For the Love of Raindrops

by Beth Michele

  Grandma makes a beeline for the fridge, mumbling something about our lack of food as she takes out a couple of lemons and sets them on the counter. I plant myself in a chair at the kitchen table and pick up Jordan’s copy of The New York Times while she slices lemons, humming away. I really enjoy her visits. Our house is warmed simply by her presence.

  My mind wanders back to our conversation on the porch and I lower the paper. “How did you go on, Grandma? After Grandpa died. You must miss him terribly.”

  She pauses with the knife in midair, her shoulders rising and falling on a heavy breath. “I miss him something awful,” she confesses. “He was the love of my life.” Her voice cracks and pain stabs at my chest. Maybe because I can imagine what that’s like.

  “Sometimes,” she adds, peering at me over her right shoulder, “I think I hear him snoring in the middle of the night, and I reach for him to give him a little knock so he’ll stop, but….” Her lips fold in and a tear sneaks out from the corner of her eye. “Well, you know Grandpa. He could bring down the house with his snoring.” She paints a smile back on as she wipes her cheek with the sleeve of her shirt and resumes cutting.

  “Dylan?”

  “Well, speak of your angel,” Grandma whispers loud enough for me to hear. “Is that my Evie?”

  My Evie? I love how everyone is claiming my girl.

  “Grandma Molly?” Evie’s voice gets closer and my heart thumps faster.

  “In here, dear.” She sets the knife down on the counter and wipes her hands on a towel. “Come here. Let me have a look at you.” I hear Evie’s footsteps but keep my eyes trained on the newspaper, even though she knows darn well I never read it.

  “Well, I didn’t think it was possible, but you’ve gotten even lovelier.” I can feel her grandmotherly gaze poking holes through my paper. “Hasn’t she, Dylan?”

  Casually, and attempting to appear disinterested, I look up from the article that I’m pretending to read. “Yup.” I don’t say anything else, just slink behind the blur of words that are far less important than what’s right in front of me.

  Seconds later, the newspaper crinkles as it’s pulled down and Evie’s bright blue eyes are staring me in the face. “The New York Times, huh? Don’t try to be smart, Dills. It’s not a good look for you.” She grins and I swat her across the ass with the sports page. A cute little squeal falls out of her mouth and Grandma presents me with a delighted smile from behind her.

  “I thought you were working today, smartass,” I remark, noticing she’s in her running clothes. She kicks out a chair with her foot and bounces down. My limbs relax, happy that she’s back to her old self.

  “I was supposed to, but one of the girls needed to take tomorrow off, so we switched days. I actually came by to see if you wanted to ride your bike alongside me while I run, since, you know,” she grabs a pear from the fruit bowl and tosses it in the air, “you can’t keep up with me.” I reach over and snatch it before handing it back, my eyes and lips pinched in mock disgust when all I really want to do is kiss the shit out of her.

  “Well, you’re right on time. I was just making some of my special lemonade,” Grandma chimes in, stirring it in the glass pitcher with a wooden spoon then setting it down on the table. “Now, let me just get some glasses and we’ll do a taste test.”

  “There are some plastic cups above the fridge,” I tell her but she ignores me, scouring the cabinets to find glasses.

  “Ah, there we go.” She closes the cabinet and walks back carrying three small tumblers. “Lemonade should only be had from a glass,” she informs us with a smile, placing one in front of each of us. With a steady hand, she pours the lemonade and we clink glasses.

  “Cheers.”

  Grandma polishes off her lemonade then stares at the two of us expectantly, waiting for what, I’m not sure.

  “Grandma Molly, this is delicious. I’ll have seconds.” She pushes her glass toward Gran and knees me under the table.

  “Ow. I mean, wow. This is amazing, Gran.” Evie’s lips twitch at the corners and my mind is now conjuring up ways I can pay her back.

  “You know,” Gran begins, “I seem to remember the two of you having a lemonade stand. Or,” she grins, “more like a lemonade competition.”

  “Yeah, right,” I down the rest of my glass, “there was no competition. Evie always charmed the pants off the boys. I didn’t have a chance in hell.”

  “Ha! That’s funny.” She taps a finger against her teeth. “My braces drew them in every time. What I remember is the line of girls wrapped around the block. Did they even buy any lemonade? I think they were only there for a viewing. You should have heard some of those girls.” Her head bobs from side-to-side, mouth tilting into a dreamy smile. “‘That Dylan, he’s sooooo cute!’”

  “Well,” I rake a hand through my hair, “there’s no denying that.” I meet Evie’s gaze. “We did have some fun summers though, didn’t we?” The smile on her face grows brighter, blinding me to all coherent thought.

  “Summers always make me think of your grandpa.” Gran’s voice brings us back to her, and for the second time today, her eyes tell me a story before her lips even form the words. “Your grandpa and I used to say that we would live until we were ninety years old, and then we’d leave this earth together.” She tucks her fist underneath her chin. “So, when we turned forty, he said, ‘Molly, darlin’, I have fifty summers left to love you, and love you, I shall.’”

  Her vision strays from us, back to the memory, and I find myself instinctually reaching for Evie’s hand, lacing our fingers together. I know she’s not thinking twice about it, because this is what we do.

  “I remember thinking at that moment, that saying it that way made it seem like we didn’t have a lot of time left together.” Weathered eyes come into focus again, darting back and forth between us, and it occurs to me that she’s trying to send a message. “It just made each day that much more important. Made me realize I didn’t want to waste a single, solitary second.” She clears her throat, gathering up our glasses and taking them to the sink.

  Grandma’s story triggers something in me, flipping a switch, and suddenly my insecurity and fear of the unknown is trumped by my fear of losing what is most precious to me. I’m not sure how many summers I have left on this planet, but I do know I don’t want to spend another one without Evie by my side.

  “All right.” Evie stands up with determination and our fingers disentangle. “I’m going to get a run in before I decide the ice cream in my freezer sounds like a better option. I’ll see you again, Grandma Molly.”

  “Yes, dear,” she answers without turning around. “I hope so. I’ll be here for a while.”

  “I vote bag the run and head for the ice cream,” I tease, as she makes her way out of the kitchen. “Wait up. I’ll walk you out.” But before I do, I take two steps toward Grandma, who’s been washing three small glasses at the sink for far too long. “Was that a true story, Gran?” I ask quietly, and she shuts the water off, looking me directly in the eye.

  “Yes, dear. It was.”

  “Hmph. Interesting timing,” I point out, and I’m on the receiving end of a conspiratorial wink and a hip bump.

  “I love your grandma,” Evie says, as we find ourselves under the bright sun, the threat of more rain finally passing. Her gaze is pointed at the sky, a perfect backdrop of blue, ready to be painted with color.

  “Yup. She’s something.”

  She drops her head and a chunk of hair loosens from her ponytail, slapping lightly against her skin.

  “C’mere.”

  “What?” Her nose crinkles but she still walks toward me.

  “You’re not supposed to question. As my best friend, you’re just supposed to obey,” I inform her. She gives me her best ‘like hell’ expression, as I reach out and sweep a couple of thick strands behind her ear. “Have I ever told you how much I like your hair like this?” I let my finger skip down the curve of her cheek to her chin, and her lips part on a
breath. “I do. A lot.”

  Evie doesn’t get nervous. Embarrassed yes, nervous, no. But the way she’s biting her lip and twirling her keys tells me she is now. My lips brush her cheek, grazing it with the softest kiss and I don’t miss the shudder that follows. I think I’ve stunned her. Hell, I may have even stunned myself. I’m on my way to finally growing a pair of balls.

  “I… I’m going for a run now,” she mutters with a hint of shakiness in her tone. It’s obvious she has no idea what to do now. I’ve completely thrown her off. Good. It’s a start.

  “Okay, see ya.” I watch her walk away, never once averting my gaze. I want her to know I’m staring.

  Yes, it’s time to up my game, and let the chips fall where they may.

  DON’T LOOK BACK. Don’t look back. I repeat these words in my head like a mantra. But when it comes to Dylan, my shell cracks in half, all the gooey stuff leaking out, and of course I turn around. He hasn’t moved. He’s still staring at me.

  I give him a wave, my heart already running before my feet ever hit the sidewalk. My skin is still buzzing from where he touched me. I don’t know what that was all about. He was acting weird. I mean, we touch each other all the time, but that felt… different. Or maybe I’m the one who’s different.

  My heart is demanding my attention and before I know it, I’m completely off my usual route. But the sun is beating down on my face, the sweat is pouring off my skin, and my muscles are working to a burn. I needed this.

  Still, the throbbing in my legs does nothing to overshadow the thoughts racing through my mind. It doesn’t erase the warmth of Dylan’s arms wrapped around me while we were stargazing, his subtle scent that sends me into a tailspin, or the way my soul dances when he smiles at me.

  I promise myself that for the next four blocks, I won’t think about him. That lasts all of about five seconds before I call it an epic fail. My distraction capability is slim to none. Not only did I forget my music, but I forgot my phone, too.

  My thirst kicks up, and the fact that my water bottle is sitting on the side table by my front door doesn’t help matters. Luckily, by the time I round the eighth corner and look up at the street sign, I’ve reached Greenwood Lane.

  Greenwood Lane is where my second favorite person in the whole world lives—Nora Clemmons. She and I have been friends since fourth grade when I first spotted the pink streak in her hair. I was drawn to her, and not just because my favorite color was pink back then. Because we were both misfits in some way. Me with my silver smile and skinny body, and Nora with her colored hair and nothing but black clothes hanging on her small frame.

  We bonded over our love of reading, and I lived for the heated discussions about our favorite books. I don’t know anyone that loves to read as much as I do, and there’s something about that connection. It’s invaluable. She’s the only one who understands when I go psychotic over a fictional character, or how a full-blown hangover sets in after reading a book that tears at my heartstrings. Plus, Nora is incredibly cool. Even though she’ll never think so.

  I’m not one of those people that has a lot of friends, or even needs to for that matter. So the few that I do have, mean something to me. If my mother were still alive, she would probably still be one of my closest friends. We just had that type of a relationship. I also have no problem being in my own company. I quite like being by myself sometimes.

  I walk up to the quaint yellow Cape where Nora lives with her mom. The small yard is manicured to perfection. Bushes trimmed into perfect circles, yellow daisies lining both sides of the walkway. There’s also a big garden around back where they grow fresh vegetables.

  Nora’s mom and dad divorced when she was five, but her dad remains a big part of her life. She’s always told me she attributes her mom’s green thumb to their divorce, almost as if it was therapeutic. Nora attends a local college where she’s majoring in psychology, so she’s entitled to that assessment.

  My labored breathing and aching knees prevent me from making it to the door as quickly as I’d like. I bend over, putting my hands on my thighs in an effort to catch my breath, when I hear a loud whistle.

  “Nice view.”

  I look up to find Nora smirking at me from her bedroom window. Her long hair, now half pink, half black, is looped into a side braid.

  “Nice hair.” I stick my tongue out and she laughs. “Hurry up and open the door, Rapunzel, I’m dying of thirst here.”

  “Holy crap,” she utters when she flings the door open, “you look like a ripe tomato. How long have you been running?”

  As soon as I see an opening, I brush past her and collapse into a heap on the living room sofa. “I’m not sure. But I need water desperately before I pass out.”

  “Sit tight, drama queen. I’ll be right back.” She prances to the kitchen, and I laugh to myself as I take in her tight black tee, black leggings, and red Converse sneakers. Not much has changed since elementary school and for some reason, that brings me a sense of comfort.

  “Okay.” She struts back in carrying a jug full of ice water, and hands it to me. Since it’s so big, and I’m lying down, I have to push myself up against the back of the couch.

  “What on Earth is this?”

  “Well, you said you were thirsty, and not for nothing, but I don’t want to have to call the paramedics. Unless we can be guaranteed a hot medic in uniform.” She winks then plops down beside me.

  Somehow I manage to take a drink without spitting water all over the sofa.

  “By the way, I’ve been calling you all morning.”

  “Yeah. I forgot my cell phone, too.” I position the jug in my lap, idly wiping condensation from the glass with my fingers. “I stopped by Dylan’s to see if he wanted to come with me, and his—”

  “Ah,” she interrupts with a smug grin, “now it makes sense.” She sits up straighter and squares her shoulders, linking her hands together in her lap. “Let’s talk a little bit about why you were so forgetful this morning, shall we?”

  “Ugh, let’s not.” I snap my head back and close my eyes to ward off any more of the beating my brain has taken since yesterday.

  “Hey,” her voice grows softer and she moves closer, resting her arm over mine, “what’s wrong?” The concern in her tone makes me sigh. “Here.” There’s a package of orange Tic-Tacs on the table and she picks it up, popping the top and flicking a couple into her palm. “Have a Tic-Tac.”

  That’s the other thing about Nora that hasn’t changed. She thinks Tic-Tacs are the solution to all of life’s problems. If only it were that simple.

  I toss a few into my mouth because, well, it can’t hurt. “I’m a mess. Why can’t things be easy like they used to be? Why does my stupid heart have to get in the way of a perfectly great friendship? Why can’t Dylan be a girl?”

  “That last question I’m not touching.” She shoots me a devious smile, adding, “Are the other ones rhetorical, or would you like answers?” Knowing full well I want a response or I’ll keep babbling, she presses on. “Because Dylan is an amazing guy, that’s why. I’m surprised you’ve been able to deny yourself for as long as you have. I’ll admit you’ve done a great job of concealing it, but sooner or later it’s going to bleed out.”

  “Gah!” I throw an arm over my face, hoping to disappear. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Au contraire, my sweet friend.” She drags my arm away and this is exactly why I love her. Because she never lets me get away with anything. “You know exactly what to do. You’re just scared shitless. And I actually don’t blame you.”

  Her hand curls under her chin and she lets out a loud sigh. “You know, when my mom and dad divorced I was young, but I loved them so much, and I couldn’t stop wishing and hoping they would get back together. Every time I saw them smile at one another, or my mom kissed my dad on the cheek, it gave me hope. One day, and I don’t even remember how old I was, I woke up and realized that what I wanted and hoped for was never going to happen… for us to be a real family again. An
d I was crushed.

  “So,” she smiles, but it’s filled with sadness, “I get it. I know what it’s like to want something so desperately, only to be devastated when you’re hit with the realization that it’s never going to happen.”

  I tug on her braid and she lifts her eyes to mine. “I’m sorry, Nora. I can’t even imagine that.”

  “Of course you can.” The sincerity in her eyes paralyzes me. “You lost your parents, and you’re scared to death you’re going to lose Dylan, too.” She laughs, but it sounds more like a cackle. “You know I’m no relationship expert. I don’t have the best track record with boyfriends, but just go with your heart. I always go with my vagina, and that never seems to work out too well.”

  Our laughter forms a blanket of relief, making me lighter. Nora grabs the Tic-Tacs again, waggling her dark eyebrows and I hold out my hand with a smile. “You see, I told you these things work.”

  “You know, Nora,” I pop four into my mouth, “someday you’re going to make a damn good psychologist.”

  Even though going with my heart sounds pretty terrifying.

  YESTERDAY AND TODAY went by in a complete blur, but that seems to be my life these days. The diner was busy as shit, and I didn’t have a moment to think. By the time I walk in the door, I’m bone tired and the only thing I’m looking forward to is a steaming hot shower and my bed. Unfortunately, Grandma Molly has other plans.

  “Dylan,” her eyes drift to the time on the wall, “it’s ten o’clock.” She closes the book she’s reading and sets it on the table. I plunk down in a chair across from her and kick off my shoes.

  “I know.” I wipe a hand across my brow, greasy residue still on my fingertips. “I’m sorry we weren’t here all day, Gran. It was pretty hectic today.”

  “That’s okay, dear. I managed to keep pretty busy.” Mischief turns up her wrinkled lips, and only when I’m about to question her do I look around and realize the living room is spotless. As in, cleaner than it’s been in months. The frames on the wall are no longer crooked, the dust is nonexistent, and the carpet is freshly vacuumed.