Page 18 of Rebound

I swipe the tears from my face and gently squeeze Granny’s bony hand. The sun is finally sinking into the horizon. I have survived another day of this agony, and I will get stronger with each passing sunset.

“You don’t need to kick his ass, Granny. Knowing Elijah, he’s kicking his own ass already. He doesn’t like to fail.”

“This isn’t about failing, though, is it? It’s about happiness. It’s about love. And don’t you roll your eyes at me, madam, because I’m talking about the most important thing in the world here. You seemed so well suited. You seemed so… excited about each other. What went wrong, Bam-Bam? Please tell me it’s not because you couldn’t have children together. Not everybody needs to be a mother, you know. And some women, like your own mom, really shouldn’t be. Your pop won’t be winning any parenting awards either.”

I’ve never quite understood how Granny Lucille managed to raise a man like my father. She is made of emotion, and he is made of cast iron. He has never loved anything as much as his work. His dad died when he was only six, and Lucille raised him and his brothers alone. My uncles are nice men who pay attention to their loved ones, but my father barely knows they’re there.

“That was part of it.” Standing up, I hold out my hand to help her to her feet. She slaps me away and uses her cane instead. “But only part. It’s been bad for years, and we’ve both just… clung on, I suppose. We were both too weak to end things.”

“Until you weren’t?” she asks as we walk slowly back out of the park.

“Yes, I suppose so. Until I wasn’t. Except I’m absolutely terrified, Granny.”

“Of losing him? Or of finding out who you are without him? Because there is a difference between the two.”

“I know.” I follow her lead toward one of the cute little bars that are scattered around this part of downtown. “Where are we going?”

“To get drunk, obviously—woman cannot survive by herbal tea alone. Now, you go and get us a table, and I’ll be with you in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

As ever, Lucille surprises me, but I’m more than happy to go along. I order myself a glass of pinot and a Planter’s Punch for her. She claims that pickling herself in rum has kept her healthy, and I can’t argue with the evidence.

The place is busy, bustling with artsy types and a few tourists, something bluesy playing over the speakers. I sip my wine and glance at my phone. Drake has called a couple times, but I spoke to nobody during my three-day Granny retreat. Now, a message lands from him, and I instantly feel guilty.

Are you okay? Let me know you’re okay for fuck’s sake. Why didn’t you tell me? Can I help?

A whoosh of air leaves my lungs, and I type a quick reply.

I’m okay. Sorry for the silence. Stay by his side and make sure he’s also okay—look after him for me.

I know he’ll have more to say, and sure enough, his response comes through in under a minute.

Of course. But I’m here for you too, you know that. I can multitask.

I laugh lightly and send back some kisses. I don’t want to get dragged into a big heart-to-heart with him, and I don’t want to divide his loyalties. After putting my phone on silent, I stash it in my bag. What I don’t see won’t hurt me.

It takes Granny ten minutes to join me, and she comes bearing a gift bag from one of the nearby galleries. “That lamb shook its tail real slow,” she says, passing the bag to me. Inside is a pen and a pretty notebook covered in yellow jessamine.

“What’s this for?”

“Well, honey, that’s called a pen, and people use them to make markings on paper calledwriting. You might have heard of it, even in New York.”

“Ha ha, very funny. Why are you giving them to me?”

“So you can make some lists. Don’t tell me you’ve been running Manhattan for all these years without making lists?”

I raise my eyebrows at her. She’s right, and I do love a good list—nothing is quite as satisfying as ticking things off when they’re done. I usually had three or four on the go at any given time, but since my Great Escape, I’ve abandoned them all. Other than Drake, the only people who have contacted me since I left are connected with the various social events I was either organizing or a guest at. I’ve been swimming in shallow waters, and I can’t say I miss it. I kept so busy to distract myself, to make myself feel useful. To get out of Elijah’s way, even. I have no clue what I will do now.

“Okay,” I say slowly, then sip my wine and eye her cautiously. It doesn’t pay to underestimate Lucille. “What kind of list did you have in mind?”

“Well, for a start, you should make a list of things you need to do next in this new life of yours. And then I’d suggest possibly a list of things youwantto do. Even a list of things you’ve never tried before but should. Like, you know, getting a job?”

I choke on my wine. “Granny! I’ve had jobs.”

She dismisses me with a wave of her hand. “Five weeks at the Harbor Club busing tables one summer does not count, Bam-Bam. I know you’ve been busy with all your charity affairs, and I’m sure you gained some pretty useful skills doing that. You need to put them to good use.”

She’s right. I can organize events and plan galas, and I can liaise with multiple teams to make those things happen. That sounds great on paper, but I’m under no illusions—it was all made a lot easier by having unlimited resources at my fingertips.

“Plus, you have a degree. You’re college educated,” she adds. “Which is more than I ever had.”

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