Generations #2
My grandpa considers the question for a bit, then says, “A room full of very important people agreed that a situation had to change. They disagreed rather enthusiastically on how. They needed someone who could find an outcome they could agree on without any of them believing they’d conceded.
They knew your grandma was one of the few people who could do it, so they asked her to come out of retirement for a couple of days. ”
Oh, how I wish I could be on comms for one of my grandma’s meetings. Her diplomacy skills are legendary.
The luggage from their flight starts coming through, and I grab the first of their belongings—a hard-sided tube that’s three or four feet in length —and place it on a luggage cart. “So how long will you be staying in town this time?”
“Longer than usual,” my grandpa says and points to the next item, and Reese grabs it. It’s a narrow wooden crate with “Fragile” stickers on it. After that is a birdcage-shaped box.
“Be careful with that,” Grandpa says.
Reese and I each retrieve an actual suitcase, followed by an oversized duffle, a vintage trunk, and a long, skinny case. The last piece of luggage is a guitar-sized soft case, except last I heard, neither of them plays guitar.
Grandpa and Grandma always travel like they’re smuggling a museum home with them, and getting everything all balanced well on the luggage cart takes some work. When we get out to the vehicle, I’m extra glad I brought Ledger’s SUV instead of my car, because the luggage fills the entire back section.
My phone pings, and I pull it from my pocket. Reese notices, so I try to keep my face neutral as I read the message from my tech op.
Nora: He did not switch transportation methods twice. Probably not working for Rooke today. We’ll keep eyes on him a bit longer, just in case. I’ll notify you if anything changes.
Once we have the luggage and the four of us inside the SUV, we head toward Cipher Springs and my mom’s house. When we pull into her driveway, my brothers all spill out of the house to help bring in the luggage.
The front door opens before we even reach it, and the moment my grandparents step into the house, my mom wraps her arms around Grandma.
Neither of them says anything for a long moment—they simply hug.
As I watch them, I’m struck again by something I don’t let myself think about often.
When I lost my dad, my mom lost her husband.
My grandparents lost their son. They are carrying different grief, but it’s about the same person.
It hits me how much they’ve helped each other to bear it.
My grandpa gets his hug from my mom. It’s shorter, but still just as meaningful. He squeezes her shoulder once before stepping back. “I’ve missed you, Evelyn.”
“You, too.”
Everyone turns as Blake’s three-year-old daughter, Heidi, comes barreling into the room, yelling “Great-Grandma!” Except she’s not so good at saying her R’s, so it sounds more like “gweat gwamma.” She probably doesn’t even remember meeting Grandma in person last time, but Blake has her video chat with them often, and we’ve all been talking about their visit.
She wraps Grandma’s legs in a hug, and Grandma laughs.
“My goodness, look at you! Last time I saw you, you had just figured out walking.”
“I’m faster now.”
“I can see that.”
Arthur crouches beside her. “I bet you could even beat me in a race.”
Heidi grins and gives him a hug, too.
The room fills with conversation. Everyone is here— all my siblings, plus Mackenzie, Zoe, Owen, and Reese. Ledger and Blake are making guesses as to what each of the odd-shaped luggage items contains. My grandparents are just smiling, letting them speculate without confirming or denying anything.
While Emerson is quietly studying the tube like he’s trying to decode it, Charlie is checking out the long, skinny trunk. “Antique telescope?” she asks.
Grandpa gives away nothing.
“A rolled-up medieval tapestry. A ceremonial spear? Blueprints for an underground city. A sword?”
“Please let it be a sword,” Ledger says.
“You skipped right over antique fishing poles,” Reese says.
Everyone is talking over everybody, and no one seems bothered by it. Me? My eyes are on Reese. She’s laughing, but not loudly. Just comfortably, like she’s been part of this family forever.
My grandpa catches my grandma’s eye, and they both smile, like they’re just soaking it all in.
I want that. Someone to grow old with. Someone who knows why my evening routine includes drinking beet juice.
Someone who catches my eye across a noisy room and somehow knows exactly what I’m thinking.
Someone whose history is so tangled up with mine that we couldn’t tell one story without telling the other.
To have our whole lives as a shared backstory.
I look over at Reese, because she’s the only person I can imagine building that history with. Every day, I feel like I want it more than I did the day before. Will she ever want it?
“This is exactly why we’re here,” Grandpa says.
It takes a moment for everyone to quiet down as they realize something’s about to happen.
“We’ve spent decades seeing extraordinary places,” Grandma says. “And somewhere along the way, we realized we were missing ordinary Tuesdays. And extraordinary places pale in comparison to ordinary days with family. We’ve been missing out on… this.”
“So…” Grandpa says, letting the word hang for a moment before he adds, “we’re moving home.”
There is silence for about the length of a single heartbeat.
Then we all start responding at once.
“What?”
“No way!”
“You are?”
“When?”
“For good?”
My mom has tears in her eyes, and she hugs Grandma again.
This one is somehow even tighter. Everyone keeps throwing questions at my grandparents faster than they can answer them.
Charlie is already asking if they’ve picked a house.
(They have. It’s in Cloakwood, not too far from mine, and they close on it in a week.) Ledger wants to know when the moving truck arrives.
(Their things are being shipped from Portugal and won’t arrive for a couple more weeks.)
Heidi decides “moving home” news requires jumping all around and on everyone. Blake lets out a low whistle. Charlie actually squeals. I can’t stop smiling. Reese doesn’t say anything—she’s just watching all of it.
I look at my eighty-something-year-old grandparents. My grandpa reaches a hand out, and my grandma’s is already there. Like it was automatic, from over fifty years of habit.
Still holding hands. Still choosing each other. Still choosing family. And for one dangerous second, I let myself imagine that same thing with Reese. Years from now, both of us gray-haired and wrinkled. With a lifetime of shared history and ordinary Tuesdays.
Reese’s eyes are on my grandparents, watching them.
More than anything, I wish I knew what was going through her mind right now. Because whatever it is, it looks bigger than this moment.