Teddy Spenser Isn't Looking for Love - Kim Fielding Page 0,3

his grandmother hear the crinkle of waxed paper as he snacked? “That’s great, Gram. I’m happy for her.”

“Do you remember Jennifer Murray? You used to play with her when you came to visit. She had strawberry-blond pigtails, but now I see in the photos that she dyes it auburn.”

What Teddy mostly remembered about Jennifer Murray was an altercation at the playground, during which she’d demanded that he relinquish the swing. When he’d refused, she’d punched him so hard in the stomach that he’d fallen, skinned his knees, and ended up with bark splinters embedded in the palms of his hands. For the remainder of his two-week stay at his grandmother’s, she’d called him Dead Ted.

Instead of reminding his grandmother about that unpleasant summer, he used his free hand to pull another Ritz cracker out of its sleeve. He’d munched through the better part of a package during this call, and when he was done, he was going to need to vacuum away the crumbs.

“Maybe her hair has changed shades naturally,” he offered.

“No, it’s dyed. I can tell. It’s a good dye job, though. She probably has it done at a salon. Although now with two little ones at home, I don’t know if she’ll have the time for that.”

“Hmm.” He nibbled the cracker as quietly as possible.

“I think it’s a good idea to have your children as close in age as possible. I had three boys in four years, you know. It wasn’t easy, but I’d rather that than have one in diapers and one learning to drive.”

“Gram, if this is a subtle hint that you want grandkids, you’re wasting your time with me. Talk to my brother.”

She made a pfft sound. “I’m never subtle, sweetheart. You know that. If I wanted you to have children you’d know it.” She was quiet for several beats. “But do you, Teddy? Want kids, I mean.”

He ate another cracker, this one very fast. Now he was thirsty but lacked the courage to walk the few feet to his kitchenette for a glass of water. He might freeze along the way. He’d just have to suffer his parched throat while staying cocooned in three fleecy blankets and a cashmere scarf around his neck.

“I like children, but I doubt I’ll have any.”

“Lots of gay couples adopt, sweetie. Or they have surrogates.”

“They do, but I’m not a couple. I’m just me. And I’m not brave enough for single parenthood.” This time he ate two crackers at once, which didn’t help with his thirst but did stop him from blurting out anything rude to his grandmother. She loved him. She cared about him. It wasn’t her fault that he found relationship-related discussions toxic.

“Teddy dear, you’re young. You have time for your life to go all kinds of unexpected places. Don’t rule things out so easily.”

“But I don’t want unexpected. I have everything mapped out. Our vases are going to be really successful.” He hoped he sounded more confident than he felt. “I’ll send you one of the first ones off the production line.”

“And I’ll pimp them to everyone in my garden club.”

His grandmother’s unexpected choice of words made Teddy spray cracker crumbs across his blankets and probably halfway across the apartment. “Pimp, Gram?”

“I’m on the Facebook. I know all the hip new terms.”

They chatted for a few more minutes, mostly about her upcoming trip to New York City, organized by her local senior center. She was going to see three Broadway shows while she was there, and she promised to send him the playbills.

By the time the call ended, Teddy was out of crackers and so dehydrated he worried his skin would begin to crack. His landlord would come searching when the rent wasn’t paid, and find him in a desiccated heap on the couch, surrounded by crumbs and blankets. At least he’d look stylish in his Burberry scarf.

Maybe Reddyflora’s next project should solve dilemmas such as his: a person alone in his apartment, wanting something fetched but too cold to get it himself. What if someone could figure out a way to give a robot vacuum arms and a smidge of artificial intelligence? That would be ideal—then Teddy could use an app to send it for a glass of water, and it could clean the floor as it went. The gadget could have a cutesy, friendly name—Bobby the Butler Bot, perhaps—and come in bright colors to match various décors.

Teddy rubbed his chin thoughtfully, wondering if Bobby could be manufactured at a viable price point and, more