It was sheer luck that I kept the décor for the party in my trunk. I’d have stored it near the kitchen if I had unloaded it last week. I hoist the two extra-large bags over my shoulders and then head inside the building. Cheyenne Benson, the administrator, is behind the reception desk today. Her face splits into a wide grin when she sees me coming through the door.
“Charlie! You’re here early. Nice dress.” Her smile broadens.
“Thanks. I wanted to beat the traffic. I’m staying at my folks’ in Littleton.”
“Oh no. You had to brave the freeway? That beast never slows down.”
“Perks of living near LA.” I wink at her.
“For sure.” She walks around the desk. “Let me help you with that.”
I give her one of the bags. “How many people are we expecting today?”
“The usual number for a Sunday. I’m not sure if Gladys’s grandkids will be here. I couldn’t get a confirmation from her son.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Yeah. Between you and me, I don’t think the grandkids want to be here. She doesn’t remember them, and it’s just hard.”
Gladys has Alzheimer’s, and the disease is progressing fast now. The birthday party is more for the residents in the independent living wing of Golden Oaks than her.
We head to the entertainment area where tables have already been set up. I’m not surprised when I spot Ophelia Holland, the coolest lady I’ve ever met, giving orders to Jack Morris and Louis Romano, her boyfriends.
She’s already dressed to the nines, wearing a pink Chanel suit and her pearls. Her chin-length hair is curly and currently baby blue. Every week it’s a different color. She turns around and smirks when she sees my outfit. I lost a bet last weekend, and this is my penance—I have to wear a Sailor Moon costume today. I’m all for cosplaying, but there’s a time and place for it, and it’s definitely not at a ninety-year-old’s birthday party.
“Looking good, Charlie,” Louis says, not hiding his amusement. “Jon-Jon would have loved it.”
“Yeah, right. He’d probably think I’d lost my senses completely.”
Jon-Jon was my grandpa. He lived here for five years before he passed away last year. It’s how I got to know the place and their residents. I became so attached to them that I kept coming back every weekend. Cheyenne was the one who suggested I list my time here as volunteer work to make my résumé look good. But that’s not the reason I come. I love everyone.
I set the bag near the table before I hug Ophelia. She won’t reveal her age, but even so, I can tell her body is becoming frailer. She looks healthy though, and she’s full of energy as usual.
“Why are you here so early, Charlie? Didn’t you have your LARP event yesterday?”
“Yeah, but I’m staying at my folks’ temporarily, and it’s a drive.”
She furrows her white eyebrows. “Why are you staying there? Is everything all right?”
“There was a small fire at my place, and now I have to find another room to rent.”
“Oh no. That’s dreadful. Was there a lot of damage?”
“Mainly in the kitchen. Still, it’s going to be a pain in the butt finding a room that’s not out of my price range or a complete dump.”
A light bulb seems to flash above her blue head as she widens her eyes. “I have the perfect place for you. You can rent a room from me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I own a house fairly near your school’s campus. My grandson goes to John Rushmore too, and he’s currently living there.”
“And he won’t mind getting a roommate?”
“No, of course not. He’s such an angel. You’ll love him. Besides, the house is big enough that you won’t be in each other’s hair.”
I begin to feel hopeful. I’d rather rent a room from Ophelia than deal with another sleazeball like my previous landlord.
“What’s your grandson’s name? Maybe I know him.”
“Wolfgang, but I call him Wolfie.”
I chuckle. “Love it.”
“How about I give him a call and tell him you’ll be coming by to check out the house? When can you stop by?”
“I guess as soon as I leave here.”
“Sounds good. He should be home later today.”
Something heavy crashes on the floor, earning our attention. The bottom of the box Louis and Jack were trying to move gave out, and now the karaoke machine is in two parts.
“What have you done?” Ophelia strides in their direction, ready to give them a good old tongue-lashing.
I shake my head, trying not to laugh at the scene. There’s never a dull moment when the trio is involved, that’s for sure. I’ll have to remind Ophelia to call her grandson later. I’ve noticed she’s become forgetful, and she’s also been confusing names.
My chest becomes tight. I don’t want to think about losing Ophelia. It was hard enough when Grandpa died. I can’t bear the thought of her leaving me too.
TROY
Karma is a bitch. My stunt in front of Zuko’s Diner earned me Charlie’s prompt retaliation. She published a scathing article about me, but it backfired royally. She was destroyed on social media, #canceled being used everywhere in association with her and the paper. Even the dean got involved and forced the article to be retracted immediately.
I should feel vindicated, but oddly, I don’t. I was an ass to her in the coffee shop. I should have apologized for being so late. I also shouldn’t have splashed her on purpose. Now all I have is an annoying sense of guilt swirling in my chest.
There’s nothing worse nowadays than to become a social pariah. Keyboard warriors and their digital pitchforks are a bunch of fucking bullies. But man, that article… she didn’t hold back. And it was all bullshit. I’m not an entitled rich boy who doesn’t respect their teammates. Yes, I do practice extreme sports, but they aren’t life-threatening. At least not all of them. Besides, I know what I’m doing.
Damn it. I really shouldn’t feel bad about what happened to her. She dug her own grave.
I’ve just gotten out of the shower when I see there’s a missed call from Grandma. She left a voice mail. I listen to it immediately because you never know what kind of shenanigans she’s involved in. Mom thought we wouldn’t have to worry about Grandma when she decided to move in at Golden Oaks. Yeah, right.
There’s a lot of noise in the background, so I can barely understand what she’s saying. It doesn’t help that Thing One and Thing Two—aka her boyfriends—are talking over her. They sound drunk, which means they probably are. What I can make out from their slurred speeches is that Sailor Moon is going to come by the house later to check out a room to rent.
I rub my forehead. Knowing Grandma, I can’t simply discard her message as nonsensical. She’s probably decided to rent a room to some stranger. But she wouldn’t let my friends move in. Typical Ophelia Holland move. I’m not even annoyed. That’s how Grandma rolls. I hope the girl isn’t a fucking groupie. The last thing I want is to room with a football fan.
I doubt the girl’s name is Sailor Moon, but I can’t get hold of Grandma to ask for more details, such as when she’s coming by.