Page 12 of Under the Lion Star

“How was the parade,” my aunt asked as I moved into the kitchen to help set the table.

“It was nice. I ran into Atlas. You remember him from…” I trailed off.

“I remember.”

Aunt Stella had found us moments after Atlas and I delivered the news about our mom. She’d housed us for a few days, but when Erik and Melna offered to take us in, she couldn’t refuse. The cottage she’d shared with her husband was too small for six girls.

“You should marry that Voldair boy,” Grandma interjected. “All dark gray hair and silver eyes. You two would conjure quite the brood of beautiful babies.”

I shook my head. My grandmother never seemed to understand that Atlas and I were nothing more than friends. There wasn’t anything there. He was like a brother to me, if anything.

“Absolutely not,” my aunt hissed. “You’re not involved with him, are you?”

“No,” I replied slowly. “But he’s a good guy.”

“He’s just,” Aunt Stella hesitated. “He’s not a good match for you, okay?”

“I’m not looking for a husband.”

“Atta girl,” Grandma cheered. “Don’t tie yourself down to just one fella. Variety is a blessing.”

“Gods be good,” my aunt sighed. “Let’s eat and talk about literally anything else.”

After dinner had been eaten and the dishes washed, I walked around to where my grandmother sat on her couch. She was pushing three hundred and finally showing signs of her age. It bothered me to see it, for some reason, knowing there would be a day when she also left me.

“You should let me fix those cabinets,” I offered. “Half of them are coming off the hinges.”

“I’ll get around to it,” she replied dismissively.

I glanced over the familiar house that had been her home since I was born. She’d had paintings commissioned of all her granddaughters over the years and displayed them with pride over the stone hearth. Artwork from when we’d been Marcy’s age decorated the walls, and bookshelves that didn’t match lined the space.

But beyond the furniture and artwork were signs that she had been neglecting to care for the home in her old age. Dust accumulated on many surfaces, and the floors had lost their sheen, leaving behind dull tracks where people walked the most.

“At least let me repaint the siding. You shouldn’t be on a ladder.”

“I’ve already found a nice young man to help with that.”

“Who?” I asked skeptically.

“Some soldier was riding down the road there. Asked if I needed help when he noticed the peeling paint. Said he’d be by in a few days to get it all fixed up.”

“You never accept help,” my aunt pressed.

“I never accept help from you,” Grandma explained. “But help from a strapping young lad who will probably be shirtless. Aye, that’s help I’ll accept every time.”

“Will he become one of your lovers, Grandma?” Marcy asked.

“Gods willing,” my grandma winked while Aunt Stella groaned. “Think of it as an audition.”

“I still think you should let me take care of it,” I offered. “Men often make promises, but most fail to deliver.”

“You’ve been hanging around the wrong men,” Grandma smirked.

“Marcy!” My aunt shouted to interrupt the conversation. “Let’s go home and work on your arithmetic.”

After they’d left, the awkward conversation with my grandmother continued until I promised her that I wouldn’t marry anyone without sampling the goods first. She assured me that, although my sexual dalliances with men were disappointing, it wasn’t the norm. She then proceeded to regale me with an endless string of recollections on the best orgasms she had ever had, despite me not asking her to do so.

I left before sunset, walking along the dirt paths while I assembled a list in my mind of the supplies I would need to fix up Grandma’s house. Although I hadn’t been lying when I told Marcy I couldn’t win a fight with someone older than eight, I was reasonably confident I could take on my grandmother if she put up a fight about me helping her out around the house.

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