“I’m back and I made my first wish. But I’m not telling you what it is because then it won’t come true. Right, Great-Grandma?” Monique looked up at her grandmother, slightly breathless from running up the hallway.
My grandmother nodded. “Yes, I believe that’s how it works. Once your wish comes true you can tell us what it was.”
“Let’s eat. We made a creamy wild rice and sweet potato soup,” I stated over my shoulder, to my grandmother.
“Sounds delicious. Can I help set up?”
“No!” Monique interrupted. “You’re our guest. Come with me.”
I giggled at my bossy daughter, before disappearing into the kitchen. I overheard Monique directing my grandmother around the wall divider that split the kitchen off from the dining area.
“This is your seat. This is Mommy’s, and this one is mine.”
I imagined her holding onto the backs of the wooden dining chairs as she meticulously pointed out where everyone would sit.
I went about the business of ladling the soup into three separate bowls and placing them on plates. As soon as I had finished, Monique came into the kitchen from the second entrance closest to the dining space.
“I’ll help.” She didn’t wait for me, instead picking up one of the plates with a filled bowl on top and moved to the dining area. Right before she exited, she paused. “Alexa, play ‘Six Evolutions’ by Yo-Yo Ma,” she called.
A half a second later the stringed sounds from Yo-Yo Ma’s masterfully played cello began to fill the room. I smiled at the soothing sounds of the music while picking up the two remaining plates and carrying them to the dining table. We’d already set up placemats and silverware earlier. I went back in for a pitcher of my homemade lemon iced tea while Monique grabbed three glasses, placing them in front of us.
I glanced up as I sat down, seeing my grandmother’s eyes shift from me to Monique and back again. It seemed almost as if she was amazed. A light smile touched her lips.
“You are quite the little hostess, Monique. I am not sure if your mother told you but Yo-Yo Ma is one of my favorite musicians,” my grandmother remarked as she unfolded the purple checkerboard patterned napkin we’d set out and placed it in her lap.
“Really? Ours too. We listen every night at dinner.”
My grandmother looked to me, surprised. Yes, it was a habit I had picked up from her. One of many that had stuck. And apparently would stick for the next generation as well seeing as how Monique was often the one these days insisting that we listen while eating.
“I hope the soup isn’t too hot. I tried to cook it early enough that it’d cool off a little before we sat down to eat,” I explained.
“It’s great. Delicious as well. You used coconut milk for the broth?” she questioned before taking another spoonful.
“Yes, just one can, and combined it with my homemade vegetable broth.”
“Completely plant-based,” Monique declared.
“Oh, are you vegan?” My grandmother looked toward me.
I shook my head. “No, although we do a lot of plant-based meals.”
“Aunt Kayla said it was okay for my diabetes.”
I looked to Monique before turning to see my grandmother’s reaction. Her spoon had paused halfway to her mouth.
“Diabetes?”
“Yeah, see.” And without prompting, Monique turned and lifted up the sleeve of her dress to reveal the insulin pump on the back of her arm. The pump was a new addition to our life. Ever since our last trip to the hospital, I finally conceded that the pump would be a better alternative for Monique.
“Monique, put your sleeve down.”
She gave me a surprised look. “What? You told me not to be ashamed of my illness, right?”
I barely kept my eyes from rolling. Leave it to my child to use my own words against me.
“Right. You have nothing to be ashamed of because you have diabetes. You just don’t have to show everyone, especially if they didn’t ask.”
“But she’s not everyone. She’s my great-grandmother which makes her family. Right, Great-Grandma?” Monique turned her big doe eyes on my grandmother.
“Right.”
My eyes flew to my grandmother who had just agreed. She gave me an almost bashful look, as if she was trying to earn my approval in the matter. My, how the roles had reversed.
“Monique, I don’t want you to be ashamed of diabetes, but just have a little more consideration before raising your sleeve in the middle of dinner. Okay?”
She nodded. “’Kay, Mommy.”
We ate in silence for a few more minutes before my grandmother asked Monique about school and her interests. She seemed to keep her interest on my daughter. I’m hundred percent certain that was due to the somewhat icy reception I gave her, as evident by the one word answers I responded with when she did ask me a question. Monique, on the other hand, seemed to be thrilled at having met another relative. She was more than pleased to give long, drawn out answers to any and all questions. Her chatting, along with the background music that continued to play, were the dominant sounds of that dinner.
“Thank you for coming to dinner, Great-Grandma. I’m sorry I have to go, I promised my best friend, Diego, we could play Fortnite together for thirty minutes before Mommy makes me turn it off so she can read with me before I go to bed.” Monique sounded truly apologetic.
“Fortnite?” My grandmother looked down at Monique with a questioning expression as we sat in the living room where we’d chosen to eat the lemon bars I’d made for dessert.
“It’s a videogame,” I interjected.
“Oh.” My grandmother nodded. “Well, it’s rude to keep your friends waiting. Thank you for being a great hostess.”
“Thank you for coming over.” Monique threw her arms around my grandmother again. “And for the wishing globe,” she added before running off down the hall.
My grandmother stared at her retreating back until Monique turned the corner.
“She’s amazing.”
I pushed out the breath I’d been holding and gave my grandmother a sincere smile. I nodded in agreement because it was true. My daughter was nothing shy of amazing.
“We can sit and finish dessert,” I stated, not wanting to be rude and push her out the door, now that dinner was over, and Monique had left us to go play her videogames. Though I’ll admit it was nice having her there as a buffer between my grandmother and myself.
“I truly appreciate you inviting me. Dinner was delicious.”
“I’m happy you enjoyed it.”
“How’ve you been?”
“Been?” I questioned.
“Yes. How are you? I, uh, wanted to ask at the hospital, but—”
“I was really short with you.”
“Which I can’t blame you for.”
Now that, was surprising.
“Your face still reveals exactly what you’re thinking. You’re stunned I can admit my wrongs.”
“Yes, actually, I am.”
She nodded, her head lowered as she looked down at her hands in her lap. “I’ve been thinking for a while now to try and get in contact with you. I kept your high school yearbook all of these years, hoping one day you’d return for it. Silly, I know. It’s taken me a long time and some not so nice realizations to see my mistakes. I was a hard-headed woman. It took waking up in the hospital from surgery, alone, to see the errors I’d made.”
“Hospital?” We’d ran into each other two weeks prior at the hospital, but she hadn’t looked sick or like she’d just had surgery. Her words indicated a much longer stay than when we’d seen one another a couple weeks before.
“Last year, around this time, I was diagnosed with stage three breast cancer.”
I inhaled sharply, sitting back in my chair.
“I had a double mastectomy and went through chemo and radiation. Just before this past Christmas I was declared cancer free. I was back at my doctor’s office a few weeks ago for a check-up.”
“Wher
e we saw each other.”
She nodded. “The oncology department is right next to the emergency department. I was cutting through to get the parking lot where my car was parked when I saw you.”
“Oh my goodness.” I covered my mouth with my hands. I had wanted to be so angry with this woman in the hospital that day. It had been on the tip of my tongue to give her the curse out I’d fantasized about for years. And now to know why she was even there to begin with, I felt nothing but guilt.
“Don’t feel guilty. The last time you and I spoke, I said some horrible things to you about …” She looked off toward the hallway. “I’m sorry, Sandra. I was wrong for so many things. I was afraid you’d turn out like your mother that I kept a tight rein on you to the point you could barely breathe. Then, I kicked you out and abandoned you just like your mother did when you were a baby.”
Lowering my gaze to my own hands in my lap, I listened to the words I’d wanted to hear for so long. I hadn’t thought much about my biological mother in years. Growing up, I just got used to the fact that she hadn’t wanted me. My grandmother’s rejection upon finding out about my pregnancy had reopened that abandonment wound and I’d tried hard to block it out for years.
I inhaled, thinking about the loneliness I’d felt since my grandmother kicked me out. I’d been on my own for so many years. I swallowed back the tears. Now wasn’t the time for them.
“I probably don’t deserve your forgiveness, but—”
“You have it,” I lifted my head and said. It probably was too quick to give but she had my forgiveness. It may have been the thought of losing the only relative who had ever shown me at least some sort of love throughout my life, or the idea that Monique came dangerously close to not ever meeting her great-grandmother that did it, but all I knew was that the space in my heart which had disliked my grandmother for so long was gone.
That night was the beginning of a new relationship for us.
****
Damon
I stared down at my phone, my thumb hovering over her name. It was about a quarter after eleven here in Geneva which meant it was only quarter after four in Williamsport.
“Shit! It’s cold,” Sean cursed as he got in the backseat of the chauffeured car we were taking back to our hotel.
“It’s fucking Switzerland. What did you expect?” I shot back.
“Not this! Damn. You know I was raised in Southern California. Not this Ice Age shit!” He clapped and rubbed his hands together, blowing in them because he’d forgotten his gloves back at the hotel.
Chuckling, I shook my head as we pulled off. “Hey, you ever call someone just because you wanted to hear their voice?”
I kept my eyes trained on my phone, but out of the corner of my eye I saw Sean turn to look at me.
“What?”
“You heard what the fuck I said.” I grunted, not caring for his tone.
“Hell no. Wait … there was one time. I was sixteen and Sherie Sharp was feeling me. She was eighteen and all of the dudes was digging her. I do remember looking forward to her call.”
I rolled my eyes before turning to stare at the passing lights. That wasn’t the same thing at all. He’d had a crush on Sherie based out of male competition against one another.
“You want to call her?”
No sense in lying. “Yeah, but it’s not even five over there. She’s still at work.” It was a Friday and Sandra would still be at work at this time.
“So leave a message,” Sean suggested.
I gave him a blank stare. That would defeat the purpose of the call. I wanted to hear her voice. Her voicemail was the automated message that most people used because who the hell checked voicemails in 2019 anyway?
“I’ll call later,” I mused out loud.
“Speaking of calls, I got one while you were out looking at the newest Cartiers.” Sean’s voice had lowered.
I took that as a hint. Reaching over to the door on my left, I hit the button to raise the partition for privacy.
“What’s up?”
“That was our guy …”
Our guy was code word for the PI I’d hired who only worked special cases.
“He says Russo Jr. is on the outs with his pops. Has been for years, and in fact, has been looking for a way to take his own father down.”
I raised an eyebrow and leaned closer to Sean.
“He’s also looking to get an invite to that weird fight club shit you’re part of.”
I ran my hand through my beard. Sean didn’t understand my underground fighting and I didn’t feel the need to explain it to him. But Mike Russo Jr. wanting to be a part of the club was interesting. Very few people even knew about it because the ones who did know kept their mouths shut.
“I’ll see he gets an invite,” I stated, sitting up and scrolling through my phone’s contacts. This time I knew who I was calling and it wasn’t to hear his voice.
“I thought you were still in Geneva,” Josh answered as soon as he picked up the phone.
“I am.”
“Than this must be important. What’s up?”
“Word on the street is Mike Russo Jr. is looking to join the Underground.”
There was a pause on the other end.
“You want me to let him in.”
I nodded even though he couldn’t see me. “That’s exactly what I want.”
“Russo.” I could just picture his eyes narrowing as he glanced upwards, mentally searching for a connection with the name. “That Russo?”
“Not quite. His son.”
“The son of that Russo.”
“The one and only.” I hadn’t given Josh too many details of my true connection with Mike Russo. Shit, I hadn’t given anyone details on my real interest in Mike Russo, not even Sean. They just thought he was someone from the days I used to hustle on the street instead of in boardrooms.
“I better not regret this.”
“I’ll make it up to you, if you do.”
A dry laugh sounded at the other end of the phone.
“How’s Kay doing?”
“Who?” His tone sharpened, causing me to laugh.
Josh was adamant about being the only person calling his wife by her nickname. He was possessive as hell.
“Kayla. Your wife. How is she and the baby?”
“She’s just about over being pregnant and stressing over this damn baby shower. She actually wants me to be there.”
“Ah, hell, no.”
“Right? I’d tell her there’s no need for me to be there but with the mood swings she’s been having while carrying this damn child, she’d either try to take my head off, or worse, not give me any pussy until after this kid is born.” He grunted.
I shook my head, laughing at his apparent misery. “Better you than me.”
“You’ll be here one day. And sooner than you like to think. Anyway, I’ll tell Connor to let Russo in. I gotta go.”
Josh’s bitch ass ran those last two sentences together and quickly hung up before I could curse him out. Marriage wasn’t something that was on my mind.
Is it?
That two word question had me pausing as I got out of the car door that was held open by our chauffeur. I brushed it off as I stood upright. Josh was wrong, marriage was a long way off.
“Hey, I’m meeting a couple chicks in the lobby for drinks and whatever else they’re into. You coming?” Sean asked as we entered the lobby of our hotel.
My answer was immediate. I began shaking my head. “Got a phone call to make.”
Sean lifted a dark eyebrow, eyeing me suspiciously but didn’t say anything. Again, I wasn’t in the mood to explain myself either. We slapped fives and parted ways, him heading in the direction of the restaurant, and me toward the elevators up to my room. As soon as I stepped into my hotel’s suite my phone buzzed in my pocket. My heart rate spiked at who it might be. When I saw the name “Scarlet” appear on my screen, my hopes were dashed. I hit the decline call button and tossed my phone on my bed b
efore removing my clothes to take a shower.
We’d spent the last twelve hours meeting with various watchmakers, brands, executives, and timepiece experts and fans. I only collected a handful of business cards, knowing that most of the ones I passed off on to Sean I wouldn’t need. He would give the to his assistant to have her organize them in his rolodex for future use. Aside from wanting to get a look at what was coming down the pipeline within the next year, in the world of luxury timekeeping, our main purpose was to get the word out about our new brand. We’d done so.
And as I showered, it occurred to me that I was more excited about getting to have a twenty minute conversation with Sandra as she left work and drove home, than about any of the watches I’d seen all day. Watches, business, branding, marketing—all of that shit fell away as I dried myself off, sauntered into my room to get a pair of boxer briefs from the dresser I’d unpacked my clothes into, stepped into them, and then laid across the bed, grabbing my phone.
“Hi,” her breathless voice answered after three rings.
“Were you rushing?”
“Yeah, I had to step out in the hallway to take your call.”
“You’re still working?” I glanced at the clock. It was quarter after midnight, which meant she should’ve been leaving work about fifteen minutes ago.
“It’s either stay late tonight or come in tomorrow. And I have to take Monique to the doctor’s tomorrow morning so they can monitor how her new pump is working.”
My lips formed downward, hating that she sounded as if she was being pulled in two different directions.
“You need to go?” I didn’t want to let her go at all but it sounded like the gentlemanly thing to ask.
“No. I can talk for a few minutes. How was your day? Did Cartier offer to buy your prototype?”
She giggled and I laughed. She’d sworn up and down one of the brands here were going to either offer to buy us out or copy our watch before we even got a foot off the ground. I highly doubted either scenario would play out, but I hadn’t worn our prototype to any of the events over the last few days just to avoid the possibility. I wasn’t looking to be bought out, nor was I looking to have our watch copied before we could bring it to market, on our own.
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