Page 51 of Stuck with Me

She was a schoolteacher and kept busy during the week. On Friday nights we usually went country line dancing. She’d have one too many drinks and end up dry humping me out on the dance floor. I’d hold her hair back while she puked in the toilet and in between ralphing her guts out, she’d swear she was done drinking. And done fucking around with me.

After six months of our routine, her daddy asked if I was ready to make an honest woman out of her, and I knew our relationship had run its course.

An eagle flies above the trees, searching for a place to land. If it wasn’t so damn cold, I’d spend the entire week out here on this swing. I chug my beer and rest my hand on the arm of the swing. The feel of the wood underneath my fingertips has me intrigued. I run my palm against the grain and admire the craftsmanship.

My eyes catch on something at the same time my hand does. Etched in the wood of the seat of the swing is a pair of initials with a faint heart surrounding them. G.R. + L.M.

My gut tightens.

L.M. Leonardo Moretti maybe?

G.R. Giana? But the R is what confuses me. Giana’s last name was Milano. Maybe this swing was here before Granddad and Giana bought the cabin? Maybe those initials belong to other people entirely?

I find that I’m hoping not. Which is so fucked up. Why would I want these initials to belong to Granddad and Rosie’s grandmother? It doesn’t make any sense.

I run my hand through my hair and finish off my beer while my mind reels. Maybe I’m hoping these are their initials because it will mean this thing between them was more than a fling. That maybe Granddad didn’t waste his inheritance and nearly ruin his entire future for a piece of tail.

But the question still unanswered is what happened? Why didn’t they end up together?

I tug my phone out of my pocket and take a picture of the heart and initials and send it in a text to my great aunt.

ME

Whose initials are these?

I assume it will take a while for Great Aunt Sara to reply. She’s not like most people these days, who has their phone in their hand 24/7. She stays busy. Volunteering in the community garden and hosting her book club. So it surprises me when I get a response within a few minutes.

AUNT SARA

Giana Russo and Leo Moretti.

ME

I thought her last name was Milano?

AUNT SARA

That was her maiden name. Is that the porch swing?

ME

Yeah.

AUNT SARA

Your granddad made that swing while he was there that summer.

Suddenly the significance of this swing, of me being here, of my connection with Granddad hits me hard in the chest. I gulp in a few sporadic breaths of air and run my fingertip along the engraved wood slowly, giving myself the allowance to feel the indents. My heart thumps harder and I know if I don’t control my breathing soon, I’m gonna have another panic attack.

Pinching my eyes tight, I take a deep breath. The cold air enters my lungs painfully. Like I just swallowed ice. But at the same time, the pain centers me. I do this a few times; taking in a breath and holding it while I count to three and then release it.

A combination of the chilly air and the emotions and the fear of the looming panic attack leave my eyes watering. I finally open them and rub my knuckle at the corners. The reality of Giana and Granddad’s relationship hit me harder than I expected.

How the hell was this real between them?

The door to the cabin creaks open. Shit. Of course Rosie chooses now to come outside.

I sniff and glance down at my boots as they continue to nudge the porch and I sway. She doesn’t speak. I lift my chin and watch her while she pads to the end of the porch in her slippers and leans over the railing.

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