How the Grinch Stole My Heart

by Annabelle Costa

  I suppress a laugh. “It’s okay. Really. It was just a glass. Not a big deal.”

  “Well,” Henry says thoughtfully. “In that case, maybe you could give it back, right?”

  Ha. That kid isn’t so dumb. But now that he’s come here to try to make things right, I don’t feel a need to punish him by keeping his ball. It was dumb and childish anyway. “All right,” I say. “Let me get it for you.”

  I’ve got the ball in a drawer in my living room. I limp over, get out the ball, stuff it in my pocket best I can, and go back to the door. I fish it out of my pocket and hand it over to him. The way his eyes light up when he sees that ball makes me feel like a real asshole for having taken it in the first place.

  Henry cocks his right arm to throw the ball at the wall, but then he hesitates. Maybe he’s taking pity on me.

  “Hey,” he says, “wanna play catch?”

  I snort. “Uh, no. Catch is not my forte.”

  “For… what?” He crinkles his nose at me. “Come on. Let’s play.”

  I lift my hand off my crutch and hold it up. “I’ve only got one working hand. And it’s my left.”

  “So?” Henry tosses the ball up in the air and catches it. “Jonny McIntyre can catch a ball with one hand—right or left.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m no Jonny McIntyre.”

  “This is how he does it,” Henry goes on, like he didn’t even hear me. “He holds his fingers wide apart like this.” He splays the fingers on his left hand. “See?”

  I sigh. “I just think I would suck at it.”

  “Mom says don’t say ‘suck.’”

  “Does Mom also say to give the finger to your neighbor?”

  For the first time since I’ve met him, Henry looks embarrassed. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Who taught you that, anyway?”

  “Jonny McIntyre.”

  Wow, that kid is a bad influence.

  Henry lowers his eyes. “Mom yelled at me because I did it to Dina too.”

  “Who’s Dina?”

  “She’s going to marry my dad.” He chews on his lip. “I don’t like her though. She’s even worse than you.”

  “Really? Wow.”

  He nods. “She made me stay at the table until all the Brussels sprouts were gone, but Brussels sprouts make me want to vomit.”

  I can’t help but smile. “Yeah, I hate them too.”

  Henry points to a spot about five feet from my door. “Okay, you stand there, and I’m going to throw the ball to you. Okay?”

  I start to make up an excuse, but then I figure, what the hell? It’s not like I’ve got an audience. If I suck, the only person who will know will be Henry. And anyway, if Jonny McIntyre can do it, so can I.

  Somehow Henry and I end up tossing his ball around for the better part of an hour. At first, I have a lot of trouble catching it. It gets by me almost every time, and a couple of times, I nearly lose my balance because I can’t hold my crutch while I’m trying to catch the ball. But when I miss it, Henry races after the ball and fetches it for me, and I toss it to him underhanded without it going wildly out of control.

  Then after the first half hour, I’m doing better. I catch it just as often as I don’t. Henry gets so excited when I manage to catch it, I want to do it just for that.

  “Great catch, Mr. Grinch!” he calls to me after a particularly good catch.

  “My name isn’t Mr. Grinch,” I say as I toss the ball back to him. “My last name is Grieder.”

  “Sorry. Mr. Grieder.”

  I hesitate. “You can call me Jeremy though.”

  “Okay, Jeremy,” he says as his next pitch nearly nails me in the balls. Henry’s aim isn’t that much better than mine. I wonder how often his father practices throwing with him. Given how eager he was to play with me, I’m guessing not much.

  It’s after five o’clock when Henry palms the ball rather than revving up to throw it at me. Despite how anxious I was about playing catch with him, I’m disappointed our game is apparently over. “My mom told me to be back at five for dinner,” he explains, looking down at the neon green watch on his wrist regretfully.

  “Oh,” I say. “Well, maybe another time then?”

  His little face brightens. “Maybe after dinner?”

  I grin at him. “How about tomorrow?”

  “Okay,” he sighs. He starts to turn, then hesitates. “Jeremy?”

  “Yeah?”

  His skinny shoulders lift as he heaves a deep breath. “I’m the one who stuck that toothpick in your lock.”

  Yeah, no fucking kidding. But I smile tolerantly. “Well, thanks for telling me.”

  “I’m really sorry.” He hangs his head. “I was just mad because I thought you wanted to hurt Edgar.”

  “I’d never hurt Edgar,” I promise him. At least, not intentionally. I mean, he’s a mouse. I could easily step on him by accident. “Where’d you learn to put a toothpick in someone’s lock? Did you see it on the internet?”

  “Jonny McIntyre told me.”

  Okay, somebody needs to tell Noelle that her son can’t be friends with Jonny McIntyre anymore.

  “Henry!”

  My stomach does a flip-flop and I have to grab my cane to keep my balance.

  That’s Noelle’s voice. I’d know it anywhere.

  Chapter 42: Noelle

  Henry promised me if I bought him a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles watch, he’d be on time for dinner from now on. Those were his exact words when he pointed the watch out to me a few weeks ago. If you buy me that, I’ll be on time for dinner and you won’t be mad! It seemed like a bargain to eliminate all that aggravation for only ten bucks.

  Henry wears the watch every day, but he’s never on time. But on the plus side, he always knows exactly how late he is.

  So it’s no surprise when dinner is ready and Henry hasn’t returned home from playing in the hallway. I was hesitant to let him, because the last thing I wanted to do was piss off Jeremy further, but he pleaded with me. I made him absolutely promise he’d be back in one hour.

  I made a box of Kraft macaroni and cheese for the two of us to share. I don’t go around advertising this fact, but I love Kraft mac and cheese. Especially with extra cheese melted on top. Greg thought it was the worst though and banned it from our home. Once when I tried to make it for Henry, he held up the powdered cheese package, shook it in my face, and said, “Are you really going to feed our child something made from ‘Cheese #47’?”

  But now Greg can’t tell me what to eat anymore, so I’ve gone Kraft crazy. I love it—it’s like the perfect comfort food. And if I buy a five-pack, each box costs like seventy cents and can feed the two of us. It’s the ideal food for destitute single moms.

  Right now I’ve got two plates of Kraft mac and cheese ready to eat, but no Henry. Even though he promised he’d be back in an hour. Which means I’m going to have to go out there and drag him back inside.

  As soon as I get out of my apartment, my stomach sinks. Henry promised he’d stay right outside the door, so as not to bother Jeremy. I mean, I wouldn’t put it past that guy to call the cops on my kid. I don’t need that drama.

  Except when I round the corner, I see something that stops me short.

  Henry and Jeremy.

  Together.

  Talking quietly to each other.

  “Henry!” I snap at him.

  Jeremy’s eyes lift, and once again, I’m taken in by how vivid the color is. Also, he clearly hasn’t shaved in a few days, and he’s got the sexy caveman look, especially with that scar on his forehead. God, he’s hot. Why did he have to turn out to be a jerk? Why?

  “Henry!” I hiss again. “Stop bothering Mr. Grieder and come inside.”

  “He’s not bothering me,” Jeremy says.

  Henry holds up the blue ball that Jeremy had confiscated from him. “We were playing catch!”

  They were playing… catch? Really? How is that possible? I look at Jeremy, who smiles sheepishly and shrugs one shou
lder. I guess they were playing catch.

  Oh great, does this mean that stupid ball will be back in my apartment?

  “And I told Jeremy I was sorry I put the toothpick in his lock,” Henry adds.

  My mouth falls open. “You did that, Henry? You told me you didn’t!”

  My son’s face crinkles up. “Jonny McIntyre told me to do it!”

  So it turns out Jeremy wasn’t lying about that after all. I’m beginning to think my son isn’t the gentle snowflake I thought he was. I try to catch Jeremy’s eye, but he’s looking down at the ground.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jeremy!” Henry calls out as he skips in the direction of our apartment.

  “See you, Henry!” Jeremy calls back. Our eyes meet for a split second, then he grabs his cane and limps back into his apartment.

  I keep staring, even after the door shuts behind him.

  “Mom!” Now it’s Henry trying to get my attention. “What are you doing?”

  “Oh.” I shake my head, trying to clear it of impure thoughts. Thoughts of Jeremy Grieder. “I was just… uh, just thinking.”

  Henry shoves the door to our apartment open. Before he can do anything else, he tosses that ball in the air. He loves torturing me with that thing. “I told Jeremy he should ask you out on another date.”

  I start coughing, choking on my own saliva. “You… what?”

  My son blinks innocently. “What’s wrong? I thought you wanted to go out with him?”

  “Is that what you told him?”

  He thinks for a moment. “I told him that you would only be happy if he asked you out on a date.”

  Oh. Fantastic. That sort of talk is really attractive to men. “And what did he say?”

  He thinks again for about an eternity and a half. What is he thinking about? The answer is either yes or no. How hard is that to remember?

  “He said he didn’t think it was a good idea,” Henry finally says. “He said he didn’t think you were right for each other.”

  I hadn’t even realized I was holding my breath until that moment. Despite everything, there was part of me that had hoped maybe once all this Christmas stuff died down, Jeremy and I could work things out. But clearly, that’s not the case. He doesn’t think we’re right for each other. And he’s probably correct.

  Wow, that stings.

  Chapter 43: Jeremy

  It’s Christmas Eve, which means Luis is off for the day. Emergencies only, apparently. It sucks, because a package arrived for me yesterday and if he’s not around, it means I have to fetch the package myself. I would wait until after the holiday, but it’s some computer equipment I want sooner rather than later, and also, we got an email from the management saying they want us to pick up all our damn packages because they’re overrun.

  There’s no way I can actually carry the package, so I need to take my shopping cart. Of all the things that make me feel like a decrepit old man, it’s my shopping cart. I use it if I need to go shopping for something I can’t put in a bag and hang from my wrist. It means I leave my crutch at home and lean on the cart instead, using it like a walker. Since I can only push it with my left hand, it’s hard to control, which means I’m slow. Even slower than I usually am.

  I’m sure if you were to see me walking with that cart from afar, you’d think I was eighty. Ninety-one-year-old Fanny walks much better than I do.

  I postpone my trip until the afternoon, when the building is generally at its quietest. I grab my shopping cart and push it out to the elevator. Unfortunately, when the elevator comes, there are a surprisingly large number of people in it, considering it’s mid-afternoon on the day before Christmas. I could kick myself for not being more ready to board.

  “I’m holding the door for you,” one of my upstairs neighbors tells me as he presses the button to keep the door open.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  I aim the shopping cart for the door, but it’s hell to steer it with just my left arm. I don’t use the cart enough and the wheels are stiff. I miss the opening to the elevator, knocking into the side. The five people inside the elevator are all gawking at me, which doesn’t make it any easier.

  I back up a bit and try again. Now the alarm sounds, because the elevator doors have been open too long. And one of the wheels on the cart gets caught between the gap between the elevator and the floor. I try to work it free as beads of sweat form on my brow.

  “Here, let me help,” the guy holding the elevator door says to me. He reaches out and gives the cart a tug, and just like that, the cart is in the elevator. It was so goddamn easy for him.

  I feel like I barely remember anymore when things used to be easy for me too.

  But I know it was six years ago tomorrow. Christmas Day. My least favorite holiday.

  Bah humbug.

  I get out of the elevator easier than I got in, and I make it over to Joe at the front desk without further incident. He digs around behind the desk for my package while I clutch my shopping cart, wishing I’d never left my apartment.

  “Found it!” Joe declares. He pulls out a large brown box and lowers it into my cart. It’s going to make the cart even harder to push. “Okay, all set, Mr. Grieder.”

  “Thanks, Joe,” I say. I know I should tell him “Merry Christmas” but I can’t make myself say it.

  “By the way, Mr. Grieder,” Joe says, “have you seen Fanny lately? You two are friendly, right?”

  I blink a few times at him. “Have I seen Fanny? What do you mean?”

  “Well,” he says thoughtfully, “usually every day Fanny goes out in the morning for bagels at eight o’clock. Like, on the dot. But I didn’t see her yesterday and I didn’t see her today. It’s not like her. So I was just wondering if maybe she went away to see some family or something?”

  “I…” My throat feels really dry all of a sudden and it’s hard to swallow. “I don’t think she went away.”

  “Huh.” Joe scratches at his chin. “Weird that I haven’t seen her then, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “It is.”

  Fanny is ninety-one years old. She’s ninety-one and she hasn’t made it out of her apartment to do her morning routine for the past two days.

  I’m a decrepit old lady. If you don’t see me around for a few days or there’s a funny smell coming from my apartment, you need to go investigating.

  Shit.

  “I would have checked on her.” There’s a defensive edge to his voice. “But I’m not supposed to leave my post, you know?”

  “I’ll check on her,” I hear myself say.

  “Oh, hey, that’s great.” Joe smiles. “I’m sure she’s okay though.”

  I’m not so sure. At Fanny’s age, it’s just as likely as not that she fell and broke her hip, and she’s been lying on the floor helpless for the last two days. Or maybe she had a heart attack and it’s all over.

  I look down at my shopping cart. It’s going to take me for-fucking-ever to get back to my apartment to retrieve Fanny’s key with this stupid cart. I want to throw it at the wall. But I need it to lean on if I want to get back home at all.

  I go as fast as humanly possible for me, which is still far too slow. I want to yell with frustration, but what can I do? This is the body I’m stuck with now for the rest of my life. I need to deal with it.

  Fanny’s key is right where I left it—in the top drawer of my desk. I pull it out and stuff it into my pocket, pushing away the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. The worst part is if I find Fanny unconscious on the floor or weak and injured, all I’ll be able to do is call 911. I wouldn’t be able to do anything to physically help her. I’ll just have to stand there and watch her in pain.

  I need help.

  And there’s only one person I can think of in this building who I could possibly ask.

  I grab my crutch and limp over to apartment 5H. I hate that I have to ask Noelle for help, but there are no other good options. It’s painfully obvious that something is really wrong with Fanny, and there shoul
d be an able-bodied person coming along, just in case something physically needs to be done. Plus Noelle is a woman, which means if, say, Fanny slipped coming out of the shower and is buck naked, she won’t be humiliated by having a man help her.

  It’s the right thing to do.

  Christ, I hope Fanny is okay.

  I ring the doorbell to Noelle’s apartment. For a moment, there’s only silence. Maybe she took Henry out to see the Christmas windows at Lord & Taylor’s or the giant tree at Rockefeller Center. That’s the sort of stuff I’d be doing with my kid if I had one.

  But then the door swings open, and there she is. Noelle. Looking so incredibly sexy in an oversized sweatshirt and leggings, her hair in a messy ponytail, that I almost forget the horrible reason why I’m here.

  “What do you want?” she asks in an irritated voice. “What did Henry do this time?”

  “He didn’t…” I swallow down the lump in my throat. “Look, the reason I’m here is…” She raises her eyebrow at me. “You haven’t seen Fanny lately, have you?”

  Please say yes. Please say you chatted in the mailroom this morning.

  “Fanny?”

  “Oh, I thought you knew her…” I remembered Fanny talking about Noelle—and also, she knows just about everyone in the building. But weirdly, nobody was closer with her than me. “She mentioned you before, so I thought…”

  “No, I know her,” she says quickly. “I just… why do you ask?”

  My stomach fills with butterflies. I feel like I can barely get the words out. “Joe hasn’t seen her in two days, and I’m worried that…”

  Noelle’s eyes widen. “Oh!”

  The look on her face confirms my fears. I’m not overreacting. The fact that Fanny hasn’t been seen in two days means it’s likely something terrible has happened to her.

  “I need to go check on her,” I explain. “I’ve got her key, but I’m worried that… well, if she needs physical help…”

  This is so fucking embarrassing. I need to bring a woman along because I’m not capable of picking Fanny up off the ground.

  “Sure, I’ll come with you,” Noelle quickly volunteers.

  “Thanks.”