Someone sets a coffee in a to-go cup down next to me. I look up at Chase, eyes wide in surprise.
“I made your favorite,” he says, smiling.
“Oh, thank you. I really needed this,” I say, taking a small sip of the warm coffee. The rich, nutty taste coats my tongue.
“You’re welcome. It’s on the house,” he says as he walks away to greet the customers that walked in.
“Thank you,” I yell over my shoulder. “I better get going. I have more orders to drop off.”
“It was nice seeing you. Get some rest,” Sydney says with a sympathetic smile.
I stand and grab the coffee. “I will. See ya.”
After I drop off all my orders, I somehow have an extra sourdough loaf. My grandma comes to mind. I haven’t seen her in a while and I’m sure she’s been waiting for a loaf of bread. Since I started baking bread, I bake a lot for my family.
As I drive down my grandmas street, my stomach rumbles. I forgot to eat lunch, something that I always do but try not to.
“Hello,” I say as I walk into her house. The familiar scent of her older home invades my senses. The warmth of her home shocks my already hot body from running around all day. She keeps her house so warm, even in the summer. I don’t know how she can stand it, but she says she’s always freezing.
“In here,” she yells.
I follow the sound of her voice into the kitchen as she is serving herself food. “Hi, grandma.”
For being seventy-five, she’s still pretty active, which I’m very thankful for. She’s always out with her friends, doing who knows what. She has a busier social life than me.
“Hi, sweetie.” She sets her plate down. “You hungry?” she asks, and before I can answer, she is already getting a plate out of the cupboard. Even if I said no, she would still serve me food.
After she serves me spaghetti, we head for the table. I set down my plate and then head back for the loaf of bread. “I brought you some bread. Do you want a slice?”
“Oh yes. That will go great with this.”
I cut us both a slice, butter them, and then sit back down. I twirl the spaghetti around my fork, the aroma of garlic and tomato sauce rising as I take a bite. The rich flavors melt in my mouth. Something about your grandma’s food tastes so much better than your own.
“Is everything okay, honey? You look tired.” Her concerned eyes scan me.
I stop mid-bite, wondering if my eye bags are really that visible. I tried to cover them up with concealer this morning, but by now it’s probably worn off. “Just tired,” I say casually, as if everything is right in my world.
“Why is that?”
I shrug, chewing my food.
“Is everything okay?” she asks in a gentle tone.
I squint my eyes at her. “Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”
She doesn’t answer right away. She gives me that knowing look, the one that always lets me know she knows I’m hiding something. I’ve never been able to hide much from her. Given all the years she’s lived and the wisdom she’s gained, I can’t hide anything from her.
Her eyes are still scanning over me like daggers, waiting for a better answer. I sit back further in my chair. “I don’t know. Zayn and I have been having issues.”
Her face softens as she sets down her fork. “Oh, honey,” she says, reaching across the table to place her hand on mine. “Marriage isn’t always easy, you know that. What kind of issues?”
I hesitate because, to be honest, I don’t even know myself. “It’s just… our communication. He’s been distant lately, and when I try to talk to him about it, he gets defensive.”
She nods, her thumb gently stroking the back of my hand. “Have you told him how it’s making you feel?”
“I’ve tried,” I say, my voice breaking slightly.
Grandma tilts her head, her eyes full of sympathy. “Sometimes men don’t know how to handle their own feelings, let alone someone else’s. But that doesn’t mean you stop trying. You need to keep at him,” she insists. “That’s what I always had to do with your grandpa.” She scoffs. “I miss him dearly, but my hell, communicating with a man is the one thing I don’t miss,” she says, shaking her head.
