16. Grant
Grant
I see her before she sees me. Annabelle stands outside Emerald Gifts, peeking through the window like she’s casing the place for a heist.
I stop a few feet behind her. “You know,” I say, “normal people just go inside a store.”
She jumps and whirls. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”
I tilt my head toward the window. “What are you doing? Counting how many grandmas buy your ‘Live, Laugh, Love’ stuff?”
She shushes me with both index fingers on her lips. “Let me have this.”
“Oh no.” I stride past her and open the door. “I’m definitely going in.”
“Grant, don’t,” she stage-whispers, but she follows me anyway.
Emerald Gifts smells like pastel disappointment.
Or maybe that’s the candle display. I wave to my Aunt Brenda and head for the spinner rack of cards that sits next to the jewelry.
Annabelle’s are easy to spot with their bright colors and cartoon drawings.
I already know the insides are going to be aggressively hopeful with a hint of silly. In short, pure Annabelle.
I pluck a card off the rack. It has two cartoon socks on the front. “Let me guess,” I say, not opening it. “Inside it says: You’re the only match for me.”
She gives a little nod. “That’s actually pretty good.”
“Or,” I add, “Maybe something like: Life would stink without you.”
“That’s not good.”
I open the card. “You warm my heart.” I close the card again. “That doesn’t work at all. Socks don’t warm hearts. They warm feet. And also disappear in the dryer. Which, honestly, feels like a decent metaphor for relationships.”
I pull another card. This one is a cartoon sun wearing sunglasses. “I’m feeling this one. Inside it says something motivational and deeply upsetting.”
She crosses her arms. “Like what?”
“I bet it says: Shine bright, beautiful soul.” I wiggle the card at her. “With extra sparkles, because you people can’t help yourselves.”
“You people?” She looks offended and somehow sparkly at the same time.
“Yeah,” I say without thinking. “You and that whole online cheering section you’ve got.”
“How would you know about—” Her frown turns to slow, dawning triumph. “Oh my God. You’ve seen my Instagram.”
I don’t react fast enough. Rookie mistake.
“You have,” she says, a gloating smile on her face. “You’ve been stalking my Insta.”
“I’ve glanced,” I say.
She touches her fingertips to her cheeks. “Grant Neverly, town cynic, glanced at my Instagram.”
“Won’t happen again,” I say, holding up the relentlessly sunny card. “Now let me guess this one too.”
She steps closer, pretending to study the card with me. “Read it. I dare you.”
I flip it open and read it out loud. “Hope looks good on you.” I make a gagging noise loud enough that my aunt shoots me a look. “You paid someone actual money to print this.”
“I’m spreading joy,” she says.
“You’re spreading weaponized positivity.” I put the card back. “It’s tragic, really.”
She nudges me with her elbow. “Only because you’re emotionally stunted.”
I put a hand to my chest. “You noticed.”
She reaches for another. Two coffee mugs clink together, their cheeks rosy. “Even you can’t spoil this one.”
“You keep me grounded even when I’m bitter,” I guess.
“Not terrible,” she admits.
“We go together like exhaustion and bad decisions.” I lift the card dramatically. “Wait. I know: You’re the reason people switch to tea.”
She lets out a sound somewhere between horrified and wheezing. “You should not be allowed in society.”
“Look,” I say, opening the card, which says: You warm my mornings. “More lies. Coffee warms mornings. People ruin them.”
“How?” she asks.
“By existing. In my space. Nobody should talk to me before ten.”
“So you’re not a spend-the-night guy?”
“She’d have to handcuff me to the bed. And not in a fun kinky way.”
Annabelle’s right eye crinkles up. “No pancakes?”
“You like pancakes?”
“Something wrong with that?”
“No, no, not if you’re into that sort of thing.”
“Newsflash, a lot of people are into that sort of thing. You’d be a lot luckier if you were too.”
“I’m as lucky as I want to be.”
She stares at me like she can’t figure out whether I’m serious or messing with her. I’m not quite sure myself. “Let me guess,” I say. “You’re a cuddler. You want to be the little spoon.”
“Only if we—” She stops herself. “Never mind.”
I raise a brow. “If we what?”
She pretends to focus on the next card. “Nothing.”
I let her dodge it. No reason to poke whatever that almost was.
She hands me a card with two cinnamon rolls holding hands. “Impress me.”
“You sure?” I ask. “I won’t be gentle.”
“Bring it.”
“Inside it says something about being stuck together.”
“Too easy.”
“Thanks for rolling with me through life.”
“Mmm, maybe.”
“Oh wait.” I lean in like I’ve discovered a masterpiece. “You’re the sweetest mistake I ever made.”
“These are supposed to be romantic, not guilty confessions.”
“Same thing,” I mutter. I pick another card before she can object. A pair of intertwined hearts with little faces. I don’t give her a chance to explain. “Inside this, it says: Let’s fuse souls.”
“Not even close.”
“I’m telling you, these two have already filed joint taxes. Let me guess, it says: United in love, divided in everything else.”
Her mouth drops open. “Seriously?”
“Together forever, because neither of us can read red flags. Get it? Because they’re red?”
“You’re the worst,” she says, but she’s laughing at me.
I’m laughing at me too. At us.
It hits out of nowhere, like stepping off a curb I didn’t see.
I like this. I like her laughing at my awful jokes. I like that she lets me ruin her precious cards. I like the way she meets my cynicism with sunshine, yet somehow I don’t get burned. I’m having fun. With Annabelle. Teasing each other about how incompatible we are.
Total incompatibility means zero romantic threat. Nobody catching feelings. Which means we can finally be friends.
She straightens, still giggling, and hands me another card, already bracing for impact. “This is the last one,” she says.
A cartoon cloud is blowing little hearts around. “This cloud looks like it’s about to sneeze romance on someone.”
She nudges me. “Open it.”
I do. It says: You make everything lighter.
I look from the card to Annabelle and back again. “Clouds make things darker. That’s literally their job.”
“You’re the worst.”
“You keep saying that like it’s news.”
“I used to think it was,” she says as she puts the card back. “And now look at us. You’re roasting my entire product line and I’m letting you do it.”
“It’s not personal.” I gesture to the other, non-Annabelle cards on the rack. “I could do this for all of them.”
“I think that’s enough for one day.” Annabelle loops her arm through mine like we’ve done this a hundred times. She tugs me toward the door. “Let’s get out of here before your aunt bans us for life.”
Super Savers hums with midweek, midwinter energy, as people who haven’t seen each other since Christmas suddenly remember that they all buy groceries in the same place.
The aisles are crowded with cart-blocking conversations and I overhear, “How’s the new job?
” and, “Did you have that knee surgery?” on my way to get coffee and cereal.
Fluorescent lights hum above and the scent of chocolate chip cookies spills over from the bakery section.
A couple holding hands walks side-by-side, taking up most of the aisle, and I’m nearly pushed into a display of coffee pods.
The Hoffnagel sisters pass me, barely pausing their fight about pasta brands, until they accidentally clip me with their cart.
All three of us apologize at the same time and then reassure each other that it’s all good.
A very pregnant woman gives me an “ope!” as she reaches past me to grab tea bags.
I duck into the aisle that sells breakfast food. My phone vibrates in my pocket and I pull up a text from a familiar contact. I haven’t spoken to Marianne in over a year, but I still get a warm glow in my chest when I see her name.
Marianne: Hey
Grant: Hey. What’s up?
Marianne: Big news! I’m getting married
A cart squeaks behind me. A man asks his boyfriend if they have enough milk.
At the end of the aisle, a trio of moms are discussing cupcakes for a school Valentine’s Day party.
In the distance, the deli clerk calls out number twelve.
I put back a box of sugary cereal and grab Wheaties instead.
Having a mature conversation with your ex calls for more grown-up choices.
Marianne is a physical therapist who loves her job and is very settled in Marquette.
We tried being long-distance, with phone calls, weekend visits, and ninety miles of road between us.
I thought it was perfect. She thought it was impossible.
We were both right. It was perfect for me. Impossible for her.
Grant: Congratulations. I’m sure he’s a good man
Marianne: He’s a doctor
Not the same thing, but I let it slide. Some people might read her text as gloating, but it’s not like that. We ended it cleanly, with no regrets. She’s not looking for anything from me. This is just information, like a comma dropped in the middle of life.
I’ve drifted down the aisle and find myself staring at the pancake mix. I shake my head and return to my cart, then text Marianne again.
Grant: Wishing you both all the happiness in the world
Marianne: I am. I am happy. How have you been?
Grant: Can’t complain
Marianne: I’m glad. Be well, Grant
I’m very well, actually. This life I have suits me. I own a business. I’ve got family and friends all around me. I live in the best place on Earth.
For a guy like me, this is as good as it gets.