She hesitates for a moment. “No.” I can tell she’s lying, that me not wanting to see my grandmother is bothering her—which is bothering me because I don’t want to disappoint her.
“I just don’t want you to regret it one day when it’s too late,” she admits softly into my chest, and my arms instinctively tighten around her.
Oh my sweet girl.
Would I regret it one day? Probably not.
But then my mind oddly drifts off to ten years from now, when I have a house of my own and a family, a couple of kids running around. Two little girls with big honey-colored eyes and caramel-colored hair swim into my vision, and my stomach tightens as I think of the day they ask about their grandmother, and possibly their great-grandmother, along with other aspects of my life. While I may never allow them to meet their low-life grandmother, and I have no clue who their grandfather is, maybe I could at least give them a positive outlook about their great-grandmother.
I take a deep breath before exhaling slowly. “All right.”
Olivia stiffens in my arms, leaning back to observe my face. “All right?”
“Yeah, I’ll go see her.”
She looks at me skeptically, a small frown marring her brow. “I don’t want to force you to do anything you don’t want to.”
I shake my head. “No, you’re right. This is probably the last time I’ll ever get to see her. I might as well. She probably hasn’t had visitors in years.”
Her features smooth over and her eyes grow soft. She leans in and presses her lips to my neck.
“How about we go see her after dinner tonight?” I offer, honestly wanting to get the interaction over with. Plus, if we go tonight it’ll limit the number of hours we’ll be able to stay.
“Sure, if that’s what you want to do,” she says, looking up at me with her big brown eyes, making me melt.
“Yeah, I want to.”
After dinner we go to my grandmother’s nursing home, which smells heavily of antiseptic and death, making me very uneasy. A nurse leads us to a large dining hall where residents are lingering. She walks us up to a round table where a lone, frail elderly woman is sitting, and I almost don’t recognize her.
“Mrs. Miller,” the nurse says, raising her voice a little and placing a gentle hand on my grandmother’s shoulder to gain her attention. “Someone is here to see you.”
My grandmother stops poking at the pudding cup in front of her with a plastic spoon and glances up at me, her eyes brightening. “Bryan!” she says cheerfully. Close enough, I guess. Due to her dementia, I’m surprised she even recognizes me.
The nurse smiles politely, excusing herself, and heads back to the front desk.
“Hi, Grandma,” I say, awkwardly stepping forward to lean down and give her a one-armed hug. My stomach tightens in realization that this is one of the few times I’ve gotten to hug her. And it’s most likely my last.
“Oh my goodness, you’ve gotten so big!” She gawks at me. “How old are you now, twelve?” she asks in all seriousness.
I clear my throat. “Uh, no. I’m actually twenty-two.”
Her thin lips purse into a confused, disbelieving frown.
“This is my girlfriend, Olivia,” I say, switching the subject and stretching my hand out to Olivia. She places her hand in mine and steps forward into my grandmother’s line of vision.
“Hi, it’s nice to meet you,” Olivia says sweetly, despite shyly tucking herself into my side.
My grandmother’s eyes widen with surprise and joy. “My, aren’t you just the prettiest thing,” she says, fawning over her.
Olivia blushes madly, and thanks her.
Olivia and I take a seat next to my grandmother at the table, Olivia taking the reins on conversation, keeping the topics light and generic. I can tell how excited my grandmother is to have visitors, even if she hardly knows who we are.
We sit and talk for a while, and thank god my grandma doesn’t seem to notice or even mind the tension radiating off me in waves. It feels so weird to be here, talking to a practical stranger I feel obligated to have a strong relationship with. I do my best to be polite and engage in conversation as much as I can.
I subtly look at the clock and realize it’s just past seven and visiting hours are over at eight, meaning I thankfully have less than an hour longer to endure. It’s honestly not even that bad, just really awkward. And sitting here, staring at this fragile lady who’s almost skin and bones in front of me, is stirring up conflicting emotions.
“Well, look who’s back,” a familiar rough, sadistic voice says from behind me, making my blood run cold.
