkin and shoves it into my hands. “Cheers!”
We both take a bite, and I can’t help the memory that comes flooding back with the swirl of cinnamon and chocolate on my tongue. I’m sitting at my grandpa’s kitchen bar, having “life talks” while we eat two cookies each. For the first time today, the memory doesn’t make me sad. I’m happy to have the memory. It’s just like Rebecca said earlier. Now, because of Grandpa, I get to make new memories with these cookies. I’m going to remember today as a good day. Not only did Rebecca discover the magic of my Grandpa’s cookies, but our friendship grew a lot stronger today too. I whisper a silent, “Thank you, Grandpa,” and finish my cookie, happily grabbing a second.