TESS
Thisis the story of how I fell in love with a broken man and his three littleprincesses. It is tragic, but it is true. And with truth, there is almostalways tragedy.
***
“Tessa, I donotneeda babysitter! I’m anadult, dammit!”
“Yes, Grandma, I know.You’ve said,” I grumbled, mopping the sloshed tea off the kitchen table.
“But you’re notlisteningto me!” Grandma’s wrinkled,spotted hand smacked the tabletop and more tea sloshed from her mug that wasmaybe a little too full.
With a begrudged sigh,I wiped the dishrag over the new puddle. “Iamlistening.”
“If you were reallylistening, then you’d know Idon’tneed a babysitter,” she repeated once again. With a pout that could leave a toddlergreen with envy, she crossed her arms and turned away to face the wall.
One thing had been madeabundantly clear to me: my grandmother apparently did not need a babysitter. Orso she said, about two-hundred times in fact, since I’d told her I would behiring someone to check in on her during the day. She insisted she could handleherself for a few hours, that she’d bejustfine. But what Grandma wasn’t willingto see, was that she wasn’tfine. Inthe last week alone, she’d forgotten to lock the door twice, left the stove onthree times, and neglected to use the ramp out of spite probably more timesthan I was aware of.
I couldn’t trust her tobe alone. Not anymore.
“Grandma, it’s not foryou,” I reasoned for what felt like the millionth time. I was beginning to hatethe sound of my own voice. “I need to get a—”
“You need to get ajob,” she snapped bitterly, turning abruptly to fix her scowl on me. “I know.You’ve said. And I’ve told you that you don’t need to. You have all the time inthe world right now to work on your writing.” She scoffed and pursed her lipsbefore continuing, “Hell, you should feellucky.I didn’t get that luxury when I was your age. I had to write while taking careof a house and raising children. You’respoiled.”
My eye roll wassuppressed as I dropped into the chair beside her. “I do need to make money—”
“Why?”
My wide-eyed stareoozed with incredulity. “Because I havebillsto pay?”
“Oh, yeah? Like what?”Grandma’s scowl was transformed into a smug little smirk, her arms stillcrossed.
I sighed and lifted mygaze to the Tiffany-style lamp hanging over her table. “Uh, well, my cellphone, student loans, car payments, car insurance …”
She waved her hand,nudging it into the mug in the process. More tea spilled onto the table and shesat, oblivious. “I told you, I would handle all of that. You just focus on yourwriting, Tessa. That was part of our arrangement, remember?”
“Yeah, I remember,” Imuttered, accompanied by my sigh.
I didn’t know how totell her that Iwantedto work, toget out of the house. To get some air. To meet other people. To get away fromher. Staying cooped up nearly every day, all day, for close to six months had takenits toll, and the weekly trips to the grocery store and her podiatrist weren’tcutting it anymore.
We sat in silence asshe finally took a sip of tea. Her shaky hands struggled to lift and lower themug, but I knew better than to ask if she needed help. I simply watched andwaited for my opening to step in, to help, and I breathed out with relief whenthe mug was securely on the table again.
“Where did you want towork?” she finally asked, gently and almost hesitantly.
My shoulders liftedwith the burden of being her caretaker and dropped with guilt.Somuch guilt. “I don’t really know. Isaw that the club near your doctor’s office is looking for a bartender, so—”
“Do you know how totend bar?” Grandma raised one white, wispy brow with every bit of doubt Ialready felt.
“Not really, but Icould learn, I guess.” How hard could it be to pour a few drinks? I’d exceledin college, and I would’ve said that to my grandmother, had her eyes not beenso narrowed with laughing skepticism. “I’m sure someone there would teach me,”I offered, and she shrugged.
“Are we talking everyday here, or what?”
I blinked withdisbelief. Was sheactually agreeingto someone elsesitting with her for a few hours while I got out of the house? “Uh, well,maybe. We’ll see. It might only be a few days a week or so.”
The deep-set lines inher lips accentuated as she considered this, and I sat there, shocked, as shewaved a hand in the air and said, “If you find a job, I guess it’d be okay tohave someone else spend time with me.” I opened my mouth to thank herprofusely, when she jabbed one knobby finger in my direction. “ButIwill approve of them, Tessa.”
“Deal.” I extended myhand to the old woman, and we shook on it.
***
