Page 71 of From Coast to Coast
I shake my head, leaning forward over the steering wheel and squinting at the drive. I don’t want to get my car’s suspension realigned after this. “No, she’s not big on gifts, and her garden is insane, so she has access to as many flowers as she wants. My mom’s love language is household chores—you’ll see.”
I honk the horn a couple times as soon as the car is in park. Grayson sends me a wide-eyed look of surprise at my evident rudeness, but when I crack the driver’s side door open, I can hear my mom cackling out of sight in the garden. She’s rounding the house at the same time Grayson reaches my side of the vehicle, and holds her arms wide as she walks toward me.
“Is that the fruit of my loins, come to visit?” she says, wrapping her bony arms around me and squeezing so hard I can feel my lungs compress. I hug her back just as hard, inhaling her flowery smell.
“I’m adopted,” I remind her, and she lets out a shocked, theatrical gasp. Pulling out of the hug, she puts both hands on my shoulders and gives me a little shake. Her black hair is tied back in some elaborate knot at the base of her head, but ringlets have escaped here and there to give her something of a manic look.
“Who told you that?” she asks. I roll my eyes and she laughs, eyes tracking over to Grayson and widening. “Oh lawd, that is a lot of man.”
“Ma!” Face burning, I glance over at Grayson. He’s got his sunglasses tucked into the neck of his T-shirt and is grinning at us.
“I’m Grayson. Thank you for the gifts you made me,ma’am. I tried the tea this morning and it was delicious,” he says, sticking out one massive hand and engulfing her tiny one as he shakes it. She uses her free hand to stroke his forearm, shaking her head and craning her neck to look him in the face.
“Lawd,” she says again. “You can call me Dora, and no need for thanks. Plenty more where that came from. You know, you’re so tall I think you could clean my gutters without even needing a ladder.”
“Oh my god, Ma, he just got here. Can he have a tour first, maybe a glass of water, before you enlist him?”
“Listen to him, getting all worked up,” she says conspiratorially to Grayson, winking at me. “Come on around the back, I was just gathering some herbs to make something for old Janice down the road. She’s got awful gout, and I know just how to cure it.”
She takes hold of Grayson’s hand and reaches out for me to take the other. As we walk around back, she holds Grayson’s hand up and scrutinizes the back of it.
“Nice, strong hands. Very important in a man.” I groan, but she changes track before I can interrupt. “Have you ever had your palm read before? I can do it later, for you. Tarot, too, if you’ve an interest.”
“Oh, sure,” Grayson responds, not sounding sure at all.
“She’s originally from Louisiana,” I explain. “Creole witch. She didn’t go through a formal adoption; just summoned me like a demon.”
This makes my mom laugh, and she pulls my hand up to kiss the back of it before she lets us both go. I look around the yard, happy to see it hasn’t changed much since I’ve been gone. There’s a small metal patio table incongruously placed in the center of the yard, uneven paving stones around it. Afew summers ago, Mom and I had got it into our heads to try our hand at landscaping. It was an unequivocal fail, but damn if we didn’t have a good time doing it. I glance around the massive yard, trying to see it from the perspective of a guest.
The garden is absolute chaos; no neat and orderly rows here. My mom is the only person who knows where one plant ends and the next begins, and the flower beds are even worse. Various half-finished projects litter the lawn: birdhouses, a bench I made from used hockey sticks that is dangerous to sit on, and a lawn mower that hasn’t worked in this decade. The inside is worse. Back in Canada, Grayson’s house is orderly and neat, decorated with muted colors; nothing like the color explosion that took place inside my mom’s place.
“It’s a little bit of a mess,” I whisper to Grayson apologetically. He looks at me incredulously.
“It’s fantastic.”
He trails after Mom as she gives him the most insane tour known to man. Four times we backtrack through rooms we’ve already been to, and several times she thinks of something she wants to give him and ambles off to dig out whatever it is. By the time we get back to the garden, Grayson’s got an armful of oils, homemade tea, a room-freshening spray, a knitted hat, and a giant crystal that’s supposed to help him sleep at night.
I watch him as he goes to deposit his treasures in the car, unable to stop a sappy grin from spreading across my face. I’m so glad he’s here.
“Well, now,” Mom says, wrapping her arm around my waist and giving me a side hug. “What have we here?”
“Nothing.”
“Mm. I like that boy. He’s got a good aura. He’s got warm eyes and a kind soul.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “He does.”
“And what’s got you all worked up in a tizzy, then, huh?” Another squeeze. I lean into her a bit.
“I don’t want to fuck up with Gray like I did with Amanda. Itfeelsdifferent, but what if that’s only because he’s a guy? Things are easy now, but what if he wants to get married someday? I don’t want to do that again, Ma. Hell, what if long-distance is too hard and shit hits the fan before we even get to the point where we’re talking about marriage? I don’t know. I really like him and that’s freaking me out. You know what I thought about this morning, first thing when I woke up? I thought about how it would be nice if he lived here with me during the off-season. We’ve literally been dating for a singleday—I shouldn’t be thinking that.”
We both watch as Grayson closes the back door of my car, wiping his hands on his thighs as he turns and starts walking back our way.
“Oh, Ree, honey, you’ve always been good at questions and bad at feelings. Stop thinking so hard and trying to solve problems before there are any. A relationship doesn’t always have to feel like work. Sometimes it can just be beautiful.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Grayson