Written for the 2024 NYC Midnight Fiction Writing Challenge. Round 3.
Assignment: to write an 1,500 word (or less) short story in two days that featured the following —
Genre: Romance
Character: A Nervous Wreck
Plot Element: A Postponement
I was getting ready for a Friday night out when she called for me. My own personal bat signal, which meant one thing: I wasn’t going out tonight.
“Tom. Tom.”
Things had been good. No episodes for two weeks. All had been calm. Had been.
“The books!”
I crossed the living room and opened her door.
Perched on the edge of her bed, my grandma wore a nightshirt, slippers, and long socks. Her reading glasses hung round her neck. Balled tissues were scattered around her feet. Her eyes were red from crying.
“What it is?”
“The books. The books are overdue.” Her voice was panicked. She fidgeted with a book on her lap.
“Can it wait?”
“The books will be overdue. We can’t be late. No, not good.” Tears streamed down her cheeks.
When she gets like this, it can’t wait. And she gets like this at just the wrong time, always.
I pulled out my phone, texted Stevie, my best friend.
— Something's come up. Can’t make it tonight.
— Dude! You’re gonna miss out meeting some very eligible ladies.
— Sorry, amigo.
— Grandma again?
— Always.
— Real talk, my man: you gotta stop putting your life on hold for her.
“Okay, Grandma, get dressed. I’ll take you to the library. Hurry, they close at eight.”
We arrived a minute late. “Hold on,” I said, and hopped out of the car.
The door was locked but lights were on.
I knocked. Someone moved inside. Kept knocking.
The door opened. “Can I help you?”
Her perfume hit me first. A light, gentle scent: huckleberries. Then I noticed her twin blonde braids.
“Can I help you?” She smiled. Her blue eyes crinkled around the edges. Careworn but young. Mid-thirties. My age. Her name badge: Jessica.
“I need to renew this book.”
She looked down. Raised her eyebrows. “Sewing with Singer?” She smiled.
“My grandma’s.”
She disappeared with the book and returned a minute later.
“Here,” she handed it over and stepped out. She was carrying a crate of canned goods. “Can you hold this?”
I took the box, Cans for Fines, and waited while she locked up.
“That’s my car.”
She opened the trunk of a blue hatchback for the crate of food. I saw a large child’s car seat in the back.
“Thank you for the book,” I said and extended my hand.
“And thank you for the carry.” We shook hands.
“You can let go now,” she laughed.
On the drive home, I heard her laugh on repeat. Wind chimes. Birds singing. It was natural and musical.
She wasn’t wearing a wedding band.
“Why are you smiling?” Grandma asked.
Two days later, Sunday, I stuck my head into Grandma’s room. She was staring out the window. Tears in her eyes. An old scarf twisted and knotted in her hands. I didn’t ask what was wrong.
“Grandma, I’m going to be gone for a couple hours. Meeting Stevie and some people for a picnic.”
She looked up. Panicked.
— Hey Stevie. Gonna bring my grandma to the park to hang with us. Cool?
— Ugh, bro. Not a grandma kinda scene. Sorry.
— Totally. I’ll have to take a rain check on this one.
— Every time, dude. Every time.
He’s not wrong. I can’t remember the last time I went to a party. Traveled freely. Or went on a date. I haven’t had a girlfriend for eight years.
Grandma and grandpa raised me after my parents died. Some people said I would be trouble, that I should be put in a home. My grandparents took me on anyway—in their late sixties. Loved me well. Postponed their retirement.
Grandpa died ten years ago. That’s when her anxiety started. Some people said she’d be too much, that I should put her in a home. But I took her on anyway—in my late twenties. Postponed everything.
Life got serious, fast. Grandma is ninety-one. She’s my committed relationship.
“Grandma, we’re gonna feed the ducks.”
Her smile was incandescent. The kind that lights up the whole city.
“My ducks,” she said. “My ducks.”
Yes, her ducks. The duck park is her favorite place.
On the way out, I slipped a Penguin Classics paperback into my back pocket and grabbed a loaf of white bread.
We angled from the parking lot toward our favorite spot. A bench by the pond. We go there several times a week—I read and she throws bits of bread. We’ll stay for hours.
Her fingers dug into my arm. “There’s someone on our bench.”
A small boy and a woman. I recognized the braids. The librarian. Jessica.
“Hello,” I said.
Their heads swiveled. An incandescent smile from Jessica. The kind that lights up the whole world.
“It’s you.”
“It’s us. This is my grandma.”
Grandma was staring at the child. He looked up with serious eyes.
“Mommy said no iPad. She said no iPad at the park. I wanted to bring my iPad but Mommy said no.”
“Would you like to help feed the ducks?” I asked him.
“Thank you,” Jessica mouthed.
He ran over. I handed him the loaf of bread.
“Okay, so what you do is—”
It was too late. Like a discus thrower, he spun and let go of the entire loaf. Still in the package, it wobbled through the air and splashed into the water.
“Douglas!”
“Oh no, no!” Cried Grandma. She began to shake. “My ducks!”
I went in after it. Ankle-deep in the water. Knee-deep. The cold bore into me. Up to my waist.
“You’re almost there,” Jessica urged.
I could feel the muck in my shoes. Lunging, I grabbed the bread.
Holding it aloft, I turned back toward shore. Jessica clapped. With a flourish, I put the loaf on my head and walked carefully back, a tribeswoman carrying an urn from the well.
Douglas jumped up and down. He laughed and pointed. “It’s on his head. He put the bread on his head.”
Even Grandma was laughing when I got back to the muddy bank. Shivering, I stumbled and slipped. Knees into the mud. The loaf landed on the grass. They laughed harder.
“Here,” Jessica extended both hands to pull me up. Mud squelched as our hands met.
Douglas rolled on the ground. “He fell in the mud with bread on his head!”
Jessica’s eyes glistened. “He hasn’t laughed like that since his father left.”
“Grandma hasn’t laughed like that since Grandpa died.”
The breeze blew one of the braids across her face. It caught on her lips. I watched it hang there for a moment. She smiled at me watching.
“Okay, you can let go now,” I said. Our muddy hands were still clasped. She let go.
Grandma and Douglas were crouched, unpacking the bread. He leaned on her leg.
“That better not be a library book,” Jessica said with a playful frown. She reached around and pulled the paperback out of my back pocket, held it up, sopping and dripping, and plopped it onto my head.
We both smiled.
On Friday night, I was in the middle of putting things into a new picnic basket when my phone buzzed. Stevie:
— Hanging with your lady tonight or you gonna come party?
— Yes and no. I’m hanging with a lady. But not Grandma.
— Whaaaaat????
— I met her at the library. Saw her at the park. Two days ago she stopped by with a book for grandma. Tonight we’re going out.
— What about Grandma?
— Fingers crossed!
I opened Grandma’s door.
“Remember, I’m going to be gone for a couple hours. You’ll be okay.”
“No. No. Please don’t leave me alone.”
For a moment, I was rooted.
I dialed Jessica.
“Hi,” she answered. “I was just going to call you. The babysitter is sick. I don’t have anyone to watch Douglas.”
“Okay. I need to stay with grandma anyway. She’s on the edge. I have to postpone.” The words hurt.
She was silent for a moment.
“What if we didn’t postpone?”
“Didn’t postpone?”
“You’ve got her. I’ve got him. But we can still be us.”
An hour later the hatchback pulled up. I stood in the doorway, Grandma beside me. Douglas raced up the sidewalk carrying a loaf of bread. Jessica trailed behind with a bottle of wine.
“The duck lady,” said Douglas. He ran toward Grandma.
“The bread boy,” she replied and hugged him.
I took the wine from Jessica and led her by the hand into the kitchen. The picnic was spread on the table. Olives, fruit, cold meats, cucumber sandwiches.
She looked around. “It smells good in here.”
I leaned toward her. Huckleberries again. “You smell good in here.”
Grandma and Douglas were on the couch. She shook pieces from a puzzle box onto the coffee table. “This is my duck puzzle.” He scooted closer. Their heads touched.
Jessica looked down at our hands, still linked. Smiled.
“This time you don’t have to let go.” She lifted her chin.
“I don’t plan on it.” Pulled her toward me.