Page 12 of An Introvert's Guide to Life and Love
I feel myself grinning and fidgeting with a lock of my hair. Wait. Is this property manager flirting with me about tofu? Or am I delusional? Trish said everyone knows this guy—this is probably why. He’s friendly and a good conversationalist. He’s the kind of person who can make small talk about lunch feel interesting.
“Don’t worry, I won’t try to convince you to eat tofu.” I’m stillgrinning. “I really just order it because they charge extra for shrimp and the chicken is usually dry and sad…” I trail off, grin nowhere to be found. Why am I suddenly talking about dry chicken?Why?
He doesn’t say anything. I managed to stump Mr. Small Talk Expert with my babbling. I wonder if there’s an online course I could take about how to win friends and influence people. Or at least how to make normal conversation. Or, heck, how not to ruin a conversation by talking about dry chicken.
“You still there?”
His voice somehow zaps me out of my humiliation. It’s just so smooth. I could listen to him talk my ear off about home maintenance, renter’s insurance, whatever it is that property managers talk about.
“I am. But my lunch might not be.”
“You better run and grab it, then.”
“Yes, I should.” I don’t know what it is about him—I’m usually in a hurry to hang up the phone, but not with him. “I’ll email you the address of the house. My aunt should be able to deliver the key to your office if that works for you.”
“That all sounds fine.” He gives me his email address, which I make him repeat twice because I keep dropping my pen.
“Great. So, I’ll email you with the details. And you can let me know when the inspection will be.”
“I will. Enjoy your tofu.” There’s a hint of laughter in his voice.
“Thanks. You too.” I hang up just as I realize what I said. My head slowly lowers to meet my desk. I simply can’t be trusted with words coming out of my mouth.
Oh no, my lunch.
Mercifully, the plastic bag containing my pad thai is still waiting for me. I’ve had so many packages stolen here that I’ve lost count. I don’t know what I would do if someone took my food. I get hangry.
Later that night, I can’t stop thinking about Gramps, about how to find out how he’s actually doing. Finally, I sit at my desk and open my laptop. It takes me a while to think of the words, but soon they come pouring out of me. I let out all my thoughts and questions and frustrations and worries. I re-read it to make sure I don’t sound too neurotic or too whiny or too anything. And then I hitSENDon the email to Gramps.
Chapter 7
His reply is waiting for me when I wake up in the morning. I do a double take at the time stamp: He emailed me just after three in the morning his time.Gramps, what are you doing?
I read it on my phone, still tucked in bed. It requires a lot of scrolling.
Dear Mallory,
I read your letter with curiosity and delight. You’re my second-eldest granddaughter, and I never really got to know you much. When you were growing up, I was still working, and my work was all-consuming. Although I do recall that you had a deep passion for a film calledThe Lion King. Your dedication to this film was so apparent that I finally sat down one day and watched it with you and your sister. I cried when the little lion cub’s father died. I thought that was too sad for you girls to be watching. Although when I was a young boy, we watchedBambi, so who am I to judge?
This morning, a great blue heron visited me. It perched on the balcony railing just outside my bedroom. We had a lovely chat.
A great blue heron was outside the hospital window when Lottie left me. She loved those birds. I think it was waiting for her. I never believed in souls. There’s no scientific proof that they exist and there never will be. But I can’t shake my belief in Heaven. Itis contradictory, I know. My mother believed in Heaven, and that gave her comfort when my father died. I didn’t much care what happened to him. But I like to think that my mother is with him now, and that she is happy. Naturally, I like to imagine Lottie is in paradise now too, with her beloved parents. They’ll have a lot to catch up on. Perhaps the heron was her guide.
Your letter reminded me of the things I used to worry about as a young man. How will I pay the mortgage and support my family? Will I be promoted and will I get the grant I need to do my next research project?
Cherish it, Mallory. Cherish your youth and this time in your life. It seems endless now, but it’s fleeting.
Here I’ll remain, in God’s waiting room,
Affectionately yours,
Dr. Gramps
I read it a second time, impatiently wiping away the tears leaking from my eyes.
I don’t have a response. What is there to say to an email like that? But I can’t stop thinking about it as I go about my day. The part about the heron makes me want to sob. Lottie had loved those birds, just like Gramps said. So what if the heron was her visiting him or sending him a message? Did he think of it that way? Did it bring him comfort, or just make him sad?
As the day wears on, I fixate on the deep sadness behind his words, and on the phrase “God’s waiting room.” I think I know what I have to do. I need to get Gramps a therapist.
