Page 22 of An Introvert's Guide to Life and Love
I slip into the pool, which feels like bathwater. When I was a kid, I didn’t really like swimming, other than to flip my hair upside down and pretend to be George Washington. But this feels amazing, almost as warm as the hot tub. I swim a few lazy laps.
I hear Gramps greeting someone and pause, hanging on to the far wall of the pool. Two women are crossing the pool deck. It’s Angela, dressed in a pale-pink tennis skirt and polo shirt, and another woman dressed similarly, though not entirely to the same effect.
“Hello there,” he says.
“So nice to see you with your granddaughter,” Angela says.
“Oh yes. We’re having a nice weekend together.” All three seniors turn to look at me, treading water in the deep end. I wave my fingers at them.
“Is he showing you a good time?” Angela calls.
“Almost too much,” I say. “Can’t keep up with him. Never knew he was such a firecracker.”
The ladies laugh like I’ve said something truly hilarious. Gramps smiles, too. I realize, watching him, that I get a heady sense of accomplishment when he does that. He doesn’t laugh loudly, like Angela and her friend, but he smiles with all his teeth when he’s amused. I suppose, now that I’m thinking about it, I always wanted to impress him when I was a kid, knowing that he was a brainy academic, a scientist. I realize now that he probably just has a different sense of humor, and it’s nothing to do with his intelligence. But still, I enjoy making him laugh.
They exchange a few more words, and then the ladies wave goodbye and head for the tennis court.
“What did she say?” I ask, swimming closer to where Gramps is sitting.
“Nothing, nothing. They asked if I wanted to join their cinema thing tonight.”
“Cinema thing?”
“It’s movie night. Sunday. They’re showing a Wes Anderson film.”
“That sounds like fun!”
“I don’t care much for Wes Anderson.” He pauses to pencil in a crossword answer. “Or is that Woody Allen? Anyway, I can watch whatever movie I want right in my living room.”
“Right.” I consider pressing the point—after all, I am here to help him, aren’t I?—but I can tell he’s made up his mind. So I climb out of the pool, spread my towel on a lounge chair, and lay out with a book in hand. If nothing else, at least I can work on this Casper situation.
“Did you know this vinegar expired in 2011?” I’m pulling things out of the pantry, slightly distracted from my mission to make dinner for Gramps.
“Vinegar doesn’t go bad,” he says. He’s on the couch, scrolling through the TV guide with one hand and holding a glass with the other. I’d asked if I could make him a cocktail, to which he’d replied, “I’d love one. Seltzer with lime.”
I made the same for myself and decided I would make a pasta dish. I found an unopened box of spaghetti, a jar of minced garlic in the fridge, and a shallot. Now I’m sitting on the kitchen floor surrounded by dry goods that expired anywhere from two to twenty-two years ago.
“This cardamom is older than I am.” I’m only slightly exaggerating.
“I use that in curries,” Gramps calls back.
“When’s the last time you made curry?”
He pauses. “Nineteen ninety-seven.”
This makes me chuckle. I decide I’ve done enough for now, toss the expired things in the trash, and tie up the bag.
“Be right back.”
I take the garbage bag outside to the trash chute in the hall. The open-air hallway looks out over the grounds, and the sound of laughter drifts up. I peek over the railing and see a group of seniors walking up the path from the beach, talking loudly. The sound reminds me of college, when students traveled in packs and felt like whatever was going on between them and their friends was the pinnacle of sophistication and importance. It makes me nostalgic for that kind of camaraderie. It also makes me sad for Gramps. These are his peers, his neighbors, his would-be, should-be friends. I want him to be part of a laughing group. Not holed up in his condo, alone.
After dinner, during which Gramps gamely eats my concoctionof spaghetti tossed with garlic, lemon, and some buttered peas I’d found in the freezer, I broach the topic.
“I was thinking, maybe we should go to that movie night.”
“Why?” He rifles in a kitchen drawer and pulls out a peppermint candy. “We can watch a movie here. What do you want to see? I have all the channels.”
“It’s not about the movie exactly. I was thinking…”
