Page 83 of Broken Grump

“. . . like the time you fell down the old winding staircase your grandfather had in the house?” It was the most bizarre design, as the stairs were in a random coroner they never actually went anywhere. However, that didn’t stop her from reenacting scenes fromThe Princess Diaries.

When I bring that up to her, she rests against the nearby beam and puts her other hand on her face. “Oh, God.” Then, she parts her fingers to reveal one eye. “I told you about that?”

“You did. Granted, you were a few piña coladas deep at the time.”

She groans. “That’s so embarrassing.”

“Not nearly as embarrassing as when you ruined your grandfather’s dinner party, though. Or at least I wouldn’t imagine so.”

Finally, she reveals all of her face again.

“No, that day certainly takes the cake in terms of me making an absolute fool of myself. Have you ever seen the movie?”

I’m not sure if it’s all the time that’s passed, the amount of alcohol she had in her system at the time of the retelling, or a combination of both that’s causing her memory loss.

“I hadn’t at the time. But you insisted that that was the most ridiculous thing you’d ever heard in your life. So you made me sneak back into your room later that night, and we watched in bed together.”

I remember those few hours like they happened yesterday. She was already in comfy pajamas when she opened the window, which I’d thrown about twenty little pebbles at. Then, after haphazardly climbing up the uneven bricks along the wall, I made it up, and she pulled me the rest of the way in.

“Oh, you’re going to absolutely love it,” she slurs after luring me next to her in bed, grabbing my arm, resting her head on my shoulder, and curling her toes under my thigh.

Of course, it didn’t take long for her to fall asleep, but I watched the whole thing.

“Anyway,” I say, ending my thought. “Shall we?”

“Sure.” She smirks at me for a moment, and her hair blows in the wind.

God. How is it that one human being can somehow be the same but also so remarkably different than she was before?In many ways, it’s as if she hasn’t aged since I knew her way back when, but she also has a newfound confidence and elegance about her. I’m sure some of that naturally comes with age and motherhood, but I can tell there’s a part of it she learned all on her own.

“Let’s go.”

Again, she goes first, and then I follow.

“Ah!” she squeals once we reach the bottom. “This is one of my favorite feelings in the world.”

When I look down, I see her toes aggressively squishing in the sand.

“Come on! You try it!” Unlike her, I still had my footwear on. And at this point, she could probably tell me to rob aconvenience store or something much more sinister than just getting my feet a little dirty. So I discard them and pull off my socks. “Woo! That’s it!” she encourages.

“Last one in the water is a rotten egg!”

She gasps, but then takes off running, kicking sand up in her dust. And once she gets to the wave marks, she stops as if she just approached a high cliff and walks backward on her tippy-toes.

“What’s wrong?” I catch up to her about two seconds later.

She grabs the sides of her dress and looks down at it.

“This is Sam’s, I can’t ruin it.”

“Oh, please. I will personally pay to dry-clean it. I promise, it will be fine.”

Her mouth opens to say more, but I quickly distract her by picking her up like a baby and carrying her into the water.

“Hayden, no!” She kicks and screams, but I’m relentless.

Before she can protest more, we’re both soaked.

“Oh, my God!” After a wave rushes over us, she sits up and wipes her wet hair against the back of her head.

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