Page 41 of A Lifetime in 30 Days
Whenever Granny talked about her daughter, there was a lightness to her tone. Or at least, it usually started out that way. Vanna hated that she’d even brought this topic up. One thing she knew for certain, though: once Granny began talking about her child, she didn’t stop until she was ready. So Vanna just continued to eat.
“Yes, she was a pretty little thing too. Eight pounds and four and a half ounces of screaming baby.” With a shake of her head, Granny picked up her knife and fork and cut into her chicken. “Always had something to say. Thought she knew everything, even when she wasn’t taller than my kneecaps. But you know I didn’t let her get away with it—no, indeed. I tried to teach her how to respect me and others. How to respect herself.”
Silence fell over the table as they both chewed.
“But somewhere along the way, I guess she forgot everything I taught her.” Those words sounded so forlorn that Vanna wanted to reach out and touch her grandmother’s hand. She wanted to apologize for bringing up what she knew was a painful topic for both of them. But she didn’t. That’s not how they dealt with the conversation about her mother.
“You, on the other hand,” Granny said, and pointed her fork at Vanna, “know better, so I expect you to do better.”
That Maya Angelou quote was printed on one of the affirmation cards in Vanna’s box, so she knew it well.
“You keep everything you’re feeling buried inside. You think if you pack it all up and never show it to anybody, people will only see what you want them to see,” her grandmother said. “The beautiful, confident woman you’ve worked so hard to become. Well, I see her, Vanna. ButI also know you. So whether you tell me now what’s going on or you call one of your girlfriends and chat their heads off with your problems, you need to let this mess out. You’ve got a lot going on; nobody’s gonna judge you for venting every now and then.”
“I vent to them plenty of times,” she said. “And to you. How many times did I call you complaining about Caleb?”
“Not enough,” Granny replied with a huff. “Not a damn ’nough. And you definitely didn’t listen to my warnings about him—but you know folks in love can’t hear a train rushing to mow them down.”
“Definitely not,” Vanna replied. “Seems like I just lay there on the tracks and let it run me right over.”
“But you got up, didn’t you?” Granny asked. “You went out there and you tried, you worked at it until you knew you couldn’t anymore. Then you fell down, but you got up. That’s what really matters, Vannie. People are gonna fall—some of us more times than others. But the true test of character is when you get back up. Don’t let this mess that’s going on now pull you down again. You’ve worked too hard to get yourself back on track.”
And that was the truth. Vanna had thought on those words long after she’d dropped Granny off at the senior building and drove herself home. Then she ran herself a hot bath and sat in the tub until her fingers and toes were wrinkled.
But she’d been too restless to get into bed, so instead she’d come downstairs and curled up on the couch. Excitement had temporarily rippled through her when she saw there was a marathon of one of her favorite shows on tonight. It was mainly her favorite because Granny used to watch it all the time when she was younger. So every time she tuned in to watch Jessica Fletcher solve a murder that really wasn’t any of her business, Vanna was wrapped in nostalgia. She felt comforted and soothed, exactly what she needed tonight.
Only it hadn’t lasted long enough. By the second episode, irritability had reared its ugly head again. She detested this unsettled feeling, hated the way worry poked at the calm she attempted to foster, andsimultaneously fought to keep these feelings from blossoming into the chest-constricting anxiety that could bring her to her knees. The loudNo!that screeched through her head at the thought and the memory of her primary care doctor suggesting she start taking an anxiety medication a few years ago, and again each time she showed up for her annual physical, snapped her out of it. Or at least, it signaled that she needed to act quickly in order to prove to herself that her doctor—and Granny—were wrong. She didn’t keep things bottled up; at least, she didn’t want to this time.
So she grabbed her phone off the cushion beside her and opened the text thread. It had seemed so natural to ignore the J&R one she’d used most often up until last weekend and open the one under his name instead. She’d typed, deleted, and retyped the message multiple times in an attempt to get the words just right. There had to be a balance between sounding needy or clingy and being assertive. She wasn’t sure either was what she wanted him to believe she was, but when she finally hit the “Send” button, she figured it didn’t really matter now.
He probably wouldn’t even respond, had most likely finished with his meeting and gone home. He owned a home in Southeast DC. Had told her it was one of the first purchases he made when he returned to the city. But he hadn’t invited her there, and she hadn’t asked to go. It was too soon; they both knew that.
And, sure, he’d said he would text her or call when he was finished with the meeting to see if he could stop by, but he hadn’t. Another glance down at the phone told her it was too late to still be in a meeting—unless the meeting was with a woman, which was entirely possible. She hadn’t asked him anything about the meeting, hadn’t even thought to. But now, she wondered. She shouldn’t wonder, because it didn’t matter. They weren’t exclusive. This wasn’t a committed relationship. They were just enjoying each other, exploring that thing that had settled between them like a baby elephant when they were in college. That’s all.
Twenty-five minutes later, when she still hadn’t received a response to either of the texts she’d sent him, she pursed her lips and pushed herself up from the chair. “To hell with this,” she muttered, and reached down to grab the remote so she could turn off the TV. She was going to bed. Sitting here waiting up for some guy to text her back was juvenile, and she hadn’t been that young in a very long time.
The knock sounded at the door before she could hit the power button, and she gasped.
“Girl, get it together,” she said with a sigh. But as she turned to drop the remote back onto the chair, she had a second thought.
A thought that took her right back to this morning, when she’d seen that ugly brown car and the man who’d been staring at her. Now her heart thumped a little wilder, her mind quickly grabbed hold of the fear and was prepared to run with it, when her phone dinged with a notification. She put down the remote and reached for her phone.
Aden:Hey. I’m outside. Are you in bed?
The sigh of relief that soared through her at seeing those words was dual parts annoying and comforting. And instead of replying, she put the phone down again and went to answer the door.
“Hey,” she said. “I wasn’t in bed. Just watching TV.”
He looked at her for what seemed like a long moment before he stepped closer and touched a hand to her cheek. “Hey,” he said, his deep voice cocooning her in an unexpected warmth.
They stood there for a few moments, right in her doorway, just staring at each other. Her in the shorts and tank top she planned to sleep in, and him in his slacks and dress shirt, unbuttoned at the neck.
She broke the trance first because it was too intense, sending too many emotions soaring through her and causing a flurry of confusion as it mingled with the other things she’d been feeling tonight. “Come in,” she said as she took a step back.
He did, and she closed and locked the door. She knew he was staying. It had become an unspoken thing between them that she would question later. Tonight, she was going to allow herself to lean, just a little, on someone else.
“So, I have no idea who it was,” she said a few minutes later after they’d settled on the sectional in the living room. “And it freaked me out.”
Aden hadn’t spoken a word since she told him she had something she needed to get off her chest. If he’d been worried about what that might be, she couldn’t tell because he remained silent the entire time she relayed her story from this morning. Now, however, as she chanced a look at him, it was to see that his brow was furrowed, his lips drawn into a tight line. He sat leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his hands balled into fists.
