Page 19 of Moving Forward

I turn the knob and pull the door open.

My chest drops.

It’s not her.

“Hi Grams.”

“Don’t sound so glum.” She steps past me and glances around the room, making a tsk sound with her tongue as she sets grocery bags on the counter. She retrieves various items from them: two peach pies, peach jam, peach cobbler, peach ice cream, and so on.

I raise my eyebrows, “Are you trying to fatten me up?”

“You’re too thin.” Typical.

“Well, a sugar high isn’t exactly a healthy way to change that.”

“There are peaches in it!” She buzzes around my kitchen, putting everything away and rearranging my already organized fridge. This is why I never let her inside. I’ll be spending the rest of my night putting everything back—when I should be sleeping, not organizing, and definitely not thinking about Max.

“Great argument, Grams.”

“Don’t sass me, boy,” she warns, turning around with a smile. I see something flicker behind that smile, something that tells me Grams has an ulterior motive.

I should have seen this coming. When doesn’t she have one? “What are you really here for, Grams?”

“Can’t I just want to feed you?”

“No,” I answer bluntly.

“Well!” she scoffs. “Did I raise you wrong!” She pauses and winks. “You are right, though. You caught me.”

“Ah, geez. I shouldn’t have opened the door.”

“I was surprised you got there so fast. Normally I have to holler a few times. Were you expecting a girlie friend?”

She means Max. Great, now that she’s started I’ll never hear the end of it. “No, I wasn’t. I haven’t seen her in weeks.”

“I’m assuming it’s because that Miller girl raised hell?” I nod, and she continues as if she’s conspiring with a group of women instead of her grandson, “We’ve got a lot of work to do with that girl against us.”

“We? Us?” I repeat.

She ignores me. “And then there’s that squabble with Ethan.” Squabble is a kind word for it. Pulverization is more like it, but I’m not going to point that out to Grams. She likes to believe there are redeeming qualities in me. By now I know it’s just easier not to argue with her. She can be a regular force of nature.

“. . . happened to be his fiancée.”

My head snaps up. “What?”

“You really need to start listening when I talk to you. It makes me feel unappreciated.” She draws in an exasperated breath, like repeating herself is the worst inconvenience. It’s not. Grams was put on this earth to talk. “Ellie made a huge scene at the diner a few weeks ago, broke that poor girl’s heart in front of everyone. Evidently your girl was going to marry Ethan.”

My heart drops. Fucking drops. She seemed like the type of girl who would understand my grief and I now know why. The man she was supposed to spend the rest of her life with is dead.

“I never thought I’d see you look like that, Cain.”

I pull myself from my thoughts. “Like what?”

Her smile is secretive. “You’ll know what I mean when you know what I mean,” she says vaguely. “But this Max—she reminds me a lot of you. I think you two would be perfect together.”

“We don’t even know each other.”

“That isn’t what I mean. I think that you can really help each other. First, you need to prove to her you’re not the Cain that hurt Ethan, just as I’m sure Ethan had to prove to her he wasn’t the same little punk he used to be. To do that—and listen really, really closely to your grandmother—you need to stop drinking and hiding. You need to face her.”

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