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Nan’s hand glides across Maggie’s back, and her eyes flit from her friend to me and back.
“You don’t have to apologize for anything, Maggie. You were just doing what felt right to you. There’s no handbook for any of this.”
She tilts her head my way. “If there was, dear, I’m pretty sure it would say in bold letters, ‘Do not use a vacation to trick your granddaughter into meeting a man you want her to like.’” She offers a pitying smile and rests her hand on my knee. “This wasn’t fair to her. Or to you. And I feel badly that she is refusing to spend time with you.”
I set my hand on Maggie’s. “Respectfully, I think there’s just one person she wants to spend her time with right now.”
Maggie inhales, slow and deep, and lets the breath whoosh out. “Would you mind terribly if I asked you both to come with me?”
“Not at all,” Nan says.
Nothing is going to make Gwen want to see me, but I’m hoping a fresh latte will at least make my presence suck less. I get a head start and meet up with Nan and Maggie just outside the suite door.
“You ready?” Nan asks, and I can see the white ovals on her arm that halo Maggie’s fingertips. Maggie holds her breath, nods, and opens the door.
Gwen pivots in her seat at her desk and turns away quickly. Her face is flushed, her hair is piled messily on her head, and she’s wearing an oversized cardigan layered over the T-shirt and leggings she changed into since lunch. Most notably, her laptop is open, and her fingers are still curled over the home row, faint tapping audible as we file into the room.
“We should talk, Gwennie.”
“We should,” she says, her finger moving back and forth between herself and Maggie.
“Gwendolyn Pierce.”
Nan stiffens, but Maggie’s tone doesn’t match the admonishing full-name usage. It’s gentle, broken, pleading.
Gwen finishes her typing and closes the laptop, then turns fully toward us. “I’m not sure there’s much left to say, Gram.”
Maggie motions for us to sit on the couch, then lowers herself into the armchair and bends toward Gwen. “There’s so much to say, darling. And I think that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Gwen’s breath catches. Maggie’s found Gwen’s greatest concern: that their time of sharing, of going to her grandmother with her dreams and fears and mundane Tuesday stories is coming to an end. “I’m still here, Gwennie. We all are.”
I set the latte on the coffee table. It’s a peace offering, and she looks from it to me, then to Nan, then back to the latte. She bites her lip and crosses her legs, wiggling her dangling foot. “I hate that you didn’t tell me, Gram.”
“I know. It wasn’t fair for me to keep it from you.”
“No—” she presses the back of her hand just under her nose and shakes her head. “I hate that you didn’t tell me, because I hate that you’ve been dealing with this on your own. I could have been there for you. I—”
“Gwen. Honey.” Maggie’s eyes meet Nan’s, and they share a smile. “I haven’t been dealing with this on my own. I’m lucky enough to have had the support of a very good friend over the past few months.”
“My husband was given the same diagnosis. And although he passed before Sawyer was born, I remember it like it was yesterday.”
Gwen’s eyes move between the two women, then to me. I shake my head to convey that I haven’t been keeping this from her. Her expression softens, and Maggie reaches to take her hand. “That’s what I want for you, too. For you to have someone to lean on. To talk to. To yell at, if you need it. That’s why we’re all here right now. Nancy has been that person for me, and we all want to be that person for you.”
“I know.” Her voice is barely a whisper, and unborn tears cling to her eyes. “But right now, I just need you, Gram.”
Gwendolyn
We talk through it all. Again. Calmly this time, over snacks and the coffee that Sawyer brought for me. And then we talk through a plan for tomorrow: Gram calls Nancy to make sure the plan will work within their schedule, and I cash in some points for two rooms at a hotel with views of the Hudson. An extra day to connect and relax together, since today was a bit of a bust, will be the right way to end this trip.
Once the plan is final and the rooms are booked, Gram raises her eyebrows at me. “Nancy’s under strict orders not to tell him.”
“Good.” I want all of this to be a surprise. I want tomorrow to be like last night’s dessert smorgasbord: unexpected and thoughtful. I want to see him smile and know that I’m the reason why.
She tries to play it cool, but her dancing eyebrows betray her. “We haven’t even gotten to talk about the fact that you weren’t here last night and this morning.”
“I think that’s all we need to say about that topic, actually.”
“Gwen. It’s okay to like him. It’s okay to let him in.” Her expression shifts, and a hint of laughter dances in her eyes. “Emotionally, I mean.”
I squish my hands over my ears. “La, la, la! I can’t hear you!” I sing, and Gram swats my arm playfully.
