Page 74 of Bringing Home the Bacon
I hate every second of it.
The doorbell buzzer squeals, startling me like it does every time it rings. I run through the list of who it could be. My brothers visit regularly to tell me how stubborn I’m being. Lia, Molly, and Diane make appearances under the guise of “impromptu girls’ nights,” then inevitably encourage me to rethink this experiment of mine.
It could be any one of them at the door right now, but the most likely scenario is that a drunken Tiddy’s patron is poking the buzzer for shits and giggles. It wouldn’t be the first time. Or even the hundredth.
I walk to the front window and peel back the curtain to peer at the ground below. The last person I expected to see waits patiently at the entrance to my tenant stairwell.
I press the responding buzzer immediately, fling open the door to my apartment, and shout down the stairs. “Gran? What on earth are you doing here at nine o’clock at night?”
“Can’t a girl enjoy a drink at the tittie bar then visit her granddaughter for some tea?” she says as she ascends the staircase with her usual grace and agility.
My brothers and I have long since stopped correcting Gran when she says titties instead of Tiddy’s. It’s not worth it at this point.
When she reaches my landing, I usher her inside and give her a hug. “You were having a drink at Tiddy’s?” I say in disbelief. She breezes past me as I shut the door. “Whoa! Don’t you look pretty? New dress?” I step closer to her. “And is that makeup I see?”
“Don’t sound so shocked, Colleen. You know, I can look presentable sometimes.” She does a little spin.
“You look presentable all the time. You’re a beautiful woman, Gran. Today, your look is just a bit… elevated.”
“Well, you kids always seem to enjoy those tittie trivia nights, so I decided to try one out.” She hesitates. “And… I thought perhaps it might be a good place to meet some suitors.”
“Oh. Suitors.” I take a moment for that to settle in. “Wow.”
“Maybe that’s silly, but?—”
“No, ma’am.” I shake my head. “That’s not silly at all. I think it’s wonderful that you’re feeling ready to get back out there.”
“You don’t think your grandfather would mind?” Gran stares down at her shoes. Suddenly, she seems so much younger than her seventy-one years.
“No,” I say definitively. “I don’t. I think he would be happy seeing you living your life to the fullest.”
A small smile spreads across Gran’s face when she looks me in the eyes again. “How about that tea?”
“Sure, have a seat.” I turn on the kettle and grab my small stash of tea bags from a cabinet.
I don’t tell her this, but I’m so happy she’s here. I miss seeing her whenever I want to. When I was living with her at Bedd Fellows, she was the first person I saw in the morning and the last person I saw at night. And when I moved into the church loft with Bacon, all I had to do was look out the window, and I could see the light on in her bedroom just down the hill. I don’t think I realized how much comfort that gave me until it went away. Until I went away.
“I have chamomile, peppermint, and red raspberry leaf. Which would you like?”
“I thought the raspberry leaf wasn’t safe for pregnancy?” Gran says.
“It is now.” I rub my truly massive belly. “I’m almost thirty-six weeks. Softening the cervix is now the name of the game.”
“Raspberry leaf it is then, sugar!” She shoots me with a rapid-fire of finger guns.
“You’re calling me ‘sugar’? And busting out finger guns?” I laugh. “What’s gotten into you, grandmother?” I place tea bags into the only two mugs I own and set them on the table. I stay standing while I wait for the water to boil.
Gran leans back in her chair. “Oh, just a little something I picked up from The Geezers. Big John, Little John, Small Paul, and Tall Paul all send their best to you, by the way.”
“That’s nice,” I say.
Maybe I should head down to trivia again some night and spend time with human beings other than the ones I’m currently gestating.
I started early maternity leave from Fork Lick Elementary last week. My doctor suggested it, saying that the last few weeks of carrying twins can get super uncomfortable, so I’d be wise to prioritize rest. I took his advice, though my actual plan was to prioritize writing and see if I could lay the groundwork to actually make a career out of this thing. The proof copy of my first book is due any day now—and I’m so proud of that—but I haven’t written a single quality word since I left Bacon.
Turns out, being around him, being in love with him, being happy… that was the creative inspiration I needed.
Gran drums her fingers on the wooden table and gazes around the space. I can feel her disapproval when her eyes land on the scuffed laminate countertops, the faded creaky floorboards, and the conspicuous water stain spreading on the ceiling. “So. Are you done yet with the self-imposed torture game you’ve been putting yourself through?” she says.
