I fight the tears that spring from her sharp words. I know I’m not supposed to take any of this personally, but my grandmother doesn’t even know who I am. She thinks I’m a stranger in her house.
“Grandma, it’s me, Emma,” I try once more. As soon as I say it, I know it’s a mistake.
“You are not Emma! Stop talking about my granddaughter!” Her hysterical voice bounces off the walls and lands another kick to my gut.
“Okay, okay. It’s okay. I’m going outside.” I slowly get up and back away as if I’m being held at gunpoint. Grandma smoothes her hair, and I can see the tremble in her hand. “I’ll call Peter and get him to come over.”
I ease my way out the front door, leaving it open so I can still hear her. I should call Rose, but instead I collapse in the porch chair and bury my head in my own shaky hands. A wave of nausea rises from my stomach into my chest. I can’t do this anymore. I’ve handled it until now, but this is too much. Grandma needs a consistent nurse, and I don’t know how to get that for her. I don’t know what it is this time because we used Dad’s money to hire the best in-home care service. She just seems to be having bad luck, and I can’t fix that or anything else. I’m just guessing and reading stuff on the internet about dementia. She needs more than that. I’m not strong enough for this. But you promised you would be. But I can’t. You made a promise.
I sit up and wipe at the tears I haven’t allowed to fall. I stare out at the rainbow of flowers that line the front lawn and remind myself why I need to be strong.
On Mom’s last day in the ICU after her cardiac arrest—the day we let her expire naturally—a parade of family and friends came by to say their private goodbyes. I was last. I sat by her side, holding her hand in both of mine as tears and sobs made an Atlantic Ocean in the ICU hallway behind the glass doors of her room. I heard their broken voices while I felt the strength—even at the end—in my mom’s hand and the toughness of her skin. This wasn’t the way to end the life of a woman who didn’t shed a tear when she sliced off the tip of her thumb with her new set of kitchen knives and who didn’t fall apart when her mom developed a brain tumor and died three months after her father died.
So I squeezed my mom’s hand, and I blinked back my tears and I promised her I would be strong. I vowed I wouldn’t fall apart, and I’d put everyone back together just like she would have. I’d be her daughter and make her proud.
I stayed with her all alone until the final moments. The nurse told us her breathing was becoming more labored and it would be any time now. She and I let everyone back in the room. They all huddled behind me, murmuring and leaning on one another.
Finally, Mom took in one sharp inhale, and her beautiful green eyes opened wide. She smiled, in the same way someone would upon seeing a new baby or a frolicking puppy or a wide-open field of daffodils swaying in a summer breeze. It was the briefest of moments, and then she exhaled. And that was it.
Bodies all around me slumped as sobs echoed in the room. I swallowed hard and closed my eyes for a moment. Then I kissed her hand, squeezed it once, and gave her a nod. I turned to the nurse and asked, “So, what do we do now?”
“What are you doing?” Grandma’s voice calls me back into the present. “Is Peter coming?”
I swallow hard just like I did that day. “Yes, he’s coming. He’ll be here soon.” I find Rose’s number in my phone and call her. In minutes, Rose and another friend are here consoling Grandma. She seems to recognize her friends, and they are able to set her straight about everything.
I remain outside. It looks as though Grandma hasn’t done much trimming lately, so I walk around to the backyard and find some gardening tools. I return and work my way around the front yard, pruning and clearing away the dead flowers and leaves the way my dad taught me. When I finish, it’s 5:45, and I remember the game. I walk over to my phone, and as I’m about to text Mari to cancel, Rose calls for me. She explains that they’ve spoken to Cherise, and she called my grandma this morning to say she had to go to the ER because she dropped a knife on her foot. My grandma told her that it was okay and that she was fine, but Grandma has no memory of this.
I sigh and step inside hesitantly. Grandma stares at me with a face knotted in sadness but with eyes full of recognition. I walk over to her and sit.
“Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” Her voice is tired, but the hug she envelops me in is full of strength.
“It’s okay, Grandma. The nurse didn’t come when she should have. And when she’s already not here every day, I’d get confused, too.”
She lets go but holds my shoulders. “Well, I hope something like that wouldn’t confuse you. You’re too young for that.”
The ladies laugh and a slow grin spreads on my grandma’s face that I match with one of my own. I tell them I need to cancel some plans, but all three insist I go to the game. Grandma assures me she’s fine now. Tired, but fine. And her friends will stay with her to be sure.
I give in to them just as Mari texts me that she’s on her way. I haven’t had a chance to shower or change, so I’ll have to go in the same jeans and red graphic T-shirt I wore to school. I dash to the bathroom and put my hair half-up to calm it a bit and grab a lip gloss. Mari arrives just as Grandma and her friends are ordering takeout. They tell me to have fun and not to hurry home. My stomach unclenches a little as I see that things do seem okay, at least for now.
The gym is packed when we arrive. We squeeze into an empty spot near the top of the bleachers. Basketball games in California aren’t much different than in Ohio. It’s the same home and visitor sides of the bleachers, refreshments out in the hall, and cheerleaders crammed in the corner between the wall and the end of the court. I remember struggling to find space to do a jump after a basket. I study the Union High cheerleaders as they practice the motions of their different cheers. I watch more with curiosity than with longing. I miss my friends, but watching these girls makes me realize I don’t miss cheerleading.
The game starts, and Ryan scores our team’s first ten points. I don’t know how many points he has by halftime, but it seems like he has made every basket for us. When halftime ends, he stares up into the student section. Mari waves her hands like she’s stranded on a desert island, but with all the commotion, there’s no way he sees us.
It’s a close game, and it comes down to the last minute. One of the guys on our team steals the ball, and we have thirty seconds to make a basket to win. They do a lot of dribbling and passing, and at the last moment, they pass it over to Ryan. He shoots a basket from really far away, and it goes in. The buzzer sounds, and his teammates mob him as the crowd erupts. Students swarm onto the court like a dam has burst. The two security guards struggle to keep order.
“We can leave,” I yell as Mari and I watch the mob scene unfold from our seats.
“No, we’re staying. If he told you to wait for him after the game, you can’t just leave.”
“But I’ll never find him,” I protest. Part of me wants to stay, but another part of me doesn’t want to be some awkward fangirl.
“We’re waiting.” She lowers an eye at me, and it’s final.
We watch the swarm for about five minutes, then I see Ryan weaving his way through all the people. His eyes search the crowd on the floor then up in the bleachers, and he sees us. I wave, and we walk down to the court to meet him.
“Hey, I gotta change, but meet me in the parking lot?” he says slightly out of breath.
I look over at Mari. “Can you stay?”
“I can take Emma home, if you can’t,” Ryan says.
Mari shines a devious grin. “Yeah, I probably should get home.”
Ryan reads her expression, and I swear he winks at her. “Okay, my Jeep is in the first row of the parking lot. Meet you there? I’ll hurry.” He doesn’t wait for a response and snakes his way back into the masses.
Mari waggles her eyebrows at me, and we head for the exit. “See. I told you we should wait.”
In the parking lot, I tell Mari I�
��ll text her with all the details, and she walks off to her car. I try to hide behind Ryan’s Jeep as people flock to their cars. I feel like a creeper lurking here in the darkness. A lifetime seems to pass, and Ryan finally approaches. My heart hammers. After seeing him play, my swooning has doubled.
“Great game,” I say, kicking at a rock with my foot.
“Thanks.” He puts his bag in the back seat. He shuts the door and asks, “Do you want to get yogurt or something?”
“Yeah, sure.” It comes out shaky and disinterested, but thankfully he doesn’t seem to notice.
We hang out at the yogurt shop for a while, and I barely touch mine. My stomach is twisted in knots. Ryan’s rosy cheeks are still flushed from the game, and his clean, fresh boy smell fills the night air. I only have on a T-shirt, so he gives me his basketball sweatshirt to keep warm. I’m swimming in it and probably look ridiculous, but I don’t care. It smells like Ryan, and I keep trying to inhale the smell without him realizing.
After yogurt, he takes me home. I wipe my clammy palms on my jeans after I get out of the car. Before we get to the porch, I take off the sweatshirt. “Thanks,” I say, holding it out to him.
He pushes my hand gently back. “No, you keep it.” He adds, “I feel it’s my duty to make sure you have at least one item of California clothing.”
I laugh a little too loudly. I fold the sweatshirt and study the ground, not sure if I should keep walking or if we’re going to say goodbye here.
“You know,” he says, and I look up. “Fireflies don’t only use their light to ward off predators. They use it to attract a mate.”
“What?” I’m caught off guard.
“You know, what you told me about fireflies. I looked it up. It says they use their light to attract a mate.”
“I guess, yeah. But it’s also to warn predators.”
He leans in and grabs my hand, letting the sweatshirt fall to the ground. He laces his fingers with mine. “And also to attract a mate.”
We inch closer, and then it’s happening. His head leans down, inching toward mine, and I don’t dare breathe for fear of disturbing the magic of the moment. Slowly, his velvety lips part mine, kissing me gently, and he lets go of my hands. He moves one of his hands to my neck, and the other pulls me closer to him. My heart pounds against his chest, and my arms wrap tightly around him. The touch of his warm hands on the base of my neck and on my back sends tiny embers spreading all over my skin. Our kisses become longer and more passionate until I’ve completed melted in his embrace.
When we pause and he looks into my eyes, little fireflies flicker in my fragmented heart. Yes, also to attract a mate.
Chapter 15
“So, like, what are you guys now?” Mari questions me on the way into school on Monday.
“I don’t know.” It comes out in a singsong voice that matches the cartoon birds that dressed me earlier.
“Well, you’ll find out after English.” She raises an eyebrow and gives me a wave, turning the corner in the direction of her class.
I worry my nerves into a network of knots during physics class wondering about Mari’s question. What are we? We texted all weekend, but what do I do when I see him? Do we hug? Do I play it cool? And my stress level only increases in English. Ms. Novak calls on me in the middle of a zone-out, then I’m so worried about leaving class at the right moment that I stumble over this girl Jordan’s backpack and nearly fall on my face. I make it to the hallway and search for Ryan without looking like I’m looking for him.
“Loukas!” a voice behind me calls out.
My body deflates a bit. I like how he calls me by my last name, but now it feels more like a buddy-pal kind of thing instead of a flirty thing.
“Hey,” I say, looking over at him when he catches up to me.
Someone jostles him, and he flies into me. He immediately jerks himself back, and I lose a little more air. As we walk together, I space out as I catalog each one of his movements and analyze the meaning. At the door of my calculus class, I catch the end of what he’s been saying.
“... it’s such a great movie.”
He’s stopped, and I turn to face him. He stares at me, so I say, “It is, totally.”
His eyes widen. “You’ve seen it? Wow, I don’t know anyone else who’s seen it.”
“Yeah, I really liked it,” I respond and pray he doesn’t ask me more. Thankfully the hallway empties, a clear sign of the impending bell. I turn to leave, but Ryan grabs my pinky and interlaces his hand with mine and says, “See you at lunch?”
I inflate to near-bursting. The cartoon birds return and carry me dazed into class where I proceed accidentally to sit in Joey Spieth’s seat.
The next few weeks follow this pattern. I wish away every minute of Physics and English so I can see Ryan. In the three minutes between classes, I find little ways to touch him without being too obvious. I know of at least eight girls in my classes who are in love with him, and I don’t want to cause a Mean Girls incident. Ryan also spends part of his lunch with us every day now, and I think even Mari enjoys it. Ryan has this energy that ignites everyone around him. Every moment with him sharpens my senses. Colors seem brighter, and even in the middle of winter, I can smell the approach of spring. I’m so emboldened by him, I sign up for another half-marathon this month even though I was going to train more and wait until spring break.
I don’t see Ryan too much outside of school because his basketball schedule is hectic, but we text all the time. Add to that all the back and forth with Callie and Hannah about Ryan, and it’s difficult to squeeze in time for homework and running.
I have managed to take time to figure out Grandma’s situation. After Grandma’s last spell, Rose and I took her to see the doctor even though it wasn’t yet time for her regular checkup. He suggested assisted living, but Grandma scoffed at that. She said she’s only seventy-five and not ready to be one of those old ladies in a home. So, the doctor suggested part-time help on a daily basis would help keep things more consistent. With his help, we argued our way with the caretaker service and got Grandma the same number of hours as before but spread out among all days. Cherise now comes from 8-1 every day, and I take the afternoon shift after school. It already seems to be helping. Grandma still forgets little things like where her book is or where she keeps the flour in the kitchen, and sometimes she confuses people’s names. But she’s much more energetic, and her strong opinions and bold presence seem to be reemerging.
I’m so confident about the situation at the house that a few weeks later, when we have a Friday without school, I’m not worried about leaving Grandma for a few hours in the afternoon. Mari has an ear appointment in downtown LA. She sees some world-renowned ear doctor at a clinic there. Her mom has missed so much work lately that she can’t take time off, so I offer to go with Mari. She tells me she’s fine to go on her own, but I haven’t seen downtown LA yet and convince her to let me tag along.
Los Angeles is not much different from Cincinnati. It’s a little bigger and somewhat dirtier, but it has all the same one-way streets with suits and locals streaming down sidewalks darkened by the office high-rises. The clinic is at the edge of the central cluster of buildings, and her appointment only takes an hour. Afterward, she insists on taking me on what she calls an underground food tour of LA.
Our first stop isn’t even a restaurant. It’s a cart by the side of the road in front of a museum. I think she’s joking, but she swears this will be the best hot dog I’ve ever eaten. The hands of the tiny woman behind the cart move in a blur as she prepares hot dogs for the small crowd surrounding her. A cloud of steam rises over her and pushes the sweet smell of sizzling peppers and onions all around us. I have to admit, I’m already hooked. When I get my hot dog, I see that under the pile of peppers and onions, the hot dog is wrapped in bacon. The first bite sends my taste buds into a frenzy as the perfect mix of sweet, salty, and spicy dances on my tongue and travels all the way to my stomach.
“I told you,” Mari g
loats when we get back to the car, and I have to admit my assumption was way off.
This experience helps me reserve judgment at our next stop, a hole-in-the-wall pie shop. It literally looks like a hole carved into the side of an unmarked gray building. Bodies are jammed inside the small entryway, and Mari frowns. She’s annoyed other people have discovered her gem. The long line gives me ample time to review the menu. This is not just an apple-or-cherry kind of pie shop. There are at least twenty kinds of sweet and savory pies. We split a giant slice of macaroni-and-cheese pie and a Mexican chocolate pie. I’m nearly bursting out of my jeans after just the one slice.
When it’s down to the last bites of our chocolate pie, I ask, “How do you know about these places?”
Mari remains silent at first but finally says, “My dad used to take me to a new restaurant every week, but it could never be a chain restaurant. He always said that off the beaten path is where you’ll find the most interesting people and things.”
I nod and swallow my piece of pie. She’s never mentioned her dad. but since she brings it up, I ask, “Where... is your dad? You never talk about him.”
She scrapes at the plate with her fork. “He and my mom divorced three years ago. He has some new family in South Carolina, so we don’t hear from him.”
“I’m sorry.” I know it’s a lame thing to say even before the words finish tumbling out of my mouth, but it’s like a reflex. I suddenly have a better understanding of all those who have said it to me. “It must be hard for you and your mom,” I add in an attempt to say something more meaningful.
“Yeah, Mom’s headaches started after that. She cries a lot at night. She thinks I can’t hear, but I can. It’s gotten better, but she’s still sad.”
The Brilliance of Fireflies Page 13