CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Oh, dear. That is disappointing.”
It’s not that I’m surprised my grandmother would say something like that after I announce I’m dating a musician who was once one of the biggest names in the entire world.
I expected nothing less from her, being one of those upper-crust ladies who had been born into old money and whose carefully curated world has included some truly spectacular people.
But still, she could have at least pretended to think things over before dumping all over my news.
“What’s disappointing?” I press, though I should know better by now.
People shouldn’t ask questions they don’t really want to hear the answer to, and I know this woman. She won’t hold back.
She lowers her fork and knife to her plate—Wedgwood china, naturally, even for something as simple as lunch at home with her granddaughter. “Dear, musicians are never a good choice when it comes to dating. They’re too hot and cold, too unpredictable. Too unreliable.”
I can’t help myself. I know I should try, but I just can’t do it. “Strange. It sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
She lowers her brow, hitting me with eyes that look a lot like mine. “Watch yourself, Kathryn.”
“I’m just saying, how would you know unless you once were involved with a musician? That’s all I want to know. You know I would never judge you.”
“I’m not entirely sure about that.” But there’s a twinkle in her eyes in spite of the downward tilt of her lips.
Like she wants to frown but can’t quite bring herself to do it.
“For your information, no, I was never in a relationship with a musician. But I had friends in my youth who were lured by the musicians in the clubs. Jazz musicians mostly.”
“Jazz musicians aren’t notoriously known for good habits and clean living,” I admit. “Not during those days anyway.”
“I’m sure not much has changed,” she insists.
“He’s not that sort of musician though.”
She tilts her head to the side, fixing me with a cool stare. “Then, what sort of musician is he?”
“I mean he’s, you know, not that sort of person. He’s trying to get his career back on track. Can you imagine what that must’ve been like—being so famous from the time he was a young teenager?”
“Poor baby.” She yawns with a roll of her eyes, patting her silver hair into place like it needed any such fixing. She’s impeccable, just like always, right down to a fresh manicure and pouty red lips. Somehow, she manages to never leave lipstick on her fork or glass. She’s perfect.
“It’s true though. He was too young to know what to do, and I guess he couldn’t have managed things very well. It was never his, that career. It belonged to the music company. Now, he wants something for himself, and I think that’s commendable.”
“Indeed. That is commendable.” The way she lifts her eyebrows as she picks up her knife and fork that tells me there’s something coming, that she’s not content to leave it there.
And darn it, I’m right.
“How many women has he slept with?”
“Grandmother!”
“Do you expect me not to care? You tell me you’re dating this young man, and he was once incredibly famous.
And incredibly young. Incredibly young, incredibly famous people aren’t exactly renowned for solid decision-making.
I’m sure there were girls throwing themselves at him from the moment he opened his eyes to the moment he closed them—and in between times, if they could manage it. ”
I can’t help but think back to what he told me about the girls who used to hide in his hotel room. “Okay. Sure.”
“Do you know he’s been safe? Does he have children out there somewhere? These are questions you must ask him.”
“I’m not going to ask him that!” My face is hot, burning with embarrassment.
“And why not? Don’t you care?”
“Grandmother, this isn’t going anywhere. You don’t have to worry about anything. I’m a smart person, and I can handle myself. I’m dating him, but there’s absolutely no chance of this going any further than that.”
Silly me, hoping that would reassure her somehow. All I get for my effort is a shake of her head, the clicking of her tongue.
“I agree, you are a smart girl. But my goodness, do you enjoy telling yourself stories. Perhaps that’s what makes you such a compelling author.”
“That stings.”
“I may have intended for it to sting. There you were, dating a wonderful young doctor—”
“Can we not?” I sigh, looking at the ceiling at the mention of Jake.
“He was the sort of man I would love to see you settle down with. Aside from the fact that he was gorgeous and charming and respectful, he was also dreadfully successful.”
“You don’t know the first thing about his career.”
“He was a doctor.”
And I guess that’s all she needs to know.
“There are all sorts of people in the world, Grandmother. People have different gifts and talents. I would be terrible as a doctor or even a nurse, but you don’t love me any less for that. Unless you do and I’ve been under the wrong impression my entire life.”
“My dear, the only thing about you that has ever disappointed me is your insistence on using that nickname your mother chose.”
“I like being called Kitty.”
“Kitty is a name for a cat or a burlesque dancer. Not for my granddaughter.”
I can’t help it. I almost choke on my water, which unfortunately was in my mouth when she made the burlesque dancer comment. I have to take my time with swallowing because the impulse to spit out my water and laugh until it hurts is dangerously strong.
Finally, I have myself under control and can offer a snarky comeback. “Hmm. Burlesque dancing. I’ve never considered that one. Maybe if the whole writing thing doesn’t pan out …”
“I don’t find this amusing.”
“Funny, but I couldn’t tell.”
“Kathryn.”
“Grandmother. You’re taking this way too seriously. I’m dating him. We’re not getting married. We’re not even seriously dating. It’s a casual thing. Once his New York gigs are up, I’m sure he’ll move on, and it will all be over.”
“And you’re all right with that?”
“Why shouldn’t I be?”
“You’ve never struck me as the type to take something like this so lightly.”
I roll my eyes.
“Please, don’t dismiss me,” she urges. “I know you think I’m hopelessly out of touch when it comes to matters such as this, but I assure you, the number of years I have on you doesn’t make me an old stick in the mud who’s behind the times.
They make me wise. They make me aware of the world.
I would rather spare you the pain I’ve witnessed and even gone through myself.
I would spare you all of that if I could even though I know it’s impossible.
We all have to make our own mistakes. Our parents and grandparents can’t make them for us. And that is a terrible shame.”
She’s never come out and said anything like that before. Not to me anyway. We’ve always been loving but never affectionate, which I guess is what she’s comfortable with. Which is what makes what she just said so surprising.
“I know you love me and want what’s best for me. But I’m not a little girl anymore. I can handle the realities of the world.”
“That isn’t what worries me.”
“What does worry you then?”
She sighs, and there’s genuine pain in her expression.
“I don’t want to see it harden you. I want you to keep that bright, loving heart of yours.
I want you to see good in people. I want you to keep writing romantic stories about love triumphing over everything else.
I want you to write it because you believe it, not because someone else tells you that you have to write it.
That’s what I want. I don’t want you to lose yourself to the world, Kathryn. ”
Well, that was unexpected. So unexpected in fact that when Peter, Grandmother's butler, comes to clear away our plates, I barely acknowledge his presence. It doesn’t even occur to me to tell him I’m not finished yet. I’m too overwhelmed.
“And if you happen to marry a doctor and settle down into the sort of life you deserve, so much the better,” she adds.
“Do you think that’s what’s going to happen to me?” What is it about talking with this woman that leaves me feeling like a little girl again?
“That you will eventually settle down into the life you deserve? I certainly hope so.”
“No, I don’t mean that. I mean, what you said before that.”
“That the world will harden you? Not if you don’t allow it, my dear.
And that’s the thing so many people don’t realize until it’s too late—you can choose whether or not to allow yourself to become jaded and cold.
You can choose to rail against that too.
Some of the happiest, healthiest people I know steadfastly refused to allow the world to change who they are inside. ”
“What about you?” I can’t help myself.
The woman’s always been a mystery to me, mostly because she holds herself at a distance. She’s regal and cultured, and she was raised way before parents and kids connected and shared and opened up to each other.
She’s also filthy and raunchy under that shiny, polished surface. That, I wish she’d keep to herself. But no, she has no problems sharing that part of her personality with me.
“Me?” She lifts her martini glass with a dazzling smile.
“I’ve always marched to my own beat. Don’t get me wrong.
There have always been parameters to stay within or else I would’ve risked ex-communication from just about every social circle imaginable.
While I don’t care very much for some of the people in those circles, I know better than to believe myself capable of living without them.
There’s a reason humans gather together and form their cliques and tribes.
We need each other. We can’t get along without each other.
Your grandfather cared a lot more for appearances than I ever did.
When I lost him, I gained a bit of freedom.
I know how it sounds, saying something like that.
But time has given me the benefit of hindsight. ” Her smile slips a little by the end.
I believe she was madly in love with my grandfather but just doesn’t know how to say it.
“I wish I could find somebody to be madly in love with,” I confess, staring at the arrangement of flowers in the center of the table. Enormous, fragrant roses in cream and pink. Her favorite colors.
“You deserve that. You’re young. You’re beautiful. You have the entire world at your feet. Don’t sell yourself short for the sake of a few books, dear.”
“But I have to—”
“I know what you have to do—or what that horrid editor of yours wants you to do.”
“I can’t afford to go unpublished.”
“I realize that. How many times have I wished your grandfather had purchased a publishing house?”
“Grandmother.” I have to laugh. “I wouldn’t accept any offer you handed me. That’s cheating.”
“As if the world wasn’t built on cheating and nepotism.” She laughs with me. “I don’t want you to lose your sweetness, darling, but there’s something to be said for realism.”
Soon, she stops laughing, eyeing me again. “Don’t waste the best years of your life dating random men for the sake of your career. I wouldn’t want to see you regret the wasted time.”
Wow. Talk about putting my life into sobering perspective. “If something good comes out of it, the time’s not wasted. Right?”
“There’s that positive attitude I like to see.” But she’s still not smiling. If anything, she looks a little sad.
So sad that I feel like I have to cheer her up.
“I’m learning more about myself as a person too.
When you look at it that way, you’ll see what a good thing this is.
I holed up in my apartment for years, writing.
Just writing. I hadn’t had more than a handful of dates in all that time.
If anything, I was wasting time then. Now, at least I’m getting out and into life.
I’m learning about people. I’m learning about what I will and won’t accept from a partner. ”
“That is important,” she agrees.
“If anything, I owe Maggie a lot of gratitude for pushing me out of my comfort zone. Without this shake-up, I might’ve ended up a recluse, surrounded by all the stray cats I’d have brought in during my rare forays out into the neighborhood.”
“Dear, I would never have allowed that to happen. I can accept an eccentric granddaughter. I cannot accept the thought of her living in squalor, surrounded by defecating cats.”
“Grandmother.”