Thirty Days: Part Three (A SwipeDate Novella)

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Thirty Days: Part Three (A SwipeDate Novella) Page 7

by BT Urruela


  She giggles, putting her hands to her mouth and shaking her head.

  “He pursued me for a good six months after that. And eventually that dang charm of his and those dashing good looks did me in. As did his love and passion for life, you all knew well. And of all the ‘slap you in the face’ moments in all my life, that’s the one I’ll be on my deathbed remembering. His ashy, swollen face, and that one-of-a-kind smile. My grandson”—she takes my hand in hers again and pulls it to her cheek—“once told me the love John and I had was what romance novels are written about. It used to make me laugh, and I’d brush him off. But you know what; he was right. I met the most perfect man, and had the most perfect life anyone could ever ask for with him.”

  The tears come down heavy now and I can feel them coat my hand. Grandma trembles against me. She chokes and gasps as a fit of sobs comes over her, and I do my best to steady her while my own tears come.

  Eventually, steadying herself on the side of the casket, she leans in and kisses her fingers, setting them to his cheek. “Rest easy,” she says in a whisper. “I’ll love you ‘til the end and then some.” It’s what they always said to each other when Grandpa was heading out to patrol the streets of Brooklyn. It’s how she now says her very last goodbye.

  I’m stirred back into the present by Bobby’s voice.

  “Hey, Gavin, we’re here, buddy. You okay?”

  I shake my head stiffly and fight through the pain in my stomach.

  “It was five years ago she and I were here for Grandpa,” I mutter.

  “I know.” His eyes fall as he turns back toward me, picking at his arm rest. “I was just thinking that myself.”

  I take a heavy breath through the tightness in my throat, closing my eyes and forcing away the nasty knot that sits in my chest.

  “Let’s do this,” I say, opening the door and hopping out, my eyes still closed tight as if I keep them that way I won’t have to face any of this—like it will all just disappear.

  But it doesn’t. And when I open my eyes, I’m confronted by reality hitting me square in the face. Glimmering in the midday sun, which is drabbed out by thick autumn clouds, my grandmother’s coffin lies with a wreath of white roses on top of it—her favorite. Jackie is there, and for the first time, I see her in something other than scrubs. Her eyes are red and there’re bags under them. She passes me a tight smile as I near. There are a few others I recognize from the care facility alongside her, and Andrew and Javon stand just beside them. They approach me as soon as they spot us and pay their respects. I can hardly muster a ‘thank you’ through the tightness in my chest, but I try. To my benefit, they are succinct with their words.

  I feel my legs go weak beneath me as I come closer to her coffin. Bobby’s paw lands on my shoulder as he attempts to steady me. Jackie, obviously recognizing my current state, walks over and takes me in for a hug, squeezing me tightly in her arms as her lips move to my ear.

  “Feel her strength within you. Feel John’s, too. They are both here. They are both holding you up, strengthening you through this. You will always be a part of them and they’ll always be a part of you. Okay, baby?” she whispers, so quietly I can barely make it out, and then she pulls back from me, waiting for me to acknowledge hearing her. I nod my head, forcing a tight smile, and without much thought, I wrap her up in my arms and squeeze her.

  “I love ya, lady,” I murmur, as I separate from her and inch my way to the coffin.

  There’s a peaceful silence that follows as they wait for my next move. The pastor stands with his Bible in hand, patiently waiting for the go-ahead. Before I can give it to him, though, a rustle of leaves against the eerie silence pulls everyone’s attention, including mine. Looking back, I have to double take to make sense of what I’m seeing. My brother, Jared, chestnut brown hair with traces of gray, scraggly beard where it once was not, lumbers toward us, his eyes trailing the ground just before his feet. He’s got on black slacks and a white button down with the sleeves rolled up to his biceps. A black tie hangs loosely around his neck, flapping in the wind.

  He glances up just as I make my way toward him, my legs working almost outside of my control, the relief I feel in seeing him, the fuel.

  “Fuck.” It’s all I can say when I reach him and wrap my arms around him. He hugs me back and almost immediately, the stoic face he carried when approaching becomes a mess of red, heated skin and tears running into his thick beard.

  “I’ve missed you, brother,” he says, fighting through his hitched breathing.

  “I wasn’t sure if you’d make it,” I say, still holding him tightly in my embrace, for fear that if I let him go, it’ll be another five years before seeing him again. “I never heard back.”

  “First thing I did was buy a ticket. I just—I wasn’t sure if I could do it,” he cries, finally pulling back, but shrinking into himself, his eyes averting from my own as if he’s embarrassed to be seen like this. “Grandpa’s almost fucking killed me.”

  I throw my arm around his neck and walk with him in slow steps toward the casket.

  “I couldn’t have done this without you, big brother,” I confess, leaning into him and squeezing his shoulder. “Thank you.”

  “You don’t have to thank me, Gav. I should be thanking you. I should’ve been here years ago. I shouldn’t have made you do all this alone. I—I just…” I put a hand up to stop him.

  “Don’t do that to yourself. Don’t even mention it. Not now. Not today. Today, we say goodbye to Grandma. Today, we honor her. Okay?” He nods, wiping the tears from his face as he digs a pair of sunglasses from his pocket and slips them on quickly.

  I motion to the pastor for him to start. He clears his throat, nodding toward me before beginning.

  “We are here today to pay our tributes and respect to a woman of God, a hero to this nation, a loving wife, mother, and grandmother. Grace Polcini was a shining light in every life she came across, a healing touch in the heart of a brutal war, a nurturing presence in the lives of her family. She is remembered…”

  The pastor continues, but I don’t hear him. My mind is lost in the past, my brother and I just boys, playing with Legos in the middle of Grandma and Grandpa’s living room floor. The TV plays sports in black and white and the house is full of so many different wonderful aromas I can’t pinpoint just one. Books of all varieties and conditions line bookshelves propped against every available wall. The only smell that competes with those that permeate in the kitchen is that of the books. I was taught very early that that smell was to be appreciated, as were the dirtied, frayed pages between the covers. Grandma always had a philosophical view when it came to books. She saw them as living things, organisms that act as messengers, healers, saviors. And as they moved about, from bookstore to reader and back again, they carried with them the stories of their owners—and almost a power along with it. They spoke of a thousand stories beyond just the words between the covers. It’s why she loved secondhand books so much, the oldest ones meaning the most to her.

  Many of the books she collected were hers and only hers throughout her life, and aged over the years in only her hands. But many more were picked up at secondhand stores, battered and pathetic things no one else would pay any mind. She did, though, and she’d carry them home in her tote bag with an honest belief that she was giving them new life, and helping to share the stories they’d picked up along the way. They were the same books I would later find myself drawn to, the ones that were beaten up, the bindings etched with fold lines, and nearly every page creased at the corner. These books and the stories inside them would one day evoke in me a desire, a yearning, to tell my own stories; to create an escape for readers as these books had done for me.

  “…It is human nature to want to understand everything right this second,” the pastor’s voice becomes clear again, drowning out my fleeting thoughts. Has it been five minutes? Ten? I can’t be sure. He continues, “But trust requires leaning and relying on God and his destiny for each of us, even when thi
ngs seem unclear. The Lord Jesus himself said, in Matthew, chapter five, verse four, ‘Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.’ Find comfort in knowing Grace, as a child of the Lord, has passed in peace, and lives on forever in the grace of God.”

  He clears his throat loudly, drawing my attention, and he nods to me as he said he would when it was my time. “I’d like to now welcome one of Grace’s beloved grandsons, Gavin, to deliver her eulogy. Gavin.” He sidesteps and puts a hand up, inviting me to join him beside my grandfather’s headstone. However, I don’t move. I don’t know if I can.

  Instead, I shut my eyes tight, and I speak from the heart.

  “I wrote and rewrote what I’d say about a hundred times over the past two days. Nothing seemed to convey exactly what this woman means to me, what she meant to me, and how devastated her loss leaves me.” I take a deep breath, my eyes remaining closed and head dropping back as I swallow past the ache in my throat. I feel Jared’s rough hand wrap around the nape of my neck and it gives me the strength to continue.

  “She lived life to the absolute fullest with my grandpa before he left us.” I motion to his headstone. “Their joy and zest for life was infectious. Their compassion, and kindheartedness, unsurpassed. After serving their country with great distinction, they both went on to a career in helping others, and not making much of anything doing so. But they never complained. They never brought work home with them or let it affect their marriage. They gave everything they had on the job, and put everything they had into their marriage back home. Beyond just the fact that they were two incredible human beings who gave their lives to others, I truly believe it was the undying love of these two beautiful people that saved me and my brother’s lives.” My eyes are open now, Jared’s hand on my shoulder, a new strength guiding me along. Tears fall down below my brother’s dark lenses, and he sucks in a breath as I continue. “They let us know it was okay to be ourselves, to have the feelings we were having, whatever they may be, and that we were worth the fight. No one fought for us harder than my grandmother.

  “She loved us despite the pain we sometimes caused them,” I chuckle, giving my head a small shake. “Despite the annoyances we always caused them. They loved us with everything they had. And thanks to my grandma and her love of the written word, she inspired in me the dream of writing, and instilled in me the strength to chase that dream. I will never have a bigger fan than my grandmother.” I reach inside my jacket, pulling out the paperback I stowed there before leaving the house—the one I didn’t think would even make it out of my pocket. Staring at The Honest Ones in my hands, I’m brought back to that first time I handed the paperback over to her.

  My eyes remaining on the book, I finish, “It took me about a year to build up the courage to tell my grandma I was using her love story as inspiration for a novel. I’m not sure what I expected from her, but her unwavering encouragement and belief in my abilities is the only reason I’m holding this book in my hands today. I can still remember the day I handed it over to her for the first time. The official paperback, the real deal… years after the day I first broached the subject to her. She had this look in her eyes, this pride, it—” I sigh, grabbing at my tie and biting down on my tongue to fight the surge of emotion. “It’ll stay with me forever. It’s not something I’ll ever forget.”

  I take a few steps forward, resting a hand against her coffin as I hold the book in my other hand. I shrug, unlatching the casket and lifting the lid open slowly.

  I fight the ache that roots itself in the center of my chest when my eyes fall on her. They billow with tears, clouding my vision before I can swipe an arm across them. I kiss my fingers and set them softly against her cold cheek with one hand before placing my book atop her chest with the other.

  “You made this happen,” I whisper, my vision blurring from the tears again. “I will never ever forget you. For you, I will never stop fighting to feel better.”

  I take her in one last time, my heart pounding in my chest as I lower the lid closed. Latching it up again makes the finality of this all too real, and I’m hit with another bout of tears. I turn and wipe my eyes when I see my brother and Bobby come up to me, offering me their hands. I grab them and pull them in, hugging them as the emotions rip right through me.

  I had more to say, but I can’t. Jared, instead, says a few words of his own as Bobby and Jackie console me near the back, away from the rest of them. Embarrassed as I may be in this moment, I can’t help the well of tears that come, one right after the other. My erratic breathing is the only real noise I make as they give me the usual, ‘It’s going to be okay’… ‘She’s still with you’ stuff, but I pay it no mind. It means nothing to me in this moment. Instead, I focus on the warmth of Jackie’s bosom, her arms giving me compassionate little squeezes. I concentrate on Bobby’s hand on my shoulder, and his nurturing grip.

  I close my eyes as each person begins placing a white rose on her casket.

  My body trembles as it comes time to leave my own. I do so with a hollow ache in my chest.

  I walk haphazardly toward Bobby’s SUV when it’s all said and done. I don’t know anything in this moment but heartache. I feel nothing but a sickness sitting heavy in the pit of my stomach. Halting in my tracks and giving my head a quick shake, I motion to Jared.

  “How’d you get here?” I ask him, weakly.

  “Uber. From the airport.”

  “When do you fly back?”

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  I wave him forward as I continue walking after Bobby and Cassandra. “Come with us,” I say just as Jackie meets me at my side.

  “I need to get back to my shift. You gonna be okay, love?” she asks, setting a hand to my shoulder.

  “I’ll be okay, Jackie. I just need time.”

  “Don’t be a stranger. Okay, baby?” she says, rubbing my back, fresh tears building in her eyes. “You’re like family to me. Whether it’s the same for you or not.” Her last words are greeted with my arms over her shoulders and I pull her in close.

  Whispering into her ear, I vow, “You are family. Always have been, always will be. I love you, J.”

  “Love you, baby,” she says, drifting off toward her car. “Good seeing you again, Bobby, and meeting you, Jared. You all take care, you hear,” she calls out to my brother and Bobby and they wave back at her with tight smiles.

  “See you soon, Momma J,” Bobby says, unlocking the SUV and opening Cassandra’s door for her.

  “Pleasure’s all mine,” my brother mutters in his usual quiet reserve before hopping into the backseat with a grunt.

  The first thing I do upon entering my loft is head for the refrigerator. I pull out a bottle of Fireball and snap it down on the counter. Jared is halfway through removing his jacket and his eyes are fixated on the monstrous bookshelves.

  “Wanna shot?” I ask, and his eyes trail over to me as he tosses his jacket onto the coat rack.

  “What do you think?” he responds, his lips curling into a smile. “I need a drink. That was—”

  “Shit,” I interject, pulling two shot glasses from the cabinets and two cold ones from the refrigerator for chasers.

  He approaches the counter as I pour the shots and slide a beer toward him. I nudge his glass forward with mine and he wraps a cracked hand around it. I hold mine up, steadying it out in front of me, and wait for Jared to lift his own.

  As he does, I say, “To family,” and he nods, throwing back the shot and setting the glass back down. He lets out a loud ahhh and wipes his thick beard with a hand as I take my own shot. I drop the glass down onto the table. With the cold beer wrapped in my fingers, I eye my brother and wait for him to turn to me. His emerald eyes are locked onto the floor, though, as he continues running a hand through his beard. He’s got these effortless good looks I’ve always been envious of, and it always shows the most when he’s deep in thought, looking all contemplative and shit.

  He finally glances over at me and I take a second to analyze his f
ace. There’s a faint set of crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes, as can be expected when you’re pushing forty, and some thick frown lines camouflaged by his beard. Even with that, his good looks are still intact and with his beard the way it is, he looks like an older Jason Momoa, without the muscles. His skin has always been darker, lusher, with the typical Sicilian olive hue that somehow missed me.

  He grins awkwardly as he picks nervously at his beer label. “What?” he asks, scrunching his brows.

  “Where the hell have you been, man?” I ask, the words coming out freely. His eyes drop and shoulders slouch. “You could’ve visited, you know? She needed you.”

  “She didn’t even remember me, Gavin,” he shoots back, his eyes locking on to mine.

  “She did for a while there. And what kind of excuse is that anyway? She’s the only one that was ever there for us, outside of our grandfather, and you left them both in the dust. You left us all in the dust.”

  He shakes his head, his hands meeting his hips, and crinkles of annoyance line his forehead. “I knew I shouldn’t have come here with you. I knew it’d turn into a bitch fest,” he says, taking a heavy chug of his beer. “You’ve always been all over my ass. News to you, little bro; that’s not how this works.”

  “Don’t give me that tough guy act, Jared. I didn’t bring you back here to bitch at you. I brought you here to catch up. And part of catching up involves me asking you where the hell you’ve been. Five years, bro. It’s been five years since I saw you last. I don’t even know how long it’s been since we last spoke.”

  He throws his arms up, scoffing loudly. “What do you want me to say here? My life is fucking shit, bro. I’m broke, can’t seem to find the damn energy to fight for anything, and about ready to call it quits. Is that what you want to hear? Does that make you happy?”

 

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