Page 110 of Fun Together
“Funny,” Faye says, gesturing to me. “This is Eli.”
“Nice to meet you, sir,” I say, going over with my hand extended.
He gives my hand a firm shake. “You like movies, Eli?”
I join Faye on the love seat. “Sure, I love movies.”
“This is one of my favorites,” he points at the screen. I see Cillian Murphy walking through deserted London streets in a pair of teal scrubs.
“Is this28 Days Later?”
He seems impressed that I know it. “I like to nap to it.”
This man naps to zombie apocalypse movies? That explains Faye’s comfort movie of choice. I turn to her and lean in so that only she can hear me. “So much about you makes sense to me now.”
She tries not to smile. “All those empty streets? Nice and quiet.”
“I was admiring your truck when we pulled in. My brother has one just like it.”
“Oh yeah?” He perks up. “Had it forever. Still runs pretty good.”
“Yeah, Emmett fixed his up a few years ago. I’d love to find one to do the same.” I’ve always wanted a project like that—something I can fix with my own two hands.
“I’ll keep an eye out. There’s always somebody selling one around here. One of my buddies I see at Roy’s fixes up trucks and resells ‘em.”
“I thought you were scaling back on Roy’s,” Faye says.
“It’s my watering hole, girl. I can’t just stop going.”
“What is Roy’s?” I ask.
“It’s a restaurant, if you want to call it that,” Faye says.
I think I understand the dynamic she has with her grandpa. She tries to take care of him, and he stubbornly refuses.
I look around the living room and there are a few photos on the wall. I see a school picture of a girl that has to be Faye, smiling a big, gap-toothed grin in a neon green shirt.
There’s another photo of what looks like a much younger version of her grandpa with a pretty brunette woman. I wonder if that’s Faye’s mom.
Faye must catch me looking. “That photo is so embarrassing. I had grape jelly all down the front of my shirt.”
“That just makes it more genuine. You were a kid who ate a PB and J that day. I love that.”
“That’s my grandpa and my mom in that other picture. Before grandpa lost all his hair,” she says a little louder in his direction.
“You look like her.”
She nods and hums in agreement as she stands up. “Hey Gramps, why don’t we show Eli your garden,” Faye suggests, smoothly steering our conversation in another direction.
We head outside to the backyard, where a small garden sits along the chain-link fence that marks edge of the property. It’s overgrown, so I’m guessing it doesn’t get a ton of upkeep.
Her grandpa walks over to one of the plants. I can’t tell whether it’s a vegetable or a weed. “It’s gotten a little leggy with all this rain we’ve had.”
“What do you have in here?” I ask him.
“Tomatoes when the bugs don’t get ‘em, cucumbers, carrots, some potatoes.”
“Nothing like a fresh tomato from the garden,” I say, and I hear Faye snicker.
