Page 8 of Not Catching Love

She waves a hand. “What else is it saying?”

I watch the video tutorial for a few more seconds and glance from the screen to her mess and back again. “Yeah … we’re going to have to start over.”

“Of course we are.”

I spend the morning with Aggy, helping her learn how to knit a hideous sweater while she tells me about Gerald. The man’s name isGerald. I will definitely have to die before I turn eighty because the dating pool sounds bleak.

“You had another episode yesterday?” she asks casually.

“What of it?”

“I told you, boy, you’re not allowed to die before me. I have dibs.”

I scowl. “You really think I want to see you die?”

“Well, I flat out refuse to see you die, so you better take your vitamins because if you try to leave first, I’ll dig you up myself and recreateWeekend at Bernie’s.”

“That’s a fucked-up movie.”

“It is, and I’d prefer not to spend my last years in jail, so cool your jets and stop wishing for the end.”

“I don’t wish for it.”

“Oh, yeah? Let me see your search history on the Google for today.”

There’s no way that’ll happen. “How do you even know that’s a thing?”

“I’m still incredibly hip.”

“And then you said that.”

She scowls, tugging at the wool. “Tell me you haven’t looked up anything medically related today and I’ll drop it.”

Wouldare consistent hiccups something to worry aboutandthe veins in my hand are super bright bluebe considered medically related? Thankfully, I have no issues lying to an old lady.

“Nothing.”

Unfortunately, she has no issues calling me out on it either. “Bullshit.”

“Aren’t old ladies supposed to be sweet and bake cookies?”

“Molly and I are baking cookies later. I happen to be multifaceted.”

“Choc chip?”

“Since I’m such an old lady, I’ll throw in some raisin ones too. Just for you.”

The devil’s cookies. “Come on, you’re notthatold. Barely look a day over seventy-five.”

She stares at me with all the disappointment she’s capableof. “Have I taught you nothing? Can’t even suck up right. What is the world coming to with the youth these days?”

“And now you sound ninety.”

When I first met Agatha, I was more careful about what I said. I used to be desperate for her to love me and always craved her attention, but then one day, she asked if I’d taken up people-pleasing as a sport. I wouldn’t normally suggest to an old lady that maybe we could swap, andshecould be the one with a backpack full of trauma while I’m the one with a backpack full of judgment, but it made her laugh. So now I’m convinced Aggy is as fucked-up as the rest of us, and I’m not sure where the stereotype of easily offended old people came from, but it missed her.

I’m grateful. My roommates might be my brothers, but she’s like the matriarch I never had. She gives me the attention I crave, never makes me feel like I’m an imposition, and she genuinely loves us all. She’s adopted us as much as we’ve adopted her, and it’s yet another reason why I’m so scared of change.

What happens to Aggy if some of us move out of Big-Boned Bertha? Does she replace us with the next lot of shitheads who move into the house?

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