She's Up to No Good(55)

“Whatever happened that made you get so quiet.”

“Nothing happened.”

Leaning forward enough that I worried her pendulous chest would land in her food, she peered at me through the glasses that she seldom wore—they made her look old, after all. “Is that the problem, then?”

My shoulders sank as I rolled my head back in exasperation. “You really have to stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Trying to play matchmaker.”

“Who’s playing matchmaker? He’s not even Jewish.” She hummed a couple of bars of a song that took me a minute to place. Then it clicked as “Matchmaker, Matchmaker” from Fiddler on the Roof.

“You’ll stop when you’re dead, won’t you?”

“Oh, I don’t plan on doing that.”

“Stopping or dying?”

“Either, frankly. Neither seems like much fun.”

“Let’s talk about you, then,” I said.

“What about me?”

“When are you going to see Tony?”

“Tony?” she asked in either genuine surprise or the best imitation of it. “Why on earth would I see Tony?”

I had done the math. “Because the last time you were here, Grandpa was still alive. What are you waiting for?”

She blotted her lips with her napkin. “Darling, we broke up nearly seventy years ago.”

“But he’s practically all you’ve talked about.”

Her head shook as she waggled a finger at me. “You haven’t been paying enough attention.”

“I asked you why we were coming here, and you’ve spent the last three days telling me about your love affair with Tony. Grandpa seems like an afterthought.”

“Neither of them is why we’re here.”

“Then why?”

She sighed. “I have business to take care of. I’ve told you that.”

“And Tony is no part of it?”

A flicker of something I couldn’t recognize crossed her face, then was gone. “He was . . . then. Not now.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you ask too many questions,” she said brusquely. “Isn’t that what got you into trouble this afternoon? Asking about Joe’s wife?”

“I wasn’t in trouble. It was an awkward moment, but we got past it.”

“Yes. You’re welcome for that.”

I rolled my eyes. “You know, if you did want something to happen, crashing our lunch wasn’t the way to do it.”

“You two looked just fine once I got things moving again.” I started to argue, but she held up a hand. “Besides, you told me you don’t want anything to happen. Has that changed in the last”—she looked at her watch—“three minutes?”

“You’re impossible, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told. By you, in fact. But nothing is impossible, my dear, not even me.”





After dinner, Grandma changed into a nightgown, then insisted that I watch a movie with her, which turned out to be some hideous made-for-TV thing that was too poorly acted to watch. Instead, I opened Instagram, intending to look through Joe’s feed. But first I clicked on my notifications.

There were a lot. I never posted anything artsy, and it was an amazing shot. As I scrolled through the comments, I reminded myself to ask to see his gallery again. Then—

Oh.

Joe liked eight of my pictures.

Not the ones he took—older ones.

Meaning he had gone through my feed.

My friends were all old and married like me—well, like I had been. But I did know one person who was an expert, if a somewhat infamous one, in social media and dating.

I texted my cousin Lily.

What does it mean if a guy you just met likes old Instagram pictures of you? I asked.

The three dots appeared immediately. Her phone was always in her hand.

Is it the guy who took that picture of you? she wrote back. I stalked his profile. He’s H-O-T.

I rolled my eyes, completely unsurprised that she had already looked him up. Maybe. But what does it mean?

You know what it means, Jen. Three dots again. Is this a Grandma fixup?

She’s trying.

Oh no. Trust nothing. He’s probably our cousin.

If Tony was actually my grandfather, Lily was right on the money. But that was too far, even for my grandmother. I hoped.

So he’s interested?

Yup.

I bit my lip as I replied. That complicates things.

Why? You’re single . . . or about to be. And you’re totally allowed to bring a date to my wedding.

I laughed, and Grandma looked over sharply. “What are you laughing at?” she asked over the television, which was at a decibel level that would probably relegate my hearing to the quality of hers soon.

“Lily.”

“Billy who?”

“LILY.”

“Oh.” She lost interest and returned to her movie.

Thanks.

Let me know if Grandma does anything crazy. I’ll blog about it. My readers love her.

I summarized the Xanax/Zantac debacle. Lily could have that one.

Then I switched back to Instagram and went to Joe’s feed. He had posted the picture of me as well, without tagging me, but using my Wizard of Oz caption. The rest of his pictures were mostly artistic shots mixed with pictures of Jax, a couple of him with friends, and a few with an older couple, identified as his parents in the caption.