Wrong About the Guy

“That’s okay—neither do I,” I said.

“I do,” Heather said.

“Me too,” said Grandma. “I vote for that one.”

There was an awkward moment of silence after that. Aaron coughed. I couldn’t tell if it was real or fake.

“Don’t feel you have to chaperone us or anything,” I said to Grandma. “You’ve got to be pretty tired after getting up early and flying.”

“I feel fine. I just need to visit the restroom and I’m good to go. So what movie shall we see?” She gazed around happily.

Aaron caught my eye and opened both of his wide for a moment in telegraphed panic before collapsing into a chair like his legs couldn’t support him any longer.

“You can come if you want to,” I said, “but it might be weird for you.”

“Why would watching a movie be weird?” Grandma asked, her smile fading a little.

“The movie wouldn’t be, I guess—not that much—but we were going to walk around the mall and just sort of hang out for a while afterward. I don’t think it would be that much fun for you.”

“You mean,” she said, “that it wouldn’t be that much fun for you if I came.” She blinked a few times, patted her hair as if she were making sure it was still there, and said, “That’s fine. Really. I understand. Who wants a grandmother cramping their style?”

“It’s not that,” I said. “It’s just . . . we all made this plan a long time ago, and you and I will be spending a lot of time together over the next couple of weeks, so . . .” I trailed off.

“More than you probably want.”

“No, no.” I’m not sure how convincing I sounded. “It’s great. We’ll have a lot of fun. I was just . . .” What? “Just expecting you to show up later, so I made these other plans for today. But if you really want to go . . .” I stopped because Aaron was slowly shaking his head at me, telling me not to finish that sentence.

“I’m sorry,” Grandma said into the silence. “I didn’t mean to get in the way of your fun.” She picked up her suitcase with a slight grimace of effort. “I’ll just take this up to my room. I assume I’m staying in the same one as usual?”

“Wherever you want is fine,” I said. “Seriously. Take your pick. You could sleep in the master or Jacob’s room or either of the guest rooms—even my room if you prefer that.” Guilt was making me chatter idiotically.

“I wouldn’t want to get in your way,” she said. “My usual room is fine.”

“Let me carry that.” George took the suitcase from her.

“I was just about to offer,” Aaron said, leaping to his feet.

“I’ve got it.” George gestured to Grandma to go ahead and followed her out of the kitchen, listing to one side to balance the weight of the suitcase.

twenty-one

“Phew,” Aaron said before they were even out of earshot.

Heather shushed him and whispered to me, “She could come with us, you know. I don’t mind.”

“But I do,” I said. “You don’t know how a

“Really?” Aaron said. “Because I only just met her and I get it.”

“Yeah, it’s better this way. We couldn’t have relaxed with her around. And I’m sure she’s fine with it.” I was trying to reassure myself as much as Heather. I felt bad: Grandma had traveled a long way to be with me, and now I was blowing her off. But she really would ruin our fun. Not deliberately. Just by being there and by being herself. Anyway, she and I would have plenty of time together—she was staying for a small eternity.

“She was probably relieved not to have to go,” Aaron said. “Why would she want to hang with a bunch of teenagers?”

“I agree. You guys mind if I run upstairs and get changed?” I plucked at my sweat shorts. “Not exactly dressed for the movies.”

“We’ll figure out what to see while you’re gone,” Aaron said.

I reached the stairs just as George appeared at the top. “Hey,” I said as we were passing at the landing. “I’m just going up to get changed.”

“Hold on,” he said. He put his hand on my arm to make me stop, so I did—reluctantly. I wasn’t in the mood to be yelled at and he looked like he wanted to yell at me.

But then, George always looked like he wanted to yell at me.

He didn’t exactly yell; his voice was quiet as he said, “That wasn’t very nice.”

“What are you talking about?” I said, even though I knew.

He just waited, his dark eyes flickering across my face with a strange mixture of hope and concern.

I waved my hand dismissively. “You mean Grandma and the movie thing? She was fine with it.”

“You hurt her feelings.”

“Did she say that?”

“She didn’t have to. I could tell.”

“You’re projecting. She was fine. I know her better than you and I could tell she didn’t really care about going.” I wanted to believe that more than I actually believed it. I hated feeling guilty.

George shook his head. “I know it’s weird having your grandmother tag along,” he said, his voice even lower. “And she drives you a little crazy. But put yourself in her shoes for a second. She left her home and flew out here just so you wouldn’t be alone. After dealing with all the stress of packing and getting to the airport and flying and taking a cab, she gets here and you make her feel like you wish she hadn’t come.”

“I didn’t.” I looked down and rubbed at an imaginary stain on my shirt, so I didn’t have to meet his eyes. “I mean, she knows I’m glad she’s here.”

“Does she?”

“Of course she does.”

There was another pause and then he said, “Did you ever think about how strange this must all be for her? That you and your mom live like this?” He gestured around the house. “She told me she used to babysit you all the time back in Philadelphia. She still comes ru

I felt sick. Because he was right: Mom and I used to depend on my grandmother and now we barely saw her. There was a time when I actually thought that Grandma brought the fun, when her arrival at our apartment door meant I got to watch TV and do messy art projects and bake cookies. (She wasn’t into health food back then—that came later.) And now . . . my heart sank when Grandma appeared, and I didn’t even bother to hide it. Yes, she was maddening, but George was right—she would do anything for me and Mom and Jacob. And I was an ungrateful pig.

But I didn’t want George to think so. It was one thing to have him tease me about being spoiled and selfish, and a very different—far more painful—thing to feel like he actually thought I was. I struggled to think of something to say to defend myself, but it was hard. “I welcome her,” I finally said.

He waited another moment and then sighed. “Okay.” He lifted his hand off my arm. “I know it’s none of my business. I just . . .” He stopped. Then he said, “I just wanted to speak for her, I guess.”

I nodded. I still couldn’t look him in the eyes. I felt ashamed and desperately wanted the conversation to end, so I said, “It’s okay. But I should go. The others are waiting.”

“Right,” he said, and walked down the rest of the stairs.

In my room, I sat on the edge of my bed and curled my knees up, hugging them to my chest.

I was such a jerk.

When did Grandma’s presence stop being fun and start being a