2016
Dear Molly,
Today would have been Grandma Shirley’s sixty-fifth birthday. I don’t have a lot of memories left of her because I was only eight when she died. What I remember are her funny sayings, like “There’s a turd in the punchbowl,” which she’d say when something was wrong. Another favorite was, “You’re getting so tall, you’re gonna be knee-high by the Fourth of July.”
I remember being jealous of kids at school when they’d talk about going to stay with their grandparents over the summer or how their grandparents bought them a new bike or something. Maybe that’s why I like working at Millersville Meadow so much. It’s a building full of grandparents that I can pretend are mine.
The drive home from dinner is super weird and I feel utterly deflated. In the course of one day I’ve been rejected by two men. That must be some kind of record.
Buck drops me off at my place, but he doesn’t come in. He says, “I’ve been sorting through all of Gram’s things and I’m doing a big St. Vinnie’s dump tomorrow. Any chance you want to look through her stuff before I do that?”
I shake my head. “No way. I have my own trailer to empty out. My whole second bedroom is still full of my mom’s things that I need to deal with.”
He leans in and kisses my cheek. “Thanks for tonight.”
I lift my to-go container in the air and say, “Thank you. I’m so full I probably won’t have to eat at all tomorrow.”
I watch as he walks away, despondency filling all of my corners. Who am I going to talk to if I lose my best friend? I know I’ll always have Sammy, but that’s not the same. Buck and I are like opposite sides of the same coin. We’ve battled the same stereotypes and worked hard to overcome our meager beginnings. After spending the entire day overthinking, I finally decide the best thing I can do is to take a break from my troubles and embrace sleep.
As I crawl into bed, I briefly consider calling in sick tomorrow. I probably won’t though. My old folks give me purpose and make me realize there are more important things in life than my pathetic personal life. Plus, after two days off, I miss them.
My dreams are a hodgepodge of crazy. Once again, I spend the whole night trying to kiss frogs, but as soon as I get close to them, they turn into fish and swim away. I finally snatch one and bring it to my mouth before puckering up and laying one on him.
He transforms into Prince Charming with one major difference. He has two heads. One of them belongs to Davis and the other to Buck. I yell at him, “Which one of you is it?”
Their combined response is, “Ribbit.”
I wake up feeling like I need a vacation. I want to pack a bag and go to the airport and get on the first plane out of here. I don’t care if it takes me to Tulsa or Tokyo, I just need a break.
Instead, I hurry to get dressed, making sure to bring my dress for tonight’s dinner with me. I’m going to change at work and drive myself over to Filene’s. I’ll text Buck later in the day to let him know that I don’t need a ride.
After clocking in, I check on Mrs. Frothingham. She’s sitting in her chair staring out the window when I get there.
“Hi, Mrs. Frothingham,” I say as I walk into her room. “How are you today?”
She turns and smiles at me before announcing, “I don’t know who I am.”
“You’re Mrs. Frothingham from Creek Water, Missouri. You have three sons and four grandchildren. Your family still lives there.”
“Where are we now?” she wants to know.
“We’re in Millersville, about twenty minutes away.”
“Do I have a husband or am I one of those ladies of the night who shacks up with a lot of different men?” I wonder where that came from.
“You have a husband,” I tell her. I conclude that because she doesn’t remember him, she won’t be too upset to find out that he’s deceased. “He passed away several years ago.”
“Was his name John?”
“I think it might have been,” I tell her. “Why?”
“Because this man called John keeps coming to visit me at night. He sits on my bed and takes my hand and says, ‘Darlin’, I’m here for you. I’m not pressuring you; I just want you to know that you’re