Page 76 of All of You
There’s no tension, no awkward flirting, no banter. But Lyra stops in during my lunch break and eats with me. I’m pumped to show her my phone and get the scoop on the day after the punching that I missed.
Technically Gramps didn’t mention whether or not I could have friends over to work and Viv doesn’t seem to mind. When we’re done eating Lyra leaves and I get all my tasks done early so Viv says I can leave early.
Gramps comes to pick me up. I wait on the sidewalk in front of RootBound for him to arrive. It’s a sunny day out and still warm enough to be comfortable with a light coat on but Main Street is dead.
I text Langdon back.
Work’s boring without you to irritate.
My phone vibrates as I’m tucking it back in my pocket.
LOL I’ve had the best relaxing day—weird.
OuchI respond.
JK. What are you doing now?His text pops up.
Waiting for Gramps to pick me up. See you tomorrow?
Gramps truck rumbles toward me, slows, and pulls to the curb. I tuck my phone into my pocket and hop in the clunky old truck.
“How was work?” he asks as he directs the truck into the nonexistent traffic.
“Slow today. Just me and Viv.”
Gramps nods. “Hungry?”
“I could eat. What’s for dinner?” I ask. I brace myself for the pothole he’s sure to hit. He does and my head bonks my arm as it grips the ‘oh shit’ handle near the door. Gramps mutters something not gentlemanly.
“I thought you could surprise me. Do you cook?”
I laugh. “Really? I mean, yeah I can, but do you really want me to make dinner?”
Gramps turns onto our road. “I do. I’m tired tonight. Don’t even care what you concoct just as long as I can sit for a bit.”
My brows furrow. “Are you okay?”
He waves me off and nods. “Just fine. Old and tired is all.”
A tremor of panic streaks through my veins. “Gramps. Are you sure?”
He glances at me from the corner of his eye. “Teenagers have a lot of… energy. Can’t a man just be old and tired without being on death’s doorstep?”
I bite my bottom lip and nod. “Sure. Sure, they can. Do you like homemade mac and cheese? I make the best cheesesauce.”
Gramps went to bed early causing another small wave of panic in my belly. I retired to my room, too anxious to sit and watch TV alone downstairs. My brain is haywire—too many thoughts and feelings pummeling through me. Conflicting emotions attack my nervous system. I’m curled up on the window seat. It’s a still, dark night. The ottoman—dated and wrinkled—looks lonely perched just out of reach of my feet. I grab my notebook to write a little.
I fear my ottoman resembles an anus. The center pucker is…brown and wrinkled.
A current of anger winds through me but I’m not sure why or at what. I feel sore and tired and unappreciated, even if the latter is untrue, it is how I feel.
This feeling—this dissatisfaction—it’s a clever torture the universe delivers. Do I deserve it? Is Mom leaving a punishment? I miss her. I miss our life before here.
Simple and boring.
I like it here, Gramps house feels like a home. I like the friends I’ve made and my job, but still…something’s missing. A current of dissatisfaction always present.
I think it’s Mom. Or rather, her absence.
