Page 76 of Afternoon Delight
But Mom was rallying, and, I was beginning to see that she’d been trying to support me through my divorce. I’d shut her out, afraid she’d talk me into staying with Joel.
All of that made me appreciate the balance Shelby and I were enjoying. The relationship between Shelby and Mom was even better. Grandma wanted to give her granddaughter whatever she wanted. Put the clothes in the car? Okay, honeybunch.
Still, I felt a little guilty leaving the wrangling of Mom to my kids. I’d come to Victoria to help Mom with the difficult task of downsizing, but I seemed to spend all my time at Afternoon Delight. At least the workshop seemed to be working. Two women from the perimenopause meeting on Saturday came in, looking for lube. One stuck around to browse the books and ended up adding one to her purchases.
I finally heard back from my contact on senior sexuality, too. They had some names and numbers for caregiver support groups. I forwarded that to Zak and reached out to one that also offered grief support, thinking Mom might find it helpful.
Zak texted when it was getting close to lunch.
Coffee?
And split a sandwich?
I watched him come back across the street a few minutes later with a tray of four cups and a takeout bag. He went into Twice is Nice first, which made me curious.
“Zara’s here with my aunt,” he said when he came into my shop. “Dad’s sister. She hasn’t seen him in months and needs to know what we’re up against. Zara kicked me out for the afternoon. Told me to take a hike, literally, but I thought I’d come say hi first. Hi.” He dropped a kiss on me that was light, but lingered like the finish of a good wine.
“Hi.”
“Any chance you can take a hike with me?”
“I prefer rappelling, as you know. Missed opportunity. You’re losing your touch.”
“Low blood sugar,” he excused. “I actually got you your own sandwich. I’m hungry enough for a whole one.” He sat down on the stool and started to unwrap his turkey with cranberry. His phone dinged. He glanced at it. “Your kid is killing me today.”
“Which one?”
“Right. That’s another reason I wanted to see you. I was hoping to meet your daughter. This is Rod.” He scrolled his screen. “‘Can I play the dead grandfather card when I sell his stuff?’” Zak read aloud. “Yes. Of course.”
“Of course,” I agreed wryly.
“He sent me some photos, and I gave him some ballpark prices to ask.” His thumb moved across the screen. “Then I helped him punch up his pitch. ‘After losing her husband of forty years, Grandma has to let go of Grandpa’s favorite gear. He loved to fish on his days off. He always had the biggest fish stories, like the time he caught one that was being eaten by another.’”
“That’s actually true. At least, it’s true he told that story every chance he got. Maybe it was a fish tale.”
“Doesn’t matter. That’s not even the good part.” Zak continued quoting. “‘I miss Grandpa every day and really want his rods and flies to go to someone who will love them as much as he did. I don’t know how much to ask, but maybe two hundred for each rod and another hundred for the box of flies?’”
“What are they worth?”
“Not that. The whole works is maybe worth four hundred. I bet he gets at least six. Kid’s a natural. He wanted to post all your dad’s tools, but I sent Kyle over. Apprentices are always breaking or losing their own. He likes to have spares on hand.”
“Thanks, big guy. That’s a huge help.”
He shrugged it off. “I dread the day we have to do that with Dad’s stuff. His house is still full of Mom’s things. I keep thinking I should start sorting through it, but?—”
“Zak. You’re doing enough.”
He bit into his sandwich and chewed, nodding, but he seemed glum.
“Hey. I could have started on the garage at Mom’s yesterday. I played hooky with you instead. I don’t feel guilty. It’s okay to take time for self-care.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?” His expression brightened. “When can we self-care again?”
“I don’t know. The shop is pretty quiet. I could put a note on the door.” I was only half-joking.
“Yeah?” He started to shove his sandwich back into its paper bag and stood. “Can we try the swing?”
“That is a suspension bridge too far,” I said with a chuckle. “But I like your enthusiasm.” I found the pad of Post-it notes and wrote, Back in five.
