Page 33 of Rosé with My Fake Fiancé
“I do those things because I want to. My mother lived through the depression, and many of her habits were useful when your grandfather was spending more than we were making. But those habits served me well. When he passed, and I worked at the shop, I saved money in a lot of ways. Not wasting things is one of them.”
“I always liked that you never wanted to waste food,” I admit. “Your habits have become mine, too.”
“But,” Mémé chides, “you are taking it too far. If your apartment isn’t good enough for me to see, then it’s not good enough for you to live in. If your three jobs aren’t enough to pay for a trip every once in a while, then we need to evaluate the situation together.”
“I can’t ask you for help, Mémé.”
“I’m not saying you need my help, but maybe you need to help me less. I’ll be fine, Luc. I’m healthy and happy, and I know that you will be here to help when I need it. But if I need it, I promise I will ask.” She pulls her hands away from mine and pushes the box toward me. “Take this back.”
Curiosity sets in as I lift the lid of the box. My eyes widen, and my jaw drops when I catch sight of all the money inside.
“Mémé!”
She shrugs innocently, taking a puff of her cigarette and blowing the smoke out the side of her mouth. “What? Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’ve been leaving money around. I haven’t needed it, so I’ve been saving it for a rainy day.”
“This is more than the money I’ve been leaving behind,” I say. My thumb glides over the edges of crisp bills. There must be over a thousand euros in here.
“It is not,” she insists. “I had to exchange small bills for bigger ones. You should have seen me at the bank with a stack of damp and wrinkled small bills.” She sniffs. “The banker must have thought a new geriatric strip club opened.”
That startles a laugh out of me. “This is too much. I can’t take this.”
“You can and you will. I want you to break your lease immediately. You can move back into your old bedroom.”
My eyes prick. For years, I’ve been focused on the future and how I would take care of my grandmother. That pressure, always in the back of my mind, floods out of me and leaves me feeling... not empty, but even more full.
Mémé sees it, snuffs out her cigarette, and stands up, gesturing for me to come to her for a hug. When I stand and fold her tiny frame into my arms, she pats my back and whispers in my ear, “It may be just the two of us, but we take care of each other.”
Our hug is long, but it reinforces some of the great things I love about my grandmother. She may be old and not as spry as she once was, but she’s tough when it counts.
We pull apart, me wiping my thumbs under my eyes to get rid of the tears and Mémé pulling out a partially used tissue from her sleeve and dabbing her eyes.
“Now, what are you going to do about the girl?”
“Woman,” I correct. I let out a breath. “I’m not sure I have many choices.”
“Wasn’t she here with her friends?”
“Her three best friends, yes.”
“What do they think?”
“I haven’t asked them.”
“We have many motivations for not going for what we want, Luc, but the people who know us best can often see past our own hang-ups. By the sound of it, her friends will either have suggestions or tell you to fuck off. Which do you think it’ll be?”
Mémé is right. As protective as Tessa’s friends are, they will tell me if I’m wasting my time. I reach into my pocket, pull out my phone and navigate to Jade’s Instagram profile since she’s the most active one.
“You know, I’ve never been to The Algarve. I hear it’s lovely.” Mémé taps her chin, a twinkle in her eye.
17
Tessa
Sunday,I’ve got a message in the group chat when I wake up.
Emma
Good morning. How is everyone today?
