Page 15 of Set on You

“As you know, I canceled Easter this year,” Grandma Flo starts slowly, choosing her words carefully. She delays, picking at a loose thread in the stitching of my chair.

I half-close my laptop to give her my full attention. “Were you actually at the casino?”

She shakes her head. “No. I was...withsomeone.”

“With someone?” Tara and I ask simultaneously.

She flashes us her ring hand, unveiling what looks like a ruby, flanked by an elegant yellow-gold band. “I’m engaged.” She holds her breath, as if bracing for our reaction.

While Tara launches to her feet and shrieks in delight, practically crushing Grandma with a hug, I sink into the couch, only narrowly saving my laptop before it topples to the floor. My mind refuses to compute her words. “Engaged?” What fresh hell?

The only man I can picture Grandma Flo with is Grandpa. Though he passed away of bone cancer three years ago, I never imagined she would date again. I think about how they used to sitside by side in matching La-Z-Boys watchingWheel of FortuneandJeopardy!every single night. Or how their wild nights out consisted of attending a Tuesday sermon, then heading home at eight to devour a bag of Chex Mix while gossiping about their fellow churchgoers.

“I didn’t even know you were dating.” The words sound foreign coming out of my mouth as I turn to Tara. “Did you know?”

“No,” Tara says. “Isn’t it funny, though? Grandma has a more active dating life than us.” She stares at the space on her finger where her massive princess-cut diamond used to sit. I’m half convinced one of the worst parts of her breakup was giving up the ring.

“Who are you marrying?” I ask, turning my attention back to the matter at hand.

“Martin Ritchie,” Grandma says, smiling like a lovesick baby deer.

Tara cuts in. “Oh! We know him. The guy that lives down the street from you, right?”

Grandma nods with pride. “The very one.”

“That guy? Really? The one with the mustache who you and Grandpa used to play bocce ball with?” I conjure up a blurry image of his thick, eighties-porn-star mustache in my mind. He was always in a striped polo shirt, from what I can remember.

Grandma Flo goes on a ramble about how active Martin is. Something about boating and tennis. Her eyes go misty and sentimental as she details their weekend getaway on Cape Cod. The seafood. Her seasickness. His unwavering support. The romantic sunset proposal. I barely absorb a word. I don’t know how to process thisinformation. It isn’t that I’m upset she canceled our family Easter tradition. It’s the fact that she’s essentially been leading a double life.

“Wow. I mean, I’m shocked. But I’m happy for you,” I force out, along with a sweet granddaughter-esque smile. “When is the wedding?”

She shrugs. “We haven’t gotten that far. A summer wedding would be nice, though it’s such short notice. We’d be hard pressed to find any available venues—”

A wheezy gasp comes out of Tara’s throat, startling me. She looks like she’s just come up with a cure for a life-threatening disease. “Oh my God. I still have my wedding venue. The Sheraton. And most of my vendors.”

Grandma blinks. “You didn’t cancel them?”

“Not yet. They’re holding my deposits and I thought... maybe there was hope Seth would change his mind.” She pauses, chin trembling. “But he won’t. So you can have it all if you want. Then all that money and planning won’t go to waste.”

The furrow deepens between Grandma Flo’s thin brows as she considers this bizarre proposition.

I grip the edges of my laptop, studying Tara’s unreadable face. “And you’d be okay with this?” I honestly don’t know how I’d feel witnessing someone else walk down the aisle at my venue, on my date, with my décor and music, knowing it was supposed to be me.

“I am, actually.” Tara looks genuine. By the way she’s lowered her shoulders, I think she might even be a little relieved. “You know Dad would be all for it. It would beresponsible and economical.” She mimics Dad’s voice.

Grandma Flo smiles in agreement. “You know, I think I mighttake you up on that. I’d have to discuss it with Marty first, but I’m sure he will love the idea.”

As she and Tara embrace in a sentimental moment, I try to envision what Grandma is going to wear. Will she go for a traditional bridal gown? A ball gown? Some sort of elegant pantsuit? The whole thing is bizarre and near impossible to imagine, as I’ve only ever seen her wear her signature Grandma outfits. The ones adorned with nature patterns on the front. A pair of loons. A maple leaf. A fox. Certainly not a wedding dress.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Grandma Flo says, clasping her hands together. “Do you have plans tomorrow night?”

“I don’t think so.” I rest my head against the back of the couch and stare at the ceiling, silently willing life to return to a simpler time when Grandma Flo wasn’t taking over Tara’s wedding. Better yet, when I wasn’t climbing my nameless nemesis in the gym after vowing off random hookups. I need a strong drink.

“Good. I’d like you to meet Martin’s family. We made a reservation at Mamma Maria’s.”

I let out a prolonged sigh at the thought of spending my night socializing with strangers. Tara covers up my less-than-enthusiastic response by fawning over the ring, interspersed with detailed wedding talk. I throw in the odd nod and squeal so as to appear semi-thrilled while still in shock. Grandma eventually packs up the rest of her cookies (for Martin) and leaves, but not before expressing disapproval of my leggings, pointing out my severe camel toe.

“Crystal.” Tara tosses the sequin throw pillow at me the moment the door closes. “Don’t you dare go allMeet the Fockerson Martin. He’s a sweet old man.”

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