Page 70 of The Broken Heart Playlist
She beams, as radiant as the sun after weeks of rain.
And my poor, defenseless heart crumbles.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
It’s the day of Grandma’s wedding anniversary. After work, I arrive at my parents’ house with a bouquet of tulips, Grandma’s favorite flower, and a ribboned box of macarons I picked up earlier from Beth’s Bakery. Lisset has spent the better part of an hour sketching a portrait of her Great-Grandpa John from an old photograph of him. In the oven will be shepherd’s pie, my grandfather’s favorite meal. We always eat it on this date in honor of him.
I know from previous years that Tess will have written Grandma a personalized collection of outrageously bawdy greeting cards. Too outrageous to pass around at a family gathering. Later, once we’ve all left and Grandma is alone in her bed, I’m sure she’ll have a chuckle or two as she reads them out loud to the ghost of her husband. Tess has the enviable knack of making people laugh, even when they’re cloaked in sadness.
In the kitchen, I greet Grandma with a careful hug, pressing her for a few extra seconds into the crook of my body. Her small-boned figure seems more frail than usual, her eyes dimmer, her face tired.
“There’s no need to make such a fuss of me,” she protests when we’re all seated at the dining table.
Of course, this declaration only generates more fussing, which she longs for and is in need of, even if she won’t admit to it. We’re all fiercely protective of her around this time. She might have lost the love of her life, but it’s our family’s mission to let her know she’s still surrounded by love. We’re all awarethat there are pieces of her soul longing to join her husband, but she’s lingering here on this earth without him for us. And we’re grateful—I’mgrateful—because it feels inconceivable to imagine a world without my grandmother in it. She’s such a fixture in our lives.
“To Grandpa John,” Tess says loudly, raising her glass.
“To Grandpa John,” we echo, lifting our glasses, and my eyes are involuntarily drawn to the empty chair next to my grandmother.
We eat the shepherd’s pie my mom made and the conversation at the table drifts in and out of various topics, but invariably returns to Grandpa John. We dust off our memories of him and take turns sharing them. Grandma quietly soaks them up, no doubt storing them away in her mind to be pored over later.
At one point in the meal, I reach over and squeeze my mom’s hand, checking to see how she’s doing, knowing she misses her father. She offers me a brave smile and my dad wraps an arm around her shoulders. I’ve observed him watching her attentively throughout the evening, ready to act as her cushioned landing if she stumbles from sorrow.
After the meal is finished, I’m in the kitchen stacking the dishwasher, when Lisset asks, “Mom, will GG ever stop being sad on this day?”
My chest tightens. “I don’t think so, Lis. She married Great-Grandpa John on this date and she misses him. We all do.”
Just then Grandma wanders into the kitchen to overhear Lisset saying, “I wish I could take GG’s sadness away.”
Grandma reaches for Lisset and strokes her hair. “Some things can’t be taken away, darling, they can only be carried. That’s what it’s like with grief.”
Lisset throws her arms around her. “I’m sorry you’re sad, GG.”
“Thank you, sweetie.”
“I know something that can make you feel better.” She turns her head slightly. “Hey, Google,” she begins.
I stiffen and quickly interrupt her. “Not a good idea today, Lis.”
Disregarding me, Lisset says loudly, “Hey, Google, give GG a hug.”
Straight away, Google replies, “Sending a virtual hug your way.”
Grandma’s eyes widen in surprise. “That machine is finally good for something,” she mutters, but a thread of tender affection is woven through her words.
The following evening, I’m about to start dinner when the doorbell rings. Gideon stands on my porch wearing dark pants and his red Reading Dogs T-shirt. No man should look that good in red. Around his neck hangs a lanyard with his name in big, bold letters. I suddenly remember that Thursday evening is story hour at the library.
It’s been three days since Gideon took Lisset through Uno’s routine. It definitely impacted her because she hasn’t stopped talking about it since then.
“I have a little something for Lisset,” Gideon says, holding up a gift-wrapped present.
I’m touched by his thoughtfulness. “Thank you. She’ll be so excited.”
I half turn to call Lisset, but my daughter has radar ears where Gideon is concerned and comes barreling down the stairs, skidding to a halt next to me. Every inch of her wants to launch herself into his arms, but she holds back. Gideon’s not family. I think she’s as confused as I am regarding his status in our lives.
“Hi, Gideon!”
“Hi there, Lissy.” He offers her the gift-wrapped package. “I wanted to give you a small present before I head off to the library.”
