Page 41 of The Perils of Pretending
I look down at my hands. “Sorry, Grandma.”
“Max,” Grandpa says in his deep timbre. “What do you say to a fishing trip tomorrow? Just the two of us.” Grandpa looks at me through his silver-framed glasses. He’s wearing his usual plaid flannel shirt with blue suspenders holding up his worn jeans.
I love Grandma. I really do, but she hasn’t stopped complaining the past two days about me not bringing Sadie with me. When I offered to be Sadie’s fake boyfriend, it didn’t even occur to me to use Sadie as a way to appease my Grandma. Thankfully, I did have Sadie to tell them about, but now Grandma wants to meet her as soon as possible. A break from Grandma’s disappointment would be nice. “I’d like that. How early do we need to leave?”
“Five.”
“I’ll be ready. Do you have gear I can borrow?”
Grandma puts a stack of pancakes on the table. Light glints off her silver watch band, the one she’s had for as long as I can remember. I don’t reach to take a flapjack from the pile, afraid of being reprimanded again.
“Boy.” Grandpa shakes his head, disappointed in my question. “I’ve got enough equipment to outfit the entire town.”
I haven’t visited Anchorage for five years because I’ve been too busy with my master’s program and work. Brody’s the one who reminded me life is short and I should come see my grandparents before it’s too late. Even before then, when I did come home, I always stayed with my parents, until they moved to Florida. I forgot about Grandpa’s garage full of fishing supplies.
I smack my forehead. “Silly me.”
Grandma pulls out the vinyl yellow and green dining chair (also the same they’ve had my entire life) between Grandpa and me, taking a seat. “I’ll pack you two a lunch.”
“Marjorie, sweetheart, will you make up some of your famous fish batter while we’re gone? I’ll fry us dinner when we get back.”
Grandma takes hold of Grandpa’s hand. Both of their skin is wrinkly and full of age spots. “I’d love to.”
My heart is as warm as the food in front of us. I miss being around them (when Grandma’s not harassing me that is).
“I’m grateful for anyone’s cooking besides my own.” I’m not bad at it, but I’m not great either.
Grandma pats my forearm. “We’re happy to spoil our favorite oldest grandson while he’s here.”
Just not enough to let me have a slice of bacon yet or forgive me for letting my “girlfriend” attend her family reunion. “It’s nice to be spoiled.” I smile at Grandma. I hadn’t planned on coming to Alaska this summer, but I’m glad I did. My grandparents have aged more than I realized. This might be the last time I get to see them healthy and active.
Grandpa says grace and we serve ourselves.
I take a bite of pancake, letting the sweetness of Grandma’s homemade blueberry syrup take over my tastebuds. “I’ve missed your syrup and jams.”
“This came from Starla next door.” Grandma points to the south. “I’m too old to bottle on my own.”
“That’s really nice of her to share with you.”
Grandpa picks up the bottle of purplish-blue liquid, pouring it over his stack of pancakes. “We came to an agreement. Marj and I pay for the canning supplies for both households, and Starla does all the work.”
This is one of the biggest things I miss about home. How willing everyone is to pitch in and help one another. I’m sure my neighbors back in Utah would rise to the occasion if I asked, but I’ve kept to myself and don’t know anything about them besides their names. My coworkers on the other hand, I could count on them if needed. Then there’s the Ashcombes. Brody would have my back no matter what and vice versa.
From the moment we met as college roommates, we formed a bond as thick as blood. Which helped Brody a lot when his dad passed away our sophomore year. I’m not sure he would have passed any of his classes if I wasn’t there to feed him and get him up on time. He also distracted me whenever I missed home. Took me on hikes, went camping and cliff jumping in Southern Utah. Since he got married, we haven’t had time to do as many outings.
But Brody isn’t my neighbor, and I miss being surrounded by people who genuinely care. When I get home, it might be time to invite my neighbors over for a barbeque.
“Is she using your recipe?” Have my taste buds forgotten what Grandma’s syrup tastes like?
Grandma smirks. “You’d think I’d let her use anyone else’s besides mine?”
I chuckle. “I knew it tasted phenomenal for a reason.”
We finish breakfast and I help Grandpa do a few things around the house that he hasn’t been able to get done, like changing batteries in the smoke detectors, fixing a leaky sink, and painting the outside door. After lunch, we pull out the puzzle Grandma’s been working on while watching an old rerun ofThe Andy Griffith Show.
I’m not out fishing, hiking, or kayaking, but this moment brings back so many memories of my childhood. Evenings spent just like this. As a youth, I got bored and often went out front to shoot hoops. Who cared about old black-and-white TV shows and putting together a puzzle after dinner?
Now, I’m once again grateful I get to spend time with my grandparents in a setting that feels like home and my childhood. I get a piece in the bottom corner put in place, when my phone rings.
