With a sigh, I step into Grams house, finally mustering the courage to face her after my parents visit.
As true as it is that Mom treats me like a child, so does Grams, in her own way. Forcing me to be social in a town where I lost everything, to hang out with people who bring back awful memories.
I'm not a toddler from the center, a kid who needs someone setting up their play dates. I'm a grown woman, for cripes sake.
"Grams!" I slip off my sandals and brush the sand from my feet on the doormat. "I'm home!" I shout, heading into the kitchen to get dinner started.
"I'm on my way down," Grams replies and I hear her bedroom door swing shut. "Slow and steady."
I leave the ingredients for homemade pancakes on the stove and hurry to help her down the steps. Now that I've been more on top of her pill regimen, she hasn't had another episode of vertigo.
But she is still getting older and I can never be too careful when it comes to her and the stairs.
"I said I was on my way!" Grams protests as I reach for her arm.
I ignore her, leading her to her spot around the kitchen table. Once she's comfortable, I begin mixing my dry ingredients in a large, sunny-yellow bowl, whisking away until Grams breaks the silence.
"You're home late today."
"I'm sorry about that," Instantly I feel bad for my tardiness, even though that wasn't her point. I debate lying but decide against it. "Finn was late, and I saw Luke. Then I went to the beach to think."
I feel her eyes on me about that last part, but continue stirring as if I don't.
"And how is my friend Finn doing?" Grams asks instead, in a tone that is anything but subtle.
"He's good. Misses his dad." I crack a couple of eggs into the mixing bowl, waiting for what I know will be her next question.
She mutters something about absent fathers under her breath before asking, "And Luke?"
"Fine." The whisk slams against the mixing bowl as I subconsciously mix my ingredients harder. "But you know, Grams, I wanted to talk to you about that actually. And what I said to Mom, about everyone treating me like a child."
"Oh," Grams clucks, fingering through the newspaper for the crossword section. "I agree with you, Dylan. Your parents aren't being fair."
For a moment, I'm taken aback, wondering what she's talking about. Grams was the one to suggest I spend the summer with her, the one to push going out with friends.
Pressing the questions from my mind, I continue making my point.
One thing at a time, or else it's just too much to think about.
"But are you, Grams? Being fair? I mean, the forced social calendar? I'm old enough to decide if I just wanna stay home and watch movies alone. Don't you think?"
I turn to face her, leaning against the countertop. Her brows raise in surprise, the newspaper falls from her fingers. Part of me feels bad, knowing she's trying to do what she thinks is best.
The other part of me just wants to be left alone. To handle my feelings my way, not everyone else's.
"But you said you like talking to Brynn again? And lately, you seem happier once you've seen Luke..."
I chew my bottom lip. Everything she's saying is probably right. But that isn't the point, is it?
She notices my hesitation and beckons me over. "Oh, honey, come sit." I turn to the thickening pancake mixture and she waves her hand at me again. "Come on,"
So I do as I'm told. She takes my hand in hers and taps two arthritic fingers against my skin.
"I think maybe you're right." She says finally. Something I never thought I'd hear. "We're all so worried about you that we can't help ourselves. We just want to see you feel better. We get so carried away with that, that we lose sight of everything else, including how we make you feel, as backwards as that sounds."
"That does sound backwards," I mumble, staring at the thin, wrinkled skin of her hands. "But Grams, what if it doesn't get better? What if this is all there is for me, now?"
"Is that what you believe, Dylan?" Grams tilts her head at me, her eyes piercing me through her glasses.
"I don't know," I admit lamely. "It's just hurt for so long... it's hard to imagine anything else. Maybe this is me now, you know? Maybe I'm stuck."
"I don't know that, dear." Grams says, smiling despite the dark turn our conversation has taken. "What I do know is that you're different from when you got here a few weeks ago. Now I don't know what's making the difference, but I do know that as time goes by... You're becoming less and less stuck. Don't you think?"
I consider her words carefully, knowing deep down that I've talked more about Casey out loud in the last few weeks than during the years I spent before coming back. I've visited his favorite spots, I went into his room. Smelled the scent of his cologne, which faded fast from the sweatshirt I kept after his funeral.
I flipped through a scrapbook filled with his smile and didn't feel like I was completely dying inside.
Maybe that's what Grams is noticing. Maybe she's right, after all.
"Hey Grams?" I wonder out loud, "I need your opinion. Luke invited me to his family's cookout this weekend."
Grams eyes light up and I'm almost positive I know what she'll say. But she surprises me again.
"I thought you didn't like Luke, after everything with Maya."
My eyes narrow. "And the accident," I remind her.
"Right." She nods, averting her gaze. "And the accident, too."
I almost press her on it, about why she's so quick to forget about it, but I don't. Instead, I sigh.
One thing at a time.
"Things with Maya were a misunderstanding." I explain, standing to resume my work on dinner, finding the cast-iron skillet that crisps the edges of pancakes just right in the cupboard. "Everything else... I don't know. Do you... Do you think Casey would be mad at me?"
"Oh, please." Grams scoffs, surprising even herself, I think. She continues quickly. "Dylan, if there's two people that boy loved most in the world, it was you and Luke. I don't think he'd hold it against you for looking to one another after all you've been through. I don't think that one bit."
"Hm." Is all I can say, watching the thick batter drip into the pan, the sizzling cracks the only other sound in the room. "Maybe you're right."
Maybe she is. Maybe she's not. I can feel myself hoping that she is, though.
Either way, the only person who can tell us for sure isn't here.
So it's up to me to decide on my own.
I plop some chocolate chips into the batter, watching them melt as the heat of the skillet cooks the pancakes through.
"Hey Grams," I break the silence after a few moments of careful thought, "After dinner, do you mind if I head out for a little bit?"
Alright you guys, the next chapter will be up soon!
This one was originally supposed to have more to it, but it got too long, so I had to split it into two. Hope ya don't mind!
What do we think - what did Dylan decide? Where's she going now?
Love and miss you all!