The Truth About That Summer

sixty-three

With a sigh, I step into Grams house, finally mustering the courage to face her after my parents visit.

As true as it is that Mom treats me like a child, so does Grams, in her own way. Forcing me to be social in a town where I lost everything, to hang out with people who bring back awful memories.

I'm not a toddler from the center, a kid who needs someone setting up their play dates. I'm a grown woman, for cripes sake.

"Grams!" I slip off my sandals and brush the sand from my feet on the doormat. "I'm home!" I shout, heading into the kitchen to get dinner started.

"I'm on my way down," Grams replies and I hear her bedroom door swing shut. "Slow and steady."

I leave the ingredients for homemade pancakes on the stove and hurry to help her down the steps. Now that I've been more on top of her pill regimen, she hasn't had another episode of vertigo.

But she is still getting older and I can never be too careful when it comes to her and the stairs.

"I said I was on my way!" Grams protests as I reach for her arm.

I ignore her, leading her to her spot around the kitchen table. Once she's comfortable, I begin mixing my dry ingredients in a large, sunny-yellow bowl, whisking away until Grams breaks the silence.

"You're home late today."

"I'm sorry about that," Instantly I feel bad for my tardiness, even though that wasn't her point. I debate lying but decide against it. "Finn was late, and I saw Luke. Then I went to the beach to think."

I feel her eyes on me about that last part, but continue stirring as if I don't.

"And how is my friend Finn doing?" Grams asks instead, in a tone that is anything but subtle.

"He's good. Misses his dad." I crack a couple of eggs into the mixing bowl, waiting for what I know will be her next question.

She mutters something about absent fathers under her breath before asking, "And Luke?"

"Fine." The whisk slams against the mixing bowl as I subconsciously mix my ingredients harder. "But you know, Grams, I wanted to talk to you about that actually. And what I said to Mom, about everyone treating me like a child."

"Oh," Grams clucks, fingering through the newspaper for the crossword section. "I agree with you, Dylan. Your parents aren't being fair."

For a moment, I'm taken aback, wondering what she's talking about. Grams was the one to suggest I spend the summer with her, the one to push going out with friends.

Pressing the questions from my mind, I continue making my point.

One thing at a time, or else it's just too much to think about.

"But are you, Grams? Being fair? I mean, the forced social calendar? I'm old enough to decide if I just wanna stay home and watch movies alone. Don't you think?"

I turn to face her, leaning against the countertop. Her brows raise in surprise, the newspaper falls from her fingers. Part of me feels bad, knowing she's trying to do what she thinks is best.

The other part of me just wants to be left alone. To handle my feelings my way, not everyone else's.

"But you said you like talking to Brynn again? And lately, you seem happier once you've seen Luke..."

I chew my bottom lip. Everything she's saying is probably right. But that isn't the point, is it?

She notices my hesitation and beckons me over. "Oh, honey, come sit." I turn to the thickening pancake mixture and she waves her hand at me again. "Come on,"