The Dream - Whitney Dineen Page 0,9
home Gran is in. Ashley, my brother Beau.”
I smile kindly as butterflies circle the interior of my stomach like they’ve just gotten sucked up by a tornado after downing a case of Red Bull. “Nice to see you again,” I tell Beau before asking, “Can I start you all out with a drink?”
“Two of whatever is on draft, and we’ll both have the fish of the day,” Davis says.
When I deliver the beer, Davis asks, “Can you sit down for a minute? I was about to tell Beau my idea about Gran.”
I mentally wrestle the devil off my shoulder, the one who’s yelling, “Sit on his lap!” before pulling out the empty chair between them.
“Beau,” Davis starts, “you know how Mama and Aunt Gracie are hoping Gran can come to Emmie and Zach’s wedding?”
His brother nods. “Well, I was talking to Ashley this morning about her helping us bring Gran home a couple times beforehand. You know, to ease her into it. What do you think?”
“It’s a great idea, but why do we need Ashley?” Then he turns to me and says, “No offense or anything.”
“None taken,” I assure him. “You don’t necessarily need me, just someone she’s used to seeing on a daily basis. Your grandmother is retreating into herself more and more. A familiar face might help calm her in an environment she’s not used to being.”
Davis clears his throat in such a way that indicates he’s trying to maintain composure. When I look at him, pain is clearly etched on his face. Before I can ask if he’s okay, he explains, “It’s hard to believe she’s more comfortable in a nursing home than she is with her own family.”
I want to throw my arms around him and offer comfort in the form of a full body hug, but before I have a chance, Beau says, “Emmie’s wedding isn’t that far off, so we’d better start soon.”
“I was thinking Sunday,” Davis says. He asks me, “Does that work for you?”
“I can do Sunday,” I tell him. “I can pick up your grandmother and meet you. Where and what time?”
He shakes his head. “I’ll pick you up and then we can drive her over together. Just tell me where you live, and I’ll be there around three o’clock.”
I am not about to tell Davis Frothingham that I live in Shady Acres trailer park. It’s not that I’ve retained my high-school level of embarrassment about it, it’s just that I don’t want him to see me in anything but the best light. Obviously, I’m not including this morning’s encounter or my current state of smelling like a deep fryer in my “best light” scenario.
“Give me your number and I’ll text it to you,” I tell him. Ha, ha, not. My plan is to text Davis that I got held up somewhere and that I’ll meet him at Millersville Meadow.
The brothers make quick work of eating their dinner and don’t hold me up for too long. They leave a great tip, which is always appreciated. I have this theory that men who tip well make better boyfriends. Cheap guys are only in it for their own pleasure. So, if your date drops a five-spot on a forty-dollar check, buyer beware.
If the Frothingham brothers’ gratuity is any indication of the kind of boyfriends they make, there are a couple lucky gals out there of whom I’m beyond jealous.
Chapter Five
February 8, 2006
Dear Molly,
Mom and Sammy are going out tonight and I couldn’t be happier. God knows Mom needs somebody other than me to talk to. Last night she started to tell me about a hot guy she met at the bowling alley and how she thought she might take him out for a test drive. I was all, “Talk to the hand.” I mean seriously, there are boundaries.
Mom joked that she can’t wait until I’m old enough to go out drinking with them. The very thought creeps me out. I love my mom, but I do not want her to be my friend. I just want her to start acting like she’s the grown up and I’m the kid.
I knock on Sammy’s door at six fifteen on Wednesday night with a six-pack of her favorite hard cider and a small cheese tray I picked up at the market. Per our tradition, I walk in before she answers.
My friend’s place looks like the interior of Jeannie’s bottle from that old sitcom I Dream of Jeannie on Nick at Nite. It’s nothing like how you’d