Page 23 of Imperfect Arrangement
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out, Willow. Who knows, maybe Cherrywood will get its dream wedding estate someday. I hope you’ll be happy that day, even if your dream is realized by someone else.”
I rise, refusing to let her see how deeply her words cut me. “Thanks for dropping by, Joanne. And thanks for waiting on me these past few months.”
Her eyes widen, probably surprised at my sudden composure, but I’m done here. I don’t have the energy to waste on someone who doesn’t see my worth. Because here’s the thing, trust is the foundation of any relationship, business or otherwise, and clearly, we never had that.
So yeah, it hurts, but I’m not finished. Not by a long shot.
* * *
“Out with it,Lolo. What’s got you all mopey today? I thought mac and cheese with hot dog coins was your all-time favorite.”
Yeah, I’m still the perpetual baby of this house. I poke at the bright yellow noodles on my plate, pushing them around. Honestly, it’s a miracle I moved out when I did; otherwise, Joanne would be calling me a “good baby” instead of a “good woman.”
“Nana, seriously, no self-respecting grown adult eats mac and cheese. It’s basically glorified baby food.”
Nana’s eyes widen like I’ve just insulted her life’s work. “Get out of here! I love mac and cheese, and I may want you to call me young, but I’m not trying to be that young.” She shovels a forkful of cheesy noodles into her mouth with a satisfied hum, and I slump my shoulders.
How am I even related to this woman? My nana is a force of nature, taking crap from exactly no one, even when she’s dead wrong. She’s the kind of woman who’d argue with the weatherman if the forecast didn’t suit her mood.
Mom glides in from the kitchen, balancing a tray with a pitcher of homemade iced tea and glasses. “You’re not eating, Willow. Is it not good?”
“She said it’s baby food!” Nana growls, feigning offense like she’s been personally victimized. “You know how long I slaved in that kitchen to make this? I deserve a little appreciation.”
“Nana! You’re such a liar. How’s your nose so tiny? The whole town knows it would take an apocalypse and all the takeout joints would have to be closed for you to willingly step into a kitchen. And honestly, I’m not even convinced you’d survive on your own cooking anyway.”
Nana looks at me like I’ve lost my mind before bursting into laughter, her whole face lighting up with joy. “You’re not wrong, Lolo. It’s not that I hate cooking—I just don’t get it. It’s like, the moment I turn on the stove, some demon chef takes over, and suddenly I’m ruining perfectly good ingredients like it’s my day job.”
Mom’s shaking her head at us, the amused grin on her face clearly saying,I can’t believe that’s my mother.
Nana’s eyes crinkle with mischief as she continues. “And besides, Steph’s cooking is so damn good. Why should I waste my energy when I can enjoy her food instead? Who knows how many meals I have left to enjoy.”
Mom and I snort in unison while looking at this drama queen.
“Ma,” my mom says, rolling her eyes. “Despite all the junk food you guilt me into making, you’re not going anywhere anytime soon. If anything, out of the three of us, you’ll probably outlive us all.”
“Agreed.” I nod along. “You’re like a human battery that recharges on iced tea and fatty food. Sometimes I wonder how Gramps kept up with you. Did he ever get tired of being your personal chef?”
Nana’s expression softens, her eyes gleaming with nostalgia. “He loved every minute of it. Ask your mother.” She winks at Mom before turning back to me. “That’s why we started the B and B, you know? He loved cooking, and I loved chatting with people. We were the perfect team.”
Her words tug at something deep in my chest—a mix of longing and admiration. I love that my grandparents had the kind of partnership that everyone dreams of, effortless and real. Meanwhile, I feel like I’m fumbling through life, hoping I end up finding someone to share the highs, the lows, and all the messy in-betweens with.
Wills! Why would you even say something like this, when you know no one stays forever?
I stare down at my half-eaten plate of mac and cheese, wondering why we humans are so damn good at complicating our lives. Why do we constantly set the bar higher, chasing bigger dreams and better things, instead of just…being satisfied? When did being content with what we have become so out of style?
“But that wasourlife, Lolo. Yours doesn’t have to be the same.” Nana reads me like an open book. “I hope you write your story with lots of love, heaps of compassion, and…” Nana pauses, leaning in as if she’s about to drop some sage wisdom. Mom and I instinctively lean forward. “Endless nights of never-ending, toe-curling sex.”
Mom immediately doubles over in laughter while I groan, sinking back into my seat, fully regretting taking her bait. “And here I was thinking we were finally having a serious conversation.”
Nana’s grin is as wide and unapologetic as ever, her eyes twinkling like she just got away with something. “Sweetie, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that being too serious doesn’t do a damn thing for you. Life happens.Shithappens. And if you take it all too seriously, it’ll blow up in your face.” She throws her hands up in the air like a grenade just went off, even ducking her head dramatically. “But if you stay ‘unserious’”—she makes obnoxious air quotes—“all those shit bombs turn into glittering stardust.”
“Did you sayshit bombs?” I deadpan, rubbing my temples. My brain cells are screaming for bleach.
She laughs so hard she almost snorts. “Did you just picture little turds exploding everywhere?”
“Oh my God, stop! You’re so gross.”
“That’s called having fun. You used to be fun too, Lolo. What happened?” She taps her chin thoughtfully, eyes narrowing like I’m some science experiment she’s trying to figure out.
