Page 41 of Everything's Coming Up Rosie

He shrugs. “My grandma moved here.”

I feel the restlessness inside me settle. Booker has a story, and I want to know the rest of it.

But then, everyone has at least one story, right? The old women who just walked out of here? They probably have loads of stories.

“I figured, you know, this was a way for me to keep an eye on her and still make a living doing what I love.”

“But...” I’m having trouble squaring him giving up on his dream. It’s not what I’d do. It’s not what I understand. “You still want to work with athletes, right?”

Another shrug. “Honestly, it doesn’t really matter. I mean,I’m doing what I love, and these people are just as important as basketball players. Probably aloteasier to deal with too.” He frowns. “Well, some of them.”

I smile and pause. And after a beat, I ask, “And you don’t feel like you gave up on your dream?”

“Nah,” he says. “I just got a new one.”

“Hmm,” I say. “I don’t understand that at all.”

Chapter 11

Booker carts me through the residential part of the Sunset Hills Retirement Community, which I now know is the official name of this place.

He’s narrating the points of interest as I sit in stunned silence.

I’m trying to focus on his commentary and not on the fact that I’ve been completely blindsided. It’s my own fault, which is another awesome realization.

In the middle of my stupor, I also linger on how casually he mentioned finding a new dream.

This place isn’t my new dream.

Plus, it’s not that easy. Not for me. I’ve wanted to be an actor since I was twelve. I’ve dedicated my whole life to this.

To give up before I achieve what I set out to do is failing. Period. Full stop.

I glance over, in awe of his quiet nonchalance. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt as settled or content as he looks right now.

Did he just give up trying for his dream? That’s hard to understand.

He tells me that these medium-sized cottages are homes for the residents who live on their own. “It’s the best of both worlds,” he says. “They don’t have to worry about yard care or snow removal, but they still have their own space. Once they’re a member of Sunset, they have programming and meals and shared spaces and physical therapy—it’s a community, and it’s been really good for a lot of them.”

“Including your grandma?”

He nods. “She’s in one of the apartments on the other side of the clubhouse. She’s been on her own for a while now, but the house got to be too much for her to handle.”

“She didn’t want to move in with your parents?” I ask.

“They’re not really in the picture,” he says simply. “Haven’t been for a long time.”

My expression changes, and he must see it because he shakes his head.

“It’s not a tragic story. I had a great life with people who loved me,” he says. “Doesn’t really matter that those people weren’t my parents.”

I study him for a few long seconds, more interested in what he’s not saying than in what he is. “That’s really how you feel?”

“It really is.” He shrugs. “Not everyone is cut out to raise a kid.”

I eye him for a few long seconds, then remember I don’t know this man at all. “Sorry. I’m being so nosy.”

“It’s okay.” He smiles. “And I don’t mean to be cagey about it, it’s just... apparently, I’m ‘hard to know.’”

---