Ash and I talked about music the entire way back to her house. It was no surprise that Ash had great taste and vast knowledge across genres. We agreed that we would see Radiohead together next time they played in New York. I wondered how many times Grace had played Radiohead or Jeff Buckley to Ash over the years. I hadn’t been able to listen to either one since college.
I followed Ash up the steps. She swung the door open wide, turned around, and kissed me on the cheek. “Thanks for dinner, Father.” She left me in the open doorway, holding the pie, as she ran up the stairs and called out, “Mom, some dude is at the door with pie!”
I swallowed, frozen in the doorway.
Sneaky little thing.
24. Once, We Were Lovers Grace
Every time I laid eyes on Matt, I’d instantly be overcome by two conflicting feelings: shock at how handsome he was—lean, strong, defined, and somehow sexier with age—and total disbelief that he was even there. I was convinced I would wake up and things would be back to the way they were before.
But I wanted to be strong around him. I had spent a week crying over how he took the news. I’d done enough falling apart for all of us. Frankly, I was getting tired of mulling over all this shit; I had been doing it for a decade and a half. If he wanted to blame me for what his psychotic ex-wife had done, then so be it. I was done crying and I was done apologizing.
Strutting toward him, I watched as his eyes scanned me from head to toe. I was wearing a short, silk nightgown and a devil-may-care look in my eyes. I took the bag from his hands. “Chocolate and peanut butter?” I asked, drily. He nodded. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Okay, well, it’s late.” He just blinked at me then looked down at his slippers.
“Um . . . all right, I’m gonna head home.”
“Okie dokie.”
He headed for the door and I followed to close it behind him. But just before he stepped out of the doorway, he turned, placed his hands on my silk-clad hips, and kissed me right below the ear.
I whimpered.
“Night, Gracie,” he whispered and then he was gone. I stood in the doorway for several moments, trying to catch my breath. Just when I was learning to hold it together . . .
AFTER SCHOOL THE next day, I went to Green Acres, which didn’t remotely embody its name. It was a subpar convalescent facility in the Bronx, where Orvin’s daughter had placed him after his wife died a few years earlier. The place really needed renovation. The walls were painted that heinous shade of vomit-green from The Exorcist, and the whole place smelled of putrid yeast from the bread-making factory next door. Green Acres was awful. There was a small yard in the back for residents to get exercise, but not a single blade of grass. I broke Orvin out of there at least once a week. We’d go to a nearby park and play chess, and even though he couldn’t remember my name anymore, I was fairly certain he knew who I was.
As we sat in the park, we listened to the wind whistling through the trees. “Do you still listen for it?” I asked.
“For what, doll?”
“The music.”
“Yeah. I do. I always hear it.”
“What do you think it means that I don’t hear it anymore?”
He took my second knight. “Check. I don’t know what it means. Maybe you’re not listening hard enough.”
How does he beat me every time? I moved my king. “I’m listening.”
“No, you’re too busy feeling sorry for yourself.”
“I’ve never felt sorry for myself.”
“Maybe not before, no, but you are now. Checkmate.”
I reset the board. We played with a cheesy plastic-and-cardboard chess set that folded up and fit into my purse. “I’m not feeling sorry for myself. I’m just tired and kind of sad.”
“Why are you sad?”
I studied Orvin’s face. It was hard not to feel like Orvin didn’t belong in Green Acres because he seemed so spry and alert. Yet oftentimes he would forget everything and ask when he had to be at the shop, which sadly had been closed for more than a decade. This was one of his good days, but he could slip easily into forgetting.
“Do you ever wish you weren’t stuck in Green Acres?”
“My darling, Grace, let me share a proverb with you.”
I was startled. He hadn’t called me by my name in . . . I didn’t know how long. “Okay.”
“ ‘I used to think I was poor because I didn’t have any shoes, and then I met a man with no feet.’ ”
I smiled sheepishly. “I am feeling sorry for myself, aren’t I?”
“More than that. You’re being ungrateful. You have the man you always wanted in your life again, a beautiful daughter, and a great job.”
“Yes, but that man doesn’t want me.”
“He will. Just be yourself. Find the music.”
ASH AND I ended up at Tati’s for dinner that night. Tati was trying her hand at being domestic; she had met a man she actually wanted to date, and was bound and determined to impress him. It wasn’t the first time Ash and I were guinea pigs, though I can’t say we enjoyed it. Tati was a terrible cook. Period.
Tati came to the table with a large platter. “Lamb tagine and Moroccan couscous!”
“Oh Tati, I hate eating lamb.”
She looked affronted. “Why?”
“They’re just too cute to eat.”