owned by my grandma's sister but she died last year. She left it to my grandma, who was planning to sell it until I found out I'd be attending graduate school in a town just a few miles from here. She offered to let me stay in the house for free, then suggested we live here together, saying it would give her time to fix up the house to be sold. She also liked that she'd be getting a break from the retirement community she lives at in Florida. She said the people there gossip constantly and she was tired of it, although I'm pretty sure she partakes in the gossip herself.
"My sister's decor is not at all my style," she says, "but it's not worth changing, given that I won't be here long."
The furniture in the living room is worn out and dated, the sofa a pastel flowery print that was probably popular in the Eighties. That's when her sister bought the place and it looks like she hasn't updated it since. Shiny mint green lamps sit on either side of the sofa on tables that look like they're made out of logs. They're rustic and kinda cool but don't really fit with the shiny lamps and flowery couch.
"Her husband made those," Grams says, noticing me looking at the tables. "He made the coffee table too. And the dining room table, the china hutch, the upstairs dressers."
"I didn't know he was so good at woodworking."
"He wasn't trained in it. It was just a hobby of his." She picks a crocheted blanket off the couch and folds it into a neat and tidy square. "My sister liked to crochet."
"It's a beautiful blanket," I say, noticing the bright colors and intricate design. "Do you know how to crochet?"
"I do, and I used to love doing it, but I stopped years ago." She sets the blanket down. "People nowadays don't like such things. They're considered old-fashioned."
"Not to me. I'd love a blanket like that."
She motions to it. "It's all yours. In fact, you could have most anything here. I don't have room at home so everything will be sold, unless you or your mother want it."
Glancing around the living room, I see cow figurines scattered here and there and old teapots on a shelf.
"The teapots are cute," I say, walking over to look at them.
"She collected teapots. She and I would have tea parties when we were young."
The phone rings. It's the landline phone. Grams has a cellphone but rarely uses it.
"It's probably your mother," she says, "making sure you got here safe. Would you like to answer it?"
"I just talked to her. You can answer it. I'll go get my stuff."
As she answers the phone, I go back outside to my car. There's music coming from the neighbor's garage. It's classic rock and one of my favorite songs is playing. I'm tempted to go over there and introduce myself but Grams would have a fit if I did.
I open my trunk and pull out my suitcase and the box where I tossed the contents of my bathroom drawers. I didn't start packing until right before I had to leave so everything's just stuffed in boxes instead of being neatly organized. It's my grandma's worst nightmare but that's just how I am. My mom's the same way.
As I shut the trunk I look up and notice a guy walking out of the neighbor's garage, wiping his hands on a towel as he heads to a toolbox that's set up on a tree stump in the yard. His sandy brown hair looks wet, probably from sweating in this sweltering heat. He's shirtless and really tan with muscular arms and washboard abs.
The neighbor guy is hot. If Jules were here she'd be staring at him with her jaw dropped.
He grabs a wrench from the toolbox, then glances over and catches me watching him.
"Hi!" I call out, giving him a quick wave.
He stops and stares at me a moment, then walks back to the garage. He doesn't seem very friendly.
When I get back inside, Grams is still talking on the phone.
"Faith just walked in," she says as I set my suitcase down. "I'll put her on."
"I don't need to—" I stop as Grams shoves the phone at me. "Hey, Mom," I say into the mint green phone that matches the lamps. It has a really long cord that could probably reach through the whole main level.
"Hi again," my mom says, laughing. "I told your grandma