A glance at the clock shows me I need to get moving before the bakery sells out of lemon bars. I gather up my stuff and manage to make it just in time to buy their last box before heading over to the Shady Acres retirement home.
Grandma spots me as soon as I walk into the lounge and a bony finger points my way. “Boy, I told you that you don’t have to visit so often. You’re young. You should be out finding a wife.”
It’s the same thing every time. At least she said finding a wife this time. Last time she said I should be out getting laid and damn near gave the elderly woman next to her a heart attack.
“Fine, I’ll see if one of these other ladies would like a lemon bar.”
“The hell you will. Get yourself over here.” She pats the padded seat on the bench next to her.
Melina Dawkins may be approaching eighty and struggling with the early stages of dementia, but she is still the same no-nonsense person I’ve always loved.
“How have you been this week?”
“No idea.”
I hand her the box of lemon bars with a chuckle. “Dementia jokes never get old do they?”
“I’ll let you know if they do. You know, if I remember.”
She digs into the treats and passes the box around to a couple of people sitting near us. “Just leave me one if you don’t want your teeth to go missing,” she warns.
We chat for a while, and she fills me in on all the retirement home gossip. This place is like a middle school, cliques and all. “Now, tell me about your week,” she says.
She and some of her friends listen, held rapt by my thrilling tales of teaching, starting an Adulting Club, and playing poker with friends. The conversation ends when a man walks in and gives everyone a wave.
“Oh, he’s here to play for us!” Grandma says, gesturing to the piano he’s now heading toward. “Remember when I tried to teach you to play, Layton, before my arthritis made it too difficult?”
Here we go.
“How could I forget, Grandma? You remind me every time you see a piano.”
“Well, it would’ve been nice if you’d learned how to play for us.” She leans over but her whispering skills leave much to be desired. “You would’ve been much better than this guy. And better than Beatrice’s girl, too. She comes and plays but only on holidays. You should see Beatrice, strutting around like she’s the one who did something. All full of herself.”
It’s everything I can do not to laugh at the indignant frown on her face. The guy starts to play, and not softly. I guess when half your audience is hard of hearing, you have to really bang those keys. “I’m going to go. You call me if you need or want anything.”
She hugs me, then flaps a hand at me. “Bring a girlfriend.”
It’s hard leaving her here but there’s no help for it. I tried to convince her to live with me, but she won’t have it, and truth be told, when she’s in her foggy moments, she probably needs more help than I can provide. I wish there was something more I could do other than visiting.
A smile grows on my face when I think of her teasing me about the piano. I was eight when she tried to teach me. What eight year old boy would want to sit in the house learning scales and chords instead of playing outside? Now, I wish I had learned, since it would make her happy.
Could I learn now?
Would that be a ridiculous thing to try? Maybe I could check with the music department at work. See if there’s anyone there that could teach me a song or two. Just to surprise her.
Chapter Three
Kelly
I didn’t have high hopes going into the job fair. The fact I not only found a job, but one I might actually be good at and enjoy, has me in a great mood. Sure, there will be a lot to learn—I’m not familiar with a lot of other instruments—but I get to play piano! And teach kids who also want to learn. That’s miles above standing in front of a suffocating oven begging the bread not to scorch again.
The girls really helped me prepare and have been so supportive that I want to do something nice for them. After a little thought, I run to the grocery store for some ice cream. The good stuff we rarely get because it’s too expensive. Tonight, we each get our own container of our favorite.
Serena comes in after her midday shift and tosses a baggie of weed on the table. “One of my regulars tipped me with a couple grams.”
“Perfect,” Zara says. “Kelly bought ice cream. And the new Henry Cavill show just released on Netflix.”
“Girl’s night!” Remee exclaims.
Serena covers her mouth in false horror. “Does that mean you aren’t going to study?”
“I can take a night off.”
“Two nights off,” Zara reminds her. “We’re partying tomorrow night.”
Remee shrugs. “Two nights off then.”
“We finally did it. We corrupted her,” Serena says.
Zara and Serena high five, and Zara glances at me, adding, “Just one more innocent to go.”
“I’m not innocent,” I scoff, heading to my room to change clothes. “I’ve smoked weed before. And drank.” I don’t catch her response, but giggles follow me into my room.
The truth is they probably would consider me innocent. At least when it comes to sex. I’ve never actually had sex. All they know about my past relationship was that I was engaged, I broke it off, and my parents disowned me for it. I’m sure they assumed I slept with him, or someone before him. I’m almost twenty years old and virginity at my age isn’t the norm anymore unless you’re super religious.
I’m not religious. It’s not a moral issue. I’m not trying to save myself for marriage or anything like that. The reason I never slept with my ex-fiancé was simple. I didn’t want to. I wasn’t the least bit attracted to him and the longer I knew him the more I realized I never would be. His smug attitude and the condescending way he talked down to me would’ve ruined any of those feelings if I had considered him physically attractive.
With all the changes in my life, dating hasn’t been at the top of my to do list, but maybe I should try to meet someone. Just for fun, not another serious relationship. I don’t even know where to start with that. I guess I could ask the girls for advice.
“Get your ass in here, Kelly! We’re sparking this!”
A grin grows on my face as I hurriedly pull on my leggings and a t-shirt. I’m in college, I have a new job and new friends. More importantly, I’m not being controlled by a man or my parents. A few months ago, all that would’ve seemed impossible to attain. Things are good.
Serena scoots over, giving me room to join her and Zara on the couch while Remee occupies the recliner. They have the first episode of our show loaded and ready to go, and Remee hands me the joint.
It’s been a while since I smoked. The Supercenter drug tested all employees, and once I was fired, I knew the next place was likely to as well. Luckily, the music store doesn’t. Something tells me the owners would be the first to fail it.
After we get high, we all relax and watch the show. At the end of the first episode, Zara glances at us. “Ice cream.”
“Oh hell, how did I forget?” Serena exclaims, and they head into the kitchen.