Page 89 of Mistlefoe
“Yes, it’s Grammie’s orders,” I respond to Conor’s question. “You’ve taken the top spot in her bucket list now.”
“Well, okay, no pressure.” He jokes at his own expense. “Should I wear normal clothes or a tuxedo?”
“Got a happy in between?” After a moment, I grow more serious. “No, really. I can make up an excuse if this is too early.”
“This is important to your family, so I’ll see you in an hour, okay?”
“Yeah, thanks,” I say more with air than with voice, because this is the moment I know that this is the man I’ll marry.
I had classmates who bullied me for my accent or even because my homemade lunches were completely different from theirs, but Conor doesn’t dismiss these cultural differences or gets uncomfortable by them. I only had to explain to him how Latin American families areeverythingandalways there—even if they physically aren’t—for him to get it and respect it. I’m sure any other guy would be running for the hills if he had to formally meet his girlfriend’s family like just two weeks after getting together.
We finish the call and I’m grinning from ear to ear as I rejoin my parents to really set up the welcome banner and balloons. No matter what scary things the future holds—and they’re scary when one of your loved ones is elderly and sick—I know this is a special moment and I’m going to cherish every last second of it.
People start trickling out of the exit wheeling suitcases and carrying bags, but we’re watching out for the wheelchairs. Of course, I made sure to book the assistance service for Grammie. She’d break her fast on caviar if she liked the thing and if I could have it my way.
The first sign that Grammie might be in sight comes from Mom, who lets out a squeal. I’ve been holding a flower bouquet for a few minutes and I lower it from my face, and there she is.
My frail little Grammie waving at us as an airport staff wheels her over.
I don’t know who screams her name then, could’ve been Mom or me. All I know is that I’m bouncing more than I did in that ball pit a few days ago, and there are tears streamingdown my eyes. When she’s cleared the security area, I take off in a short sprint that ends with me kneeling in front of her and our arms around each other.
“Feliz navidad, Sierrita,” she whispers above me and boy, isn’t it?
Best. Christmas. Ever.
*
According to Grammie, things have changed drastically since the one time she visited when I was a kid. A strip mall didn’t exist where there was an open field before, a bank was replaced by a fast food place, or some houses now used to be a parking lot. We drive by the convention center downtown and she says that one looks just the same, before launching on a tale about how the main market back in her hometown turned into the convention center once supermarkets became a thing decades ago.
I’m riveted more by the fact that she’s right next to me, telling tales in person rather than through a screen, than by the tales themselves. My heart twists by the utter glee and sorrow warring in it. It’s so hard to love someone this much, yet be mostly separated from them. Tale of an immigrant family, I guess.
Her hand has surprising strength for how slight it is, for the paper thin skin with a network of veins behind it. I think she squeezes mine much harder than the other way around.
She’s talking about how pretty snow is, but that dies down as Dad parks the truck by the curb of our house and we spot two figures waiting on our porch.
“The boyfriend,” Dad announces in a grouch.
“And the boyfriend’s grandfather.” My eyes widen. I guess this is going to be a full-on event, huh? Except, unlike last week’s, I’m woefully unprepared for this.
We make quick work of getting out of the truck, and while Dad and I focus on helping Grammie out, Mom gets her suitcase from the trunk. The four of us make a slow walk up the shoveled path. I basically keep one eye on Grammie as I hold her by the arm, and another one on my boyfriend.
He’s rocking on the balls of his feet, as if nervous.
How flipping cute is that?
Finally, we join them by the porch and for a long, quiet moment, it’s like a standoff where everyone is staring at one another.
I’m the one who breaks it.
“Grammie,” I say everything in Spanish for her benefit. “Estos son Conor, mi novio, y Conrad, su abuelo. Le dicen Gramps.” Then I turn to them and speak in English. “Conor, Gramps, may I have the honor of introducing my favorite family member, Grammie?”
Dad blows a raspberry. “What am I now, the third most important person in your life now?”
“Fourth, honey.” Mom pats his arm.
I burst into giggles and that dissipates the weird tension. Shoulders relax and eyes soften, until I translate all that for Grammie and she asks me to send everyone in and stay alone with her for a second.
Uh oh.
