Page 112 of The Kiss Of Death
“You’re right; I don’t like that answer,” the grandmother pouted. “You didn’t even bother lying. So you’re either dumb or think being honest would get me in your good graces.”
“Definitely the second option.”
“You remind me of my old Arnold, her grandpa. He was a troubled bad boy, but not with me.” She looped her arm through mine, and a reflexive shudder rippled through me.
My skin prickled at the intrusion, my muscles tensing. I forced myself to maintain a mask of indifference as the grandma told me about her love story. All of that for one woman.
“And that’s how my flower here was running naked with only big ribbons around her as a dress, and she cried when we told her she couldn’t go out dressed like that. I think I have a picture—”
Her grandmother finished sharing the sixtieth embarrassing childhood story about Dalia alongside the four-course meal she devoured in front of me. The dining hall was teeming with people, packed to the rafters with eager parents and their hopeful offspring. I had to cast icy glares at anyone daring to infringe on my personal space on the long benches.
“This was very entertaining, Grandma, but it’s time to end this trip down memory lane. I was six, and if you ever show that picture, I’ll tell Levi about how you always cheat at board games!”
“On the contrary, I could go on all day listening to those stories.” Dalia kicked my knee under the table, and I delivered the most pleasant smile I could shape. “You were very naughty even then, and I’d love to see that picture.”
“If you insist, I’ll plant a fork in your hand.” Dalia reciprocated with her first attempt at a threatening smile.Cute.
“You’ll only turn me on.”
Her eyes widened, and she shot a side glance at her grandmother.
“Don’t stop on my behalf. I was young too, and we used to do it everywhere. But you have to be safe, and never do anything you don’t want to do. And you—” The grandmother pointed at me. “You may be a pretty man, but it’s useless if you’re a selfish lover.”
A restrained chuckle escaped my lips. “Oh, I can assure you, I use all of my advantages for Dalia’s pleasure, don’t I?”
Dalia’s palms pressed to her face as she groaned. “This is so humiliating.”
I’d always considered being part of someone’s family utterly exhausting, but I had to admit, this experience wasn’t as soul-sucking as I’d anticipated.
“Well, I know a story about you too, young man.”Maybe I spoke too fast.“It was the first time I met your mom. Was it ten years ago? She was grocery shopping and didn’t see me, but I called out to her anyway.”
News flash, Grandma: my mother was just trying to avoid you, and she had never been really subtle at that.
“I thanked her for the good work she was doing with our Dalia. She approached me first, you know? To give music lessons to Dalia. My flower didn’t like any of the other teachers. She found them strict and scary, too much like her dad.” She chuckled. “But your mother is the only one who made her smile.” She squeezed her granddaughter’s hand. “All the convincing I had to do for her to keep going to your house, my son can be so stubborn sometimes and… judgmental.”
She said it, her eyes locking on mine this time. That was why I loathed small towns.
“Anyway… your mother showed me the gift you gave her on her birthday. It was probably to shut me up, now that I think about it.”
“It wasn’t me,” I deadpanned. My mother and I never celebrated birthdays—she found them overwhelming and unexpected.
Her grandmother laughed again. “Oh, it could only come from you. You’d made her some kind of USB key in the shape of a violin. There were cables still coming out, and apparently, you had soldered it all yourself, manufacturing it from start to finish. I was scared; a child had used a smoldering tool without supervision? And you know what she told me?”
“What did she say?” Dalia responded, drinking in the story as if it were her own with bright wide eyes.
“That she would never stop you because she didn’t want to deprive you of what made you smile, your escape. She really loved that key ring, and—” Her phone rang, and she pulled it out, squinting at the screen as she read her texts.
“You okay?” Dalia mouthed at me.
I was absolutely fantastic. I flashed her a tight smile.
Dalia only knew Mother dearest from inside her music studio. It didn’t work for me to fake my interest in music because she pushed me into Patrice’s care as fast as she could. And now she was also acting all sentimental with Dalia’s grandma? Not that she ever thought of telling me that up front.
It brought to mind the times she’d attempted to hug me. It was so painfully clinical and devoid of any warmth, making me feel like a leper seeking charity. Growing up, I took the lead in our interactions and made it clear that I refused to participate in her forced displays of affection.
“Levi, help me out.” Grandma Mercier snapped me back from the memories I thought I had buried with the rest of my childhood when she thrust her phone into my hands. “I want tosend a link to book a hard rock band for our church Christmas concert, but it’s like three pages long. With all these numbers, it looks like a virus.”
I took hold of the ancient device and glanced at the group chat page she had left open, titled “Christ’s little hellions.”
