You'd Be Home Now (56)

“Well, you don’t have to look out so hard.” He sighs. “Dad texted. He wants us to stop and see Nana on the way home. She’s back from Aunt Dory’s and I don’t have work or outpatient today.”

“That actually means he wants us to rake Nana’s leaves, you know.”

“I know.” He smiles. “I miss her.”

“Me too, but she’s going to yell at you,” I warn him.

“I know,” he sighs.



* * *



—

    Our nana is sitting in her small yard on a lawn chair, a blanket on her lap and a cup of coffee in her hands.

She starts to put the coffee down on the leaves and stand when she sees us coming up her walk, but Joey waves her down. “Don’t get up,” he says. “Here I am.”

He leans over and gives her a big hug.

“Joseph,” she says, beaming. “I’ve missed my handsome boy.”

Then she slaps his head.

“Ow,” he says, rubbing his ear. “Nana!”

“That’s for being a stupid boy. I trust you’re done with all this…whatever it is. It’s done, yes?”

“Nana,” I say. “It’s kind of a long process.”

“You be quiet. Am I talking to you? No, not yet. I might have words for you later, but right now all my words are for Joseph.”

Our nana is not mean. She’s just blunt. Joey kicks some leaves.

“I’m working on it.”

“The young should not die before the old,” she says. “How dare you waste a life you haven’t even lived yet.”

She sips her coffee.

“So, stop being stupid, Joseph.”

“Wow, Nana, you really know how to greet a guy.”

She gives a hard nod. “I love you. Now go get the rake in the shed and do something about this yard while I talk to your sister.”

She looks me up and down. “Sit.”

I look at the ground, thick with leaves, and think of my knee. “Maybe not right now. My leg. Remember? It’s hard to bend that way right now.”

    “Of course I remember. I’m not addled. Do you think I’m addled? I think your father thinks I’m addled.”

“He does not.”

“Well, your mother does, then. Always trying to get me to move into that room. I live here, in my house, the one I have lived in since I was born, and I’ll die here, surrounded by my trees and my leaves and that awful man who lives next door with the sickly cat.”

Joey starts raking leaves into crisp piles.

“You look different,” Nana says. “Something in your face. What’s changed?”

“Nothing. Just school and stuff. You know.” I kick some leaves out of the way. I don’t know how to tell her that everything has changed. Gage. Candy. Joey.

She studies me. “It’s a boy. Or a girl. Don’t look so shocked. I watch TV. I know how the world is now. It’s all okay with me, whatever you want. Live your life, don’t waste it, like I told Joseph. Oh, look, your face is red. I’m right. I’m always right.”

“Nana,” I say, embarrassed. “Stop.”

“Nana,” Joey calls. “You are exhausting, you know that, right?”

“Well, I have to say everything now. Who knows how much time I have left?”

“Nana,” I say. “Don’t say that! That’s sad!”

“Pfft,” she says, setting her coffee cup on the ground. “Death happens. We need to accept that and look around and appreciate what we have and change what we don’t like. Am I right?”

“You should really come live with us, Nana. The room is really pretty and we’d love to have you,” I say. “And you could harass Joey whenever you wanted.” It would be nice, having her there. Mom and Dad are gone so much, it would be comforting to have Nana there to talk to.

    “Hey,” Joey says. “Not fair.”

“Work harder,” she tells him. “Look, the leaves are falling just as fast as you are raking. More raking, less talk. And make one bigger pile, not so many tiny ones.”

“Why?” He stops raking.

“How dare you question an old woman.”

She turns back to me. “So who is this boy or girl?”

“Nana.” The last thing I need is to try to describe what’s happening with Gage to Nana. I’m not sure how one would phrase that to a grandmother.

She shrugs. “You don’t want to tell me, don’t tell me, but I’ll tell you one thing: they should hold your hand when you go out together, no matter what. And they should never walk in front of you. They should walk next to you, because you walk through life together, do you understand?”

“Nana.” Her words hit me suddenly and I tear up, because I do want to walk next to Gage, in front of everyone. I don’t want to stand in front of a window forever, or hide in a pool house.

“Don’t cry. That’s silly. Don’t be a silly girl like that. It’s good advice. Joseph!”

“What?” He walks over to us, wipes a gleam of sweat from his forehead. It’s cool outside, but he raked a giant pile of leaves in his hoodie and now he’s panting.