Page 18 of The Close-Up
“How are you, Grandma?”
“Oh, you know. Every day above ground is a blessing.”
I grin at her phrasing as I search for parking.
“Can you help me with my phone, Peanut?” she asks. “I forgot the passcode.”
“Of course. Mom, can you grab a pen and write this down, then tack it on the refrigerator for Grandma to look at in case she forgets again?”
“You got it, honey.”
“Okay, Grandma. It’s one-one-one-nine-five-seven. That’s the month and year you and Grandpa got married, remember?”
I inwardly squeal at how attentive and patient Simon is with his family.
“Got it. Thanks, Peanut! Love you.”
“Love you too,” he says. “Okay, Mom. I’d better get going here. Promise I’ll call you later this week.”
“Wait, how is everything going on the retreat?”
“So far, so good.”
“How’s filming for that show you told us about? Are you nervous being on camera all the time?”
“It’s going great. The editor, Naomi, is doing a wonderful job,” he answers patiently.
I notice his expression turns tight for a second, but it eases when he glances over at me. I wonder if he’s weirded out that I’m listening in on his family conversation. I’d probably be a bit self-conscious too if I were chatting with my parents in front of Simon. Not because I’m embarrassed of them, but because my parents tend to fuss over me like I’m a little kid despite the fact that I’m well into my thirties. I smile slightly to myself. Kind of like how Simon’s mom is with him.
“And actually, I’m in the car with her now, so—”
“You should have said something! Can we say hi?”
Simon knocks his head to the side, his cheeks flushed. “Really, Mom?”
I pull into an open parking space and turn off the car. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”
Simon exhales in that low-key annoyed way you do when your parents are driving you the tiniest bit crazy, but you endure it because you love them.
He makes a slight grimace at me and for second I wonder if he’s irritated that I offered.
“You sure you don’t mind?” he asks.
“Positive.” I smile, despite the tinge of awkwardness I feel too at the prospect of having an impromptu chat with Simon’s mom. At least Simon and I are sharing in the feeling.
I unbuckle my seat belt and pivot so I’m closer to him. He scoots closer and turns the phone to me. “Hi there. I’m Naomi. It’s nice to meet you.”
His mom’s eyes go wide as she beams at me. Instantly I recognize that warm hue and kind sentiment. Simon’s eyes are just like hers. So is his light brown hair color. But every other feature of her face is too delicate to resemble Simon’s. The rest of him must come from his dad.
“Naomi! What a pleasure. I’m Barbara.” She pivots her gaze to Simon. “Shame on you, Simon. You didn’t mention how lovely she is.”
“God, Mom,” he groans, scrubbing a hand over the side of his face.
Now I’m the one blushing. “Oh wow, thank you, Barbara. That’s so nice of you to say.”
“Mom!” she calls over her shoulder. “Come here and meet the person who’s filming that show about our Simon! Look at how cute she is.”
“Sorry,” he mutters. “They get like this whenever I mention there’s a woman in my vicinity.”
