Her mom, on the other hand, was lavish, spending money constantly on things Lilly didn’t want. Lilly hated it, but I never complained when her mom had things shipped to our house. Lilly handed it off, and thanks to that, I had a well-stocked closet and expensive purses I would never be able to buy for myself. Things I never imagined owning.
The night stayed mellow after the big fight, and I found a corner with my friends and stayed for the appropriate amount of time. When I got back to the apartment, I showered, feeling extra dirty from having been touched by a man, and then I went to bed. Sleep didn’t come right away, but when it did, I dreamed of sea blue eyes and caramel skin. I dreamed of fingertip touches and kisses.
In my dreams, my fear of the opposite sex didn’t exist. Thankfully, in my dream world, I could enjoy being physical because, in the real world, being touched would never be okay. Not when my brain kept tossing terrible memories to the front of my mind.
THE FOLLOWING DAY WAS SUNDAY, and I took the day to visit my grammy. I drove to Somersby, the small town where I grew up, and during the hour-long ride, I listened to my music and drowned out the thoughts plaguing me lately.
Things with Lilly had been different since her relationship with Devin seemed to be changing. She was the same, but she was changed.
Not bad.
Not good.
Just different.
I found myself thinking of ways I could stay gone. The thought of walking in on them again or running into Matthew had me terrified to go home. The place I was once comfortable in became a place I dreaded going to. I knew I could easily go to Lilly and ask her to keep males away from the apartment, but that meant explaining why it was an issue. Explaining why I had only pretended to be interested in men and sex throughout our entire friendship.
It wasn’t something I was ready to discuss.
So instead, I visited my grammy more, which was good, considering she was getting up in age and needed more of my time.
She had raised me after my birth mother, her only daughter, left me on their steps. I had no idea who my father was, and my mother had never returned home to her family after leaving.
It was for the best. No better set of parents existed than my grammy and pop. I was given everything they were capable of and loved beyond measure. I was shown the extent of a near perfect marriage and the correct way to get through life’s struggles together.
They’d been happily married for over sixty years. Pop used to say the trick to a long, blissful marriage was to treat your wife like it was the last time you’d ever see her … every day. He stuck to that, treating Grammy like she was a precious moment in time. At least that was what Grammy called it.
“He treats me like I’m a precious moment in time, which makes sense since we’re all just passing through.”
It was a sweet thought, and I always prayed I’d find a man who loved me and treated me the same, but I wasn’t about to hold my breath, considering how screwed up I was. But if I could never have the real thing, at least I grew up seeing the genuine love of my grandparents. There was no doubt about their affection for each other. You could see it in their eyes.
Then when I was sixteen, my pop had a massive heart attack and died, leaving me and Grammy devastated and alone in the world. Since then, Grammy and I had grown even closer.
I pulled into the trailer park where I grew up. The long, narrow dirt road was still full of potholes, making my car dip and bump as I drove over them. Kids rode their rusted bikes alongside my car, taunting and laughing. I parked beside Grammy’s trailer, the fifth one on the right, and cut the engine.
The place was neglected. The aluminum siding had long started to rust, leaving the beige trailer looking as if it had bled out and the blood had dried. The front door had a tiny diamond-shaped window, but you couldn’t see through it into Grammy’s living room because she kept a dark-colored rag tacked up to keep the sun out.
Aluminum foil wrapped the windows, keeping her light bill down during the summer months and the cold air out during the winter. Her front porch wobbled when you stepped up the three wooden steps. It was no mansion, but it was paid for, and thanks to Grammy’s disability checks, she was able to cover the extras like electricity and water.
I tapped on the hollow door, and the trailer shook with my knocking.
“Come on in,” she called out, her voice carrying through the thin walls.
Opening the front door, I heard the buzz of her window unit, regulating the temperature in the tiny place to her liking. The inside was always dark, thanks to the aluminum foil on the windows, but with the darkness and the hum of her window unit, I was always able to get some of the best sleep.
“Hey, Grammy,” I said, closing the sun out as I shut the door behind me.
“Hey, honey, I’m glad you stopped by,” she said from her favorite recliner across the room. The small TV I had bought her was on, illuminating the tiny space. “Your pop should be home from work any minute now.”
I paused, feeling sadness swoop in.
"Grams," I said softly, kneeling next to her chair. "Pop’s gone ... remember?"
Her hand turned over, and she squeezed my fingers. "Of course I do, hon, but he’ll be here any minute. Don’t you worry."
Her attention never strayed from her program, and my heart ached to the point of tears. I wiped them away and stood.
"Are you hungry? How about I make you something better than a microwave meal for dinner?"
She finally looked up from her program and smiled at me. "Spaghetti?" she asked. Her eyes turned sad and dark, and I knew she was back again. "It was your pop’s favorite." Her voice faded away as she lost herself in her memories.
"Of course, Grams. I’ll make you spaghetti." I leaned over and kissed her on the head.
The kitchen needed cleaning. Dirty dishes and old food cluttered the counters. Grammy always kept a clean house, and seeing it so filthy further let me know she wasn’t well. Clutching the laminate countertop, I stood at the sink and took a deep breath.
Her episodes were coming more frequently. They didn’t last more than a few minutes, but I knew I would have to make a decision soon because I couldn’t leave her like this any longer. It hurt too much to know she was slowly forgetting everything about her life, and she was alone doing it.
Cleaning while cooking, I managed to whip the small space into shape as the spaghetti bubbled on the stovetop. An hour later, the place looked the way it used to. I made her a plate, and we sat at the old table in the eat-in kitchen and ate dinner together. Within that time, she had two more episodes, both times talking about Pop as if he was still alive. She spoke as if the past five years hadn’t happened at all.
After we were done eating, we watched a bit of TV. It wasn’t long until she was dozing off while sitting in her chair.
"Let’s get you ready for bed, Grams," I told her, turning off her TV.