My grandmother told me it would be better to start somewhere fresh, begin again. All of the platitudes you'd expect. She didn't encourage me to come home which sort of surprised me.
"You need to experience living on your own," she'd said.
"I have been living on my own since I was eighteen," I said.
"No. You've had roommates and then you had Grady." She examined her cuticles with an intensity I've only ever seen on a beauty school student. You have them and they're raggedy or their not. They need to be pushed back with an orange stick or they're already fine. The answers to the important questions of the universe aren't found by examining cuticles or nail beds. "You should experience complete freedom for a little while."
I shrugged. I hadn't planned to move in with the next guy who asked me to coffee and I didn't really want a roommate. The brief fantasy of living under my father's roof was just that: brief and fantasy. He wouldn't even notice I was there and it wouldn't be a Norman Rockwell experience. But I could pretend we were incredibly close, if only for a couple of months.
"It's something I should have done," she said. "A long time ago."
"What do you mean?"
"I went from my parent's home to college and roommates and then married your grandfather before I graduated. I didn't live by myself until he died and then I was raising my family so I wasn't really alone alone."
She'd been alone raising my dad and my uncle before either of them could read. She was in real estate so she could control her hours and go to school events. All of my life, Kate Daily had been my hero. She was everything I wanted to be: smart, strong, hard working, loving, caring, and a fierce negotiator.
"Why didn't you ever remarry after your divorce?" I asked.
"It was never the right time."
"Did you ever date?"
"Sure, but I kept finding men who wanted a mommy and I was already that to two little boys." She gave me a look. "That was the problem I had with Grady. He wanted you to be Mommy."
I picked up my cup of lukewarm coffee and took a tentative taste. It either needed to be rewarmed or have some ice and Bailey's added to it. Nine in the morning is too early for Bailey's but somewhere it had to be five o'clock, right?
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"I was young once. I know what it's like to want to do it all on your own." She put her finger under my chin to raise my face to hers. "You deserve someone who treats you like the absolute treasure that you are."
I nodded. It was a long time since I played plundering pirate and the treasure map. I think I was in fifth grade and it was someone's birthday, the treasure was a melted ice cream cake.
"I don't need a man," I said. "Not even to open jars or take things down from tall shelves." Last year Grandma gave me a Black and Decker automatic jar opener; it opened everything except for the huge jars of pickles from the big box stores. And two years ago, I bought myself a great step ladder, one with the wide rungs, so I could put things on the high shelf in the apartment where we lived.
"I should email the rental application back on the bungalow," I said.
"How much do they want for it?" she asked.
I gave her the figure, conditions, and condition of the house.
"Call and make an appointment to see it again," she said.
"Why?"
"Something about the whole thing doesn't smell right. Your father and I should look at it with you." She used the tone from when I was a kid and being obstinate about anything.
"What time do you want to do it?" I asked.
"The sooner the better."
"What about Dad?"
"He'll come. He wants you to move, too," she said.
I picked up my coffee cup and walked to the sink. It was cold and bitter, a little like I was feeling. If you are what you eat, or drink, I should become a decadent chocolate cake: rich, tempting, hard to deny. I poured it out and rinsed the cup.~~~
When my father met Grandma and me at the cottage, he asked if I'd made a punch list.
"Not a physical one," I said. I had thought about a few things the place would need, but I hadn't seriously considered moving, so I hadn't written anything down.
He got out his contractor's desk, the glorified metal clipboard that held his life, a pen, and a piece of plain paper. He clicked the top of the pen, licked the tip, and sketched the outside of the property.
"Let's take a walk," he said.
"Shouldn't we wait for the owner?" I asked.
"Why? He'll just slow me down."
Every three steps my father made a note of something on the property: the volume of leaves on the roof, the state of the yard, the age of the exterior paint, and the condition of the windows.
"It needs a little TLC," I said. I felt like I somehow needed to defend the place. I might have said more, but there was thunderous barking coming from inside the house.
"What the hell is that?" my father asked.
"Louie." I shrugged and tried not to blush. "He comes with the house."
"I've sold and rented houses with washers and driers. Sometimes with the furniture. On occasion, a security system. Never have I rented a house with a dog in residence," Grandma said.
"Would you believe he's organic security?" Daniel asked.
I hadn't noticed him come up behind us. This time his clothes didn't look like they came from Goodwill. He'd showered and shaved and there were no apparent stains on anything he wore. He looked credible and reputable, yesterday he'd looked neither.
"Organic?" Dad asked.
Daniel fished a ring of keys from his front right pocket, and inserted one into the kitchen door. This time there was no fumbling or lack of coordination.
~~~
tbc
word count 1112
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