Wrong About the Guy(46)

“She was probably relieved not to have to go,” Aaron said. “Why would she want to hang with a bunch of teenagers?”

“I agree. You guys mind if I run upstairs and get changed?” I plucked at my sweat shorts. “Not exactly dressed for the movies.”

“We’ll figure out what to see while you’re gone,” Aaron said.

I reached the stairs just as George appeared at the top. “Hey,” I said as we were passing at the landing. “I’m just going up to get changed.”

“Hold on,” he said. He put his hand on my arm to make me stop, so I did—reluctantly. I wasn’t in the mood to be yelled at and he looked like he wanted to yell at me.

But then, George always looked like he wanted to yell at me.

He didn’t exactly yell; his voice was quiet as he said, “That wasn’t very nice.”

“What are you talking about?” I said, even though I knew.

He just waited, his dark eyes flickering across my face with a strange mixture of hope and concern.

I waved my hand dismissively. “You mean Grandma and the movie thing? She was fine with it.”

“You hurt her feelings.”

“Did she say that?”

“She didn’t have to. I could tell.”

“You’re projecting. She was fine. I know her better than you and I could tell she didn’t really care about going.” I wanted to believe that more than I actually believed it. I hated feeling guilty.

George shook his head. “I know it’s weird having your grandmother tag along,” he said, his voice even lower. “And she drives you a little crazy. But put yourself in her shoes for a second. She left her home and flew out here just so you wouldn’t be alone. After dealing with all the stress of packing and getting to the airport and flying and taking a cab, she gets here and you make her feel like you wish she hadn’t come.”

“I didn’t.” I looked down and rubbed at an imaginary stain on my shirt, so I didn’t have to meet his eyes. “I mean, she knows I’m glad she’s here.”

“Does she?”

“Of course she does.”

There was another pause and then he said, “Did you ever think about how strange this must all be for her? That you and your mom live like this?” He gestured around the house. “She told me she used to babysit you all the time back in Philadelphia. She still comes running the second you or your mother calls her even though she knows you have these incredible lives that she’s not part of. Would it kill you to try to make her feel a little more welcome when she comes?”

I felt sick. Because he was right: Mom and I used to depend on my grandmother and now we barely saw her. There was a time when I actually thought that Grandma brought the fun, when her arrival at our apartment door meant I got to watch TV and do messy art projects and bake cookies. (She wasn’t into health food back then—that came later.) And now . . . my heart sank when Grandma appeared, and I didn’t even bother to hide it. Yes, she was maddening, but George was right—she would do anything for me and Mom and Jacob. And I was an ungrateful pig.

But I didn’t want George to think so. It was one thing to have him tease me about being spoiled and selfish, and a very different—far more painful—thing to feel like he actually thought I was. I struggled to think of something to say to defend myself, but it was hard. “I welcome her,” I finally said.

He waited another moment and then sighed. “Okay.” He lifted his hand off my arm. “I know it’s none of my business. I just . . .” He stopped. Then he said, “I just wanted to speak for her, I guess.”

I nodded. I still couldn’t look him in the eyes. I felt ashamed and desperately wanted the conversation to end, so I said, “It’s okay. But I should go. The others are waiting.”

“Right,” he said, and walked down the rest of the stairs.

In my room, I sat on the edge of my bed and curled my knees up, hugging them to my chest.

I was such a jerk.

When did Grandma’s presence stop being fun and start being annoying to me? I couldn’t pinpoint the shift; it was too gradual. Part of it was moving to LA, where people were suave and sophisticated and savvy. And part of it was Luke’s getting rich and famous—she was so clearly from our past, from a time when I was bored and lonely. Now I had cool places to go and every amusement at my fingertips. I had stopped craving adult attention, so Grandma’s company had become just a drag.

What did she even have in her life these days? She worked long, hard hours at the hospital, then watched a ton of TV and read articles about stuff like karma and meditation because they gave her boring daily tasks meaning. Her life had narrowed while ours had expanded, which made her refusal to live off Luke sort of noble. She never complained. She deserved a lot more respect and sympathy than I ever gave her.

I got up off the bed and changed out of my sweat shorts and tank top and into jeans and a sweater. I stuffed my feet into low boots, and then I marched out of my room and down the hallway, where I knocked on the guest room door before opening it. I said, “Please come with us to the movies.”

“I don’t want to be an imposition,” Grandma said, looking up from the suitcase she was unpacking.

“You’re not. If you don’t want to go, that’s fine—I’ll stay home with you. I’d rather be with you than see a movie.”