Thirty Days: Part Two (A SwipeDate Novella)

by BT Urruela

  “That’d be me,” Bobby says with a prideful smile he’s most definitely earned, but hurts to see just a little.

  “You are RJ frickin’ Callahan…the author of The Charlatan Trilogy. That RJ Callahan?” she asks, but immediately shifts her focus to me and puts a hand up. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you guys. We were just talking about what they did and when I put two and two together, I kind of freaked.” She looks back to Bobby and shakes her head slowly, adding, “I just can’t even tell you what your books meant to me. I read them during my senior year. Classes were insane, and student teaching was a nice little reality bomb. Your words got me through a lot.”

  Bobby clasps his hands together, with a grateful look, and says, “Seriously, thank you for taking the time to read them.”

  My focus is on the band as they finish out a song and dive right into another. I listen to the blare of the saxophone as I do my best to stifle the feelings of jealousy I often get when it comes to Bobby’s career. Out of nowhere, Sami swats me on the arm, and I turn to look at her.

  “I’ve gotta read yours next,” she says, smiling. “I ordered them already. Just waiting for them to come in. I can’t do the e-version. I like to feel the paperback in my hands.”

  “You bought them?” I ask, surprised.

  “Yes, of course. I told you I was going to.”

  “Yeah, but everyone says they’ll buy your book after they ask about what you do. Rarely does that ever actually happen. And when it does, they don’t ever read it,” I say, motioning to Bobby and he nods in agreement.

  “Oh no, I’m definitely reading them. I’m a bibliophile, so the more the merrier.”

  “Well, mine definitely don’t compare to his. So don’t go in with those expectations, unless you’re prepared to be disappointed.”

  “Please!” Bobby exclaims, rolling his eyes. “Don’t listen to his ass. Both his books are phenomenal.”

  “You’re my best friend. You have to say that,” I muse, and it gets a giggle out of Sami, whose attention has started to drift to Grandma.

  She abruptly stands and makes her way to the other side of the small table. Setting her drink down, she leans in and whispers something into my grandma’s ear. She looks hesitant first and then nods, and Sami puts her hands together in delight.

  “Gavin, would you mind giving Gracie here some room?” Sami asks, motioning for me to move over. I’m confused, but do as I’m asked, scooting my chair further from my Grandma as Bobby moves his own chair to the other side of Cassandra. After unhooking one of the velvet ropes leading to the stage, Sami walks behind the wheelchair, flips off the breaks, and maneuvers Grandma toward the dance floor. As they reach it, and the song begins to really wail, Sami takes one of my grandmother’s hands and begins to dance with her. I look on in complete adulation as periodically she grabs the armrest of the chair with her other hand and move my grandma back and forth with the music.

  Bobby whistles for my attention and when I look over, he says, “You got a good one here, bro. Damn good one.”

  I roll my eyes, but just as I do, Cassandra shakes her head in agreement, adding, “she’s pretty awesome.”

  “Cassandra,” Sami calls from the dance floor. “Come on and dance with us. Let the ladies chat.”

  Cassandra laughs, looks at both of us, shrugging as she heads to the dance floor.

  “What’s up with this other girl, Maggie, or whatever,” Bobby asks, as I continue to watch them dance, feeling overwhelmed by the joy exuding from my grandma’s face.

  “Megan,” I respond, not looking at him. “And hell if I know. I haven’t heard from her since Thursday morning when she left, so it may not even be an issue. And besides…” My voice trails as I finally turn back to him with a doubtful look in my eye. “Let’s not forget about the nineteen other dates I have left in this challenge.”

  “Eh,” he says, waving me off, “fuck that. Live in the now. Don’t worry about that shit.”

  “Kind of hard not to, my friend. I don’t think you realize how hard it is organizing thirty different fucking dates in thirty fucking days.”

  “Fucking epic?”

  “Not in the fucking slightest,” I reply, with a grin. “Shit is genuinely difficult as hell, man. And when I smoke, names, times, places… Fuck, I feel like I’m back in school.”

  “Did you knock today’s date out yet?”

  “Yeah, and I’m thankful I did. I kind of want to hang with her a bit longer…solo.”

  “Don’t worry, we weren’t going to invite ourselves.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that. I just want a little bit of one on one time with Sami.”

  He scratches his scruffy chin and eyes me inquisitively.

  “So, you are into this girl?” he asks with a smirk.

  “I don’t know what I am, man,” I respond, uninterested in continuing this conversation right now. I blindly find my Cabernet as my focus trails back out to the dance floor, and my grandmother between Sami and Cassandra, holding each of their hands as they dance along to the music.

  “You gotta learn to be honest with yourself,” Bobby says, drawing my attention back to him. He’s hunched over on his knees and his focus is preoccupied with the dance floor now.

  “More of that self-help bullshit.” I chuckle, taking a sip of my wine, and as always when I’m drinking red wine, a bit escapes my mouth and rolls down my chin onto my shirt. I love red wine, but I usually avoid it, because I can’t make it without spilling some on myself or others, whether through the hole in my lips or from my flailing Italian arms when I’m speaking passionately about something. Usually, it’s a combination of the two.

  Bobby glances over at me and smirks.

  “Probably,” he says out of the side of his mouth. “I just hope, if there are genuine feelings going on, you chase them. Figure them out.”

  “I mean, she’s here for a reason, dude.”

  “Yeah, I know. That’s just what I’m asking. I’m not sure what went on with that Megan chick, or what’s going on here,” he motions to the dance floor, “but if you’re feeling something for this girl, you should check it out.”

  “Okay, buddy. I’ll think about it,” I muse, and he slaps the back of his hand against my knee.

  “Fuck you. You missed trivia yesterday, by the way. The guys were asking about you.”

  “You didn’t remind me,” I say, laughing as I think back to myself, lying in bed after my date, high as all hell watching a sitcom. When it came time to get ready for trivia, it was either sleep, or get ready, bear the cold, and spend the night people-ing. The choice wasn’t hard.

  He rolls his eyes. “Whatever. You better come next week. We came in second again.”

  “Don’t act like I’m the reason you win when we play. Javon usually beats me to most answers, anyway.”

  “Yeah, but nobody knows literature and bullshit movie trivia like you do.”

  I lift my wine. “Thank you. Thank you. I’m the king of the irrelevant.”

  “You are,” he agrees, laughing, “and it helps.”

  “Next week, it is.”

  As the women start heading back our way, my grandma smiling as she continues moving along with the music in her seat, Bobby asks, “So what are you guys going to get into after this?”

  I shrug, smiling wide as Sami’s eyes meet mine. I mouth a ‘thank you’ and she gives me a nod, mouthing ‘of course’ back.

  “I don’t know, bro,” I say, my eyes still on her, “but we’re gonna do something.”

  We stayed a few more drinks before Grandma began getting sleepy. She was nearly passed out, a peaceful smile still on her face by the time we dropped her back off at Brookdale and tucked her in. Sami gave her a kiss on her forehead, which hit me right in the chest, and the way my grandma welcomed it, grabbing at her shoulders and pulling her in for a hug, just intensified the tug at the heartstrings.

  After saying goodbye to Cassandra and Bobby, Sami was reluctant about coming back to my place
, until I convinced her I didn’t mean it in the way most guys did. I wanted to show her Grandma’s collection of books, along with the few thousand I’ve bought myself, and I made that very clear.

  The look on her face as she walks through my front door and takes in the massive bookshelves on either wall is just the look I was hoping for. It’s the true sign of a bibliophile. People can talk all day about their love of books, but it doesn’t really show until you get a paperback in their hands. There are some signed ones in my collection from peers, mentors, and heroes that I will forever treasure.

  “Wow, this is incredible! It’s even better than you described it,” she says, removing her jacket slowly as she takes a few steps toward one of the bookshelves. I hang up our coats as she continues perusing my collection. “What’s the oldest one you have? Any original edition classics?”

  I think for a moment, hand on my chin and eyes to the ceiling, as I scroll through my mental catalogue.

  “It’s definitely one of my grandma’s; it’d be in this row.” I motion toward the section closest to the door which houses all the prized books in my grandma’s collection, and her eyes shift to where I’m pointing. “The oldest original edition she has…The Great Gatsby…it’s up top. She has a whole bunch of originals though. Oldest in general is her copy of Gone with the Wind. It was the first copy she ever got, the one she had through the war.”

  “Oh my,” she says, looking back at me with a hand to her mouth. “Is that up here?”

  “No, that one is kept up in my room in a protective case. It’s my most prized possession, along with my grandpa’s helmet from the war. Because he was wounded in combat, he was taken through the medivac process with all his stuff, so he hung on to it. Gave it to my grandma, who he had just met, and made sure he made it out of Japan with it.”

  “Wow,” she says, her eyes wide and her head shaking just slightly.

  “Yeah, I love them. They’re both on the TV stand in my room. Just feels like it keeps them close to me.”

  “You said your grandpa was injured during World War Two, right?”

  “Yeah, he was shot down during Iwo Jima. Luckily, he was never captured and got rescued pretty quickly, but he messed his back up pretty good, and broke both legs in several places…and a piece of metal went through his helmet, missed his head by millimeters. It’s why he wanted to keep it so bad.”

  “Unbelievable. It’s kind of one of those God moments,” she mutters, disbelief on her face.

  “Oh yeah, he used to talk about that all the time. How close it was…how blessed he was to still be around. I’ve had my own weird relationship with the Lord, but he definitely instilled in me that faith…a belief in something more. A higher power.”

  “My parents are the same way,” she says, turning to face me completely now, one hand gripping the nook of her other elbow.

  I motion behind me toward the kitchen.

  “Can I get you something to drink, by the way? I’ve got coffee, beer, water…”

  “Coffee would be great,” she replies.

  “Coming right up,” I say, giving her a quick thumbs up before turning on my heel and heading to the kitchen. She follows behind me, and takes a seat on one of the three stools lining my kitchen counter.

  “This is a really beautiful place you have,” she says, her eyes roaming my loft as I ready the Keurig.

  “Thank you. After my first book did well, I just really wanted to get the home I’ve always wanted. I wanted it to feel like I was stepping into my own personal New York Public Library.” I finish filling the cups and place them on the counter, along with cream and sugar.

  “Well, you certainly nailed it,” she says, mixing some cream and sugar in her coffee as I lean my elbows onto the countertop.

  “It’s my sanctuary, for sure.”

  “That’s back home for me,” she says, cradling her coffee and taking a sip. Setting it back to the counter, she adds, “There’s something completely settling about being back there. And we have a lot of land, so it’s very peaceful. I’ll take a book and thermos of coffee with the four-wheeler out to a quiet spot in the thick of the woods that borders our land and just read…and breathe.”

  “I love that. As much as I love the city, and I do, with all my heart, I love the solitude of the countryside, too. My ultimate goal is to have my place here and then maybe get a lake house up near the Finger Lakes or something. I don’t know, somewhere I can escape to and just read and write all day.”

  “Uh yeah, sounds like the perfect life.”

  “How’s school been treating you, by the way? I meant to ask you Friday night, but…uh…there were other things happening.”

  She giggles, hiding her face a bit.

  “Yeah, don’t remind me. Everything at school has been okay. I’ve been trying not to take it home with me as much because there’s nothing really I can do about it. They’re going to be how they’re going to be, and listen when they want to listen, and I’ve done everything within my legal limits to get a different outcome. My hands are tied.”

  “That’s a good mindset to have. I do hate that you’re not enjoying what you’re doing right now, though.”

  “Yeah,” she mutters, her eyes falling to the countertop and tracing the intricate lines in the granite.

  “Is it something you think is just a phase, or do you think, maybe… Shit, I don’t know if I should ask this.”

  She looks at me, her lips in a thin line, and says, “You kidding me? I took you to a swinger’s club on our second date. You can ask me anything.” She laughs, shaking her head.

  “Okay, okay. I was just gonna say, I mean, have you ever thought about a career change? Or maybe a change in scenery.”

  She hesitates, her eyes flitting around the kitchen and her bottom lip slipped between her teeth. After a moment, her eyes meet mine again and she nods slowly. “Yeah, every single day,” she says bluntly. Her eyes wander again and the corner of her lips slant up just a little. “My mom is the most incredible cook. Some of my fondest memories of her are in the kitchen with me connected to her hip, and helping at every possible moment. It’s our thing.” She looks at me with a full-on smile now, and I can see the love she has for her family beaming in her eyes.

  “That’s awesome. I had the same thing with my grandma. I can make a mean lasagna.” I grin as she takes a sip of her coffee, the smile still showing from behind her mug. “So, your mom, cooking…you want to be a chef?”

  As she lowers the mug, she shakes her head. “Not a chef in a restaurant or anything like that. I would never want to work for someone else again. But I would love to bring the recipes I grew up on to the public. The ones that have been passed down from generation to generation. Stuff filled with butter and goodness, and makes you feel all warm and cozy inside after you eat it.” She hugs herself, giving herself a little shake before dropping her arms and laughing.

  “Yessss,” I say, my eyes wide. “That’s exactly what it was like at Grandma’s. The kind of dinners where she would be in the kitchen all day, playing records and wailing away along with Miles Davis and Louie Armstrong. And if she were feeling real frisky, some B.B. King. The whole house would be filled with the smell of garlic knots, lasagna, and about a hundred different sides. Grandpa, in his favorite recliner, watching Jets games on the tube and grabbing Schlitzes out of the mini fridge just beside it.” As I speak, I find my gaze wandering out toward the bookshelves, my thoughts to those moments I so cherish these days, but never quite did enough in the moment. We never fully realize the beauty in a moment until we’re years ahead, looking back…when we can never have those moments again. It feels like yesterday when Grandpa traded in his worn recliner and mini fridge for a hospital gurney and IV. And then he was gone.

  “I can see how much they mean to you,” she says softly, pulling my attention back to her. She has a little smile on her face and compassion in her eyes. “Your grandma really is quite amazing. Bobby and Cassandra, too. It was so nice spending time with ev
eryone today.”

  “It was nice to have you.” I smile, admiring the way the sun comes in from the window behind her, the light framing her beautiful face.

  “How often do you visit her?”

  “Tuesdays, I usually just bring her lunch and eat with her. It’s a short visit. Thursdays and Sundays are my long ones, and we’ll either read or go on a day pass. But wait, I completely just realized I swayed the conversation and never let you answer.” I put a palm to my forehead. “I’m pretty good at that. I blame the ADD.”

  She laughs and nods. “Tell me about it. Totally okay…this time.” She winks playfully. “Um, yeah, I don’t know, I would just love to have my own restaurant one day. Have a rotating menu with all my family recipes. And maybe a little coffee shop or bar attached to it.” She takes a sip of her coffee, lowering it as her eyes trail to the cabinets. “I don’t know. It’s just a pipe dream. I don’t make enough doing what I do to ever accomplish something like that…and I always tell myself I’ll do it when I retire, but come on…” Her voice trails as her eyes come back to mine. “Like I’m going to want to be running a kitchen at sixty-five.”

  I take a moment, finding the right words as her eyes study me. “You know…being a struggling writer, I have a lot to say on the subject of chasing dreams. I never thought I’d be where I am, and surely never thought I’d have the guts to pursue it.”

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you that actually. What did give you the strength to finally just do it. To chase your dreams.”

  “Grandma,” I reply instantly, and I smile, my heart thumping at the thought of her incredible influence on me. “I was back in Chicago, running around with the wrong crowd, not sure if I wanted to stay and find some bullshit menial job, get on a plane to some nowhere fucking country and disappear from the world, or what. I was lost. And then Grandpa died and Grandma needed me. I dropped everything, moved to New York City, and it was while here that I really started thinking about it. The city gave me an energy I never got out of Chicago, and Grandma, she was still well back then. I’ll never forget it, she sat me down and had a talk with me. I was doing general curriculum shit at NYU, thinking about following Bobby into finance, and she could see how unhappy I was. She could tell I was holding something back.” I realize I’ve been blabbering and laugh. “Sorry, I ramble at times.”