Page 58 of What I Like About You

There’s a knock on my door and I look up from my screen, expecting to see Ollie.

I blink.

It’sGramps.

“Oh,” he coughs. “You’re still in your pajamas.”

Gramps is dressed before eleven on a Saturday. He’s wearing a green sweater over a white collared shirt and jeans. I’m so shocked by the clothes, it takes me a moment to meet his eyes, to register his face and see that the beard is gone. It’s justgoneand Gramps looks put together for the first time in over a month—but he acts like it’s weird thatI’mstill in my pajamas?

“It’s Saturday,” I say slowly, trying to mask the emotion in my voice.

“We’re going to Ludlow’s. Get dressed. I’ll be in the car.”

Gramps is gone before I have a chance to catch my breath, to form words, to ask what the hell is going on. It’s the first time Gramps has looked at me, I mean,really looked at me, since I snapped in the car. I’d say we’ve been avoiding each other, but that’s pretty impossible. Whenever we’re in the same space though, just the two of us without Ollie, the tension is so thick, and neither of us breaks it.

Gramps is trying to break it—with a trip to a home improvement store?

I’m dressed and out the door in minutes.

We pick through paint swatches at Ludlow & Sons as though our relationship depends on it.

Gramps selects two shades. “One of these? Are we getting closer?”

We’ve been standing here for an hour. It’s not that I’m incapable of making a decision. It’s more like I’m processing that I’m here. I’d pretty much accepted my orange room fate until now. And I’m still skeptical of the normalcy of this outing, that we’re finally getting the paint he promised on day one.

“They look exactly the same.”

Gramps analyzes the swatches. “You’re right. Hm.” He places the swatches back in the shelf and takes a step back, assessing. I’m ready to close my eyes and select at random at this point.

“Aha!” Gramps reaches for a swatch in the top row, for a shade that has been out of my line of vision. “This one. It’s like the frosting.”

Gramps’s voice catches onfrostingand I look up at him, allowing myself to wear my emotion on my face. Gramps swallows and holds out the swatch. I’m so scared I’ll say the wrong thing and send Gramps spiraling back into his grief. I take the swatch from his hand and study it.Lily lavender. I close my eyes, imagining lavender walls and dark mahogany bookshelves. For the first time, I see a space that ismine.

I nod. “It’s perfect.”

“Hal,” he says, his voice hoarse from participating in weeks of services. “I—”

I shake my head. “It’s okay to not be okay.”

It comes out in one breath, forced from my throat before I can overanalyze.

Gramps is here. For the first time since I arrived. He’s hurting—but he’strying. It’s all I’ve wanted, for us to be in this, together.MyGrampsis still in there, somewhere, and it’s such a relief to see him. This might be temporary. Next Saturday he might revert back to his pajama weekend ways. For now, it feels like he heard me.

I’m sorry, says the weight of the can in my hands, a whole gallon of lily lavender. I have paint and Gramps and I are on speaking terms—and it’s because ofme. Because of my words.

I’m always so hung up on saying therightthing, on stringing the perfect sentence together. Maybe it’s okay for my words to come out messy and wrong sometimes, as long as they’re true.

A few hours later, Kels and Nash are texting, and for the first time, I wish we were talking.

Nash Stevens

Well, now it just feels like you’re using me for my design skills.

1:21 PM

oh, absolutely

1:22 PM

---