Chapter 8
Gossip Girl: Florence Edition
Two Weeks Later
“For the love of…” My grumbling is interrupted by yet another alert.
I pull out my phone to see that my blood sugar is dropping faster than I anticipated.
A faint tremor has already started in my hands, so I sink onto a bench outside Meadowbrook’s entrance and rummage through my purse until I find an applesauce packet buried at the bottom.
It’s a small miracle I had one since I keep forgetting to restock my emergency stash of snacks for moments like this when I’m out and my levels crash.
I twist off the cap and squeeze the applesauce into my mouth, exhaling slowly.
I’d foolishly thought that after finding out I was pregnant and understanding what was behind my sudden swings, managing my blood sugar would get easier.
Instead, the past two weeks have been a constant cycle of adjustments and corrections.
Thankfully, Dr. Hansen has been incredible, agreeing to check in with me regularly until I get my numbers under control.
After fifteen minutes, the tremor in my hands starts to settle, and I dig through my bag for my glucometer and do a quick finger poke. When the number pops up, I’m relieved to see it climbing.
Once I’ve finished, I put my supplies away, I push myself to my feet, drop the empty applesauce packet in the trash, and smooth out the skirt I hastily grabbed from the shop this morning.
I’d much rather be in my usual jeans and T-shirt, but I’m running out of clean clothes, and I’ve been too exhausted to tackle the mountain of laundry that’s been piling up in my room.
When I enter Meadowbrook, I’m greeted by the smell of freshly baked cookies. Some residents take a weekly cooking class, where they make a variety of desserts and leave a tray at the reception desk for visitors.
My stomach twists in knots as I reluctantly pull out the check for Grams’s residency fees from my purse and drop it into the mail slot outside the administrator’s office.
The overdue electric bill sitting on my kitchen counter flashes through my mind.
As much as another late notice makes me nauseous, I’d rather risk living in a candlelit apartment than put Grams’s spot here in jeopardy.
She’s thriving, and I’d never take away the life she’s carved out for herself—not after everything she sacrificed for me.
Shouldering the burden of figuring out how to pay the bills is a small price to pay if it means she gets to spend her golden years free of worry.
You might not be in this mess if you’d said yes to Heath’s proposal.
I could really do without my conscience piping up right now. It’s much more fun playing the martyr than admitting I might’ve let my pride bulldoze over a solution that could’ve made my life infinitely easier.
Potentially.
I rejected both of Heath’s proposals before we got around to discussing finances or what the insurance situation would look like if we got married, but anything would be better than the high premiums I’m paying now.
Even still, there’s an equally strong possibility that living together would end up with one of us sleeping in the barn to avoid committing a felony.
I absolutely can’t dwell on the sincerity in Heath’s voice during his second proposal, or the way he coaxed me into admitting our night together wasn’t meaningless. How could it be? The chemistry between us had been electric, and it resulted in our little peanut being conceived.
God, I’ve made such a mess of my life, and Heath’s impromptu visit to the shop totally derailed what little confidence I had in my decision, leaving me no closer to figuring out what the future holds for the baby and me.
I snag a cookie on my way past the tray. In my opinion, chocolate counts as emotional support, and it’ll technically keep my blood sugar from crashing again.
“Well, if it isn’t the reason I have a Xanax prescription,” Florence hollers across the lobby, not bothering to lower her voice.
She’s lounging in an oversized armchair, nibbling on a cookie she clearly swiped from the reception desk despite the sign that says they’re meant for visitors. Her hair is styled in a silver bob, and her wrist is stacked with chunky bracelets that clack loudly when she moves.
Florence is Grams’s best friend and has a room next to hers.
She fell and broke her hip a few months ago and still hasn’t been cleared to participate in the physical extracurricular activities the facility hosts.
So she passes the time holding court in the lobby, people-watching like it’s an Olympic sport.
I perch on her chair’s armrest. “Got any hot tea for me today?”
She shoots me a raised brow, holding out her hand. “Depends on what you brought me.”
I chuckle, pulling a small black box from my purse. “You’re in luck, old bat. Someone brought in a pair of pearl clip-on earrings from an estate sale, and I haggled the price down to next to nothing.”
Florence has a weakness for anything that sparkles enough to look like it belongs in a locked display case and was a regular at the shop before moving here last year. Since then, I’ve become her private supplier of collectibles in exchange for the latest Meadowbrook gossip.
She finishes her cookie and wipes her hands off on her pants before taking the box.
She opens it, lifts out an earring, and slowly turns it between her fingers, inspecting the pearl’s quality.
Once she fastens it to her ear, she tilts her head to check her reflection in the full-length mirror hanging on the nearest wall.
An approving smile crosses her lips. “Honestly, it’s a public disservice that I look this good.”
“Clearly, humility isn’t your strong suit,” I tease, taking a bite of my cookie.
Florence scoffs, turning her head to the side to catch the light on her new jewelry. “I gave up false modesty ages ago.”
I let out a small laugh. “If only we could bottle up that level of confidence.”
“Honey, I’m limited edition. They stopped production after the original,” Florence says with a twinkle in her eye before catching my elbow and drawing me closer.
“Now, about that gossip you’re dying to hear.
Rumor has it that Gary, our newest resident, was caught cheating on his now ex-wife at the facility where they lived in Upstate New York.
According to my source, she kicked him out when she found out, so he moved here to be closer to his son, who’s a lawyer an hour from here.
” She crooks her finger, beckoning me closer.
“He’s supposedly dating June, whom he met at bingo, but last week, I caught him sneaking out of Fern’s room before breakfast three nights in a row. ”
I give an exaggerated gasp. “What a two-timing bastard. Make sure Grams steers clear of him.”
Florence tips her head back, laughing. “It’s moments like this I’m glad I play for the other team, and if I ever did get an itch to rope in a man, he’d have a fortune lining his pockets and erectile dysfunction. All Gary has going for him is a receding hairline and the personality of expired milk.”
“And Grams is probably too busy giving Willis Owens googly eyes to notice Greg and his expired-milk personality,” I add with a chuckle.
He owned the bakery down the street from Timeless Threads and would bring Grams fresh pastries every morning. On the first Friday of every month, he’d take her into the city to see the latest exhibition at the gallery his grandson owns.
I’m convinced one of the reasons Grams came here was to be closer to him. A month after he moved in, she started talking about needing a change of scenery and being around more people her age.
Florence rolls her eyes. “Hell if I know. Those two are on and off more than a faulty light switch. They’re as bad as Earl and Ethel, just two decades older.
” She shifts in her chair, easing the pressure off her bad hip.
“It’s a good thing Willis’s room is down the hall, so I’m spared the sound effects of their reconciliation after a particularly heated argument. ”
“You wouldn’t be able to hear them with your hearing aids off anyway,” I quip.
She gives me a playful smack. “That smart mouth of yours is going to land you in big trouble one of these days, missy.”
I stifle a humorless laugh. It’s a little too late for that—on more than one count. If sparring with Heath hadn’t been so addictive, I wouldn’t have been tempted to let my attraction to him take root, which led us to falling into bed together, and subsequently, to a baby on the way.
“Should have known I’d find you two huddled up, no doubt gossiping about some scandal or another.”
I glance up to see Grams approaching, her cane clicking on the hardwood floors.
She’s nearly eighty-five, but you’d never guess it. Her strawberry-blond hair falls in chin-length curls, and she’s wearing a floral midi-dress cinched at the waist, paired with a classic gold watch.
“Who, us?” I motion with my hand between Florence and me. “Never.”
Grams levels me with a pointed look. “So that pearl earring on Florence’s ear is just a generous gift with no strings attached?”
“Naturally,” I beam. “We’re tight like that, aren’t we, old bat?”
Florence pats my cheek. “Bless your delusional heart.”
“Come on, dear,” Grams says, taking my hand. “The chair yoga class just ended, and Florence can’t miss her front-row seat to watch the ladies fight over where the old geezers will sit on their way to dinner. At least one set of dentures always accidentally ends up in the trash.”
“This place is better than my soap operas—cheating husbands, love triangles being dismantled over soggy tuna casserole, and someone getting whisked away to the hospital after taking too much Viagra,” Florence exclaims as she clips the second earring to her other ear.
“Enjoy the show,” I say, standing and waving goodbye. “See you next time.”
She smirks. “Only if you show up with more than your snarky attitude.”