Page 66 of An Introvert's Guide to Life and Love
The mood of our shopping trip has changed noticeably. We deliberate between a few options, and within fifteen minutes I’ve chosen the new flooring for my house. Daniel helps me place the order, calculating how much I’ll need. Outside, we pause at his bike. The hot, humid air feels like a hug after the air-conditioning inside.
“Mallory.” He fidgets with his helmet. “I don’t want to overstep, but…”
My heart gallops, and I know that it wouldn’t take much for me to toss out the resolution I just made. If Daniel wanted to start something, I might be powerless to say no.
“When you leave,” he continues, “I would be happy to drive your grandpa to appointments. If he needs help.”
This is so far from what I was expecting, I don’t say anything for a moment.
“It’s only that I did the same thing for my dad,” he rushes to explain. “When he was sick.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” My hand lands on his. “Is he okay now?”
Daniel looks down at the helmet in his hands. “He passed five years ago.”
“Daniel, I’m so sorry,” I say again. What else is there to say? I can’t imagine losing my dad.
“Me too,” he says. “But I know what it’s like to help someone in that situation. I know your grandpa has friends and other family around here, but I wanted to offer. Maybe it’ll take some of the stress off your plate if you know that’s taken care of.”
It’s so thoughtful, I don’t know what to say. My throat fills with tears and I feel hot color flooding my cheeks. Just knowing that, without Trish and without me, Gramps will have someone nearby to help him out… it means a lot. Suddenly, I’m tossing my arms around Daniel’s shoulders.
“Thank you,” I say into his chest. He squeezes tight—he gives good hug, which does not surprise me one bit. And then he lightly taps my waist and takes a step back.
“You’re welcome.”
I exhale shakily, and he gently chucks me under the chin.
“Chin up,” he says.
I nod. Chin up.
Chapter 24
Publix cake: ordered. I almost went with the cake Mom would’ve chosen—a tasteful vanilla buttercream, white with a colorful border of confetti-like dollops of frosting. Instead, I ordered a dark-blue cake adorned with planets. Probably meant for little boys who love the solar system, but equally fitting for a telescope-loving grandpa.
I muddle through work on Friday, too upset about the return to office email to really focus. I mostly work on the house while periodically checking my laptop for messages. Having internet at Pebble Cottage has been great for my productivity—house-related productivity, that is. I’ve pulled up the carpet in one of the bedrooms already. After this, I need to focus on the backyard. The party is the day after tomorrow. I still need to get decorations, but the guest list is shaping up. Angela and all of Gramps’s other friends called me to RSVP yes, except one guy who’s getting a colonoscopy that day. I did not ask any follow-up questions.
There’s one person I wish I had invited. I still could, even though it’s super last-minute and he probably already has plans.
It seems a little off the wall to invite Daniel to a family party. Do I really want to expose him to my parents and extended family? They’re… a lot. But on the other hand, he offered to drive Gramps to appointments, and he’s never even met him. So maybe he should. And maybe I’m just looking for excuses to invite him.
I table that thought for now. It’s almost dinnertime, and I want to get back to the condo. I feel like I’ve been neglecting Gramps the last few days.
It’s such a gorgeous evening that I drive back up Gulf Boulevard with the top down. The air is balmy and briny. The sky spans endlessly blue in every direction, and as I drive and sing along to the radio, zipping past palm trees, I experience a moment of pure disbelief that this is where I live. Only for a few weeks, but still. Compared with my life back home—the well-worn walks around my overcast neighborhood—this is paradise. People dream all their lives of retiring to a place like this, and here I am.
Pulling into Sandy Shores, I’m waved in by the parking lot attendant, and I smile and wave back at him. If this were a movie, I would cheerfully call out, “Hey, Carl, looking good! That CrossFit is paying off!” But I haven’t moved that far out of my introvert shell yet, and I probably never will. Also, I have no idea what his name is. I do, however, pass by one of the friends I invited to Gramps’s birthday party as I stride across the grassy lawn.
“Hi, Tom!” I call as he walks in the other direction with a swim towel over his shoulder.
“Evening, Mallory.”
This puts a little spring in my step. See, I practically am living in a movie now. Or an episode ofGilmore Girls. Upstairs, I greet Gramps, who’s listening to classical music out on the balcony, and then start on dinner prep. My laptop is open on the counter beside me, but it’s blessedly quiet—no pings or emails.
I follow a recipe I found in an old, well-loved recipe box of Lottie’s. I can just barely make out her scrawl on the index card titledCINCINNATI CHILI, but I figured I might have better luck with Lottie’s tried-and-true recipes than random ones I find on the internet.
Half an hour later, we sit down to eat. Gramps digs into hissteaming bowl of chili served over spaghetti and takes several large bites without stopping, which I take as a good sign.
“How is it?” I ask. Cooking for someone else has given me an unexpected respect for my mom’s cooking—she may not be the world’s greatest chef, but cooking for other people is hard.
