Page 178 of While You Were Trending

“We took my grandma on a road trip to Razzle Dazzle Village once. She thought we said we were going to Caesar’s Palace in Vegas. You have never seen a seventy-eight-year-old woman pitch a fit like the one she pitched when she realized we were at a theme park and not a gambling resort.”

“How did she get Caesar’s Palace out of Razzle Dazzle?”

“A little hope and a lot of static in her hearing aid? No idea. My dad had to take her to a casino half an hour away and missed most of vacation when the staff caught her lifting spoons at the restaurant.”

“Spoons?”

I’m smiling at the memory. “She said they looked like her spoons and she was sure that the casino hundreds of miles from home had snuck into her home and stolen them.”

“Oh, no, did she have dementia?”

I bark out a laugh. “No. She was sharp as hell until heart disease finally won two years later. She could play it up like she did though.”

“She sounds wonderful.”

“She was like Pip—a handful, but you didn’t want to imagine life without her.”

“Did you know all of your grandparents?”

“Just my dad’s mom and my mom’s dad. The other two passed away when I was young. You?”

“Not really. My mom hated her own parents and never let my dad’s parents see us. She said they were toxic. Ten says our dad’s parents called her on her bullshit and she didn’t like it. Caro says they had conflicting personalities. And I was too young to remember the last time we saw them.”

“They still around?”

“No, they both passed away right after—after Alex’s wedding. They thought Caro was Mom and that Ten was the man she was cheating on our dad with.”

“Ah.”

“I should go on a road trip.” She says it in a rush, like she’s afraid of the words.

“You should,” I say. “Do it for you. Not for them.”

“I’d have to get a new car. Mine’s ancient.”

I tilt my head at her. “You don’t drive a Range Rover too?”

Now that I think about it, I haven’t seen one parked at the house. And she doesn’t leave the winery often, so I wouldn’t have seen her getting into a car either.

She sighs. “Let me guess. My mother told you I drove a Range Rover?”

“Ah, yes. That day in the barn—she came there instead of the house because she saw my car and thought it was yours.”

“Ten drives a Range Rover. I drive a twenty-four-year-old Corolla.”

I pinch my lips together and don’t comment that her mother makes me look like a fucking saint.

Even in my be-a-dick-to-Ginny years.

“What kind of car would you get?” I ask instead.

“Honestly?”

“Of course.”

“I want a Miata and I want to get it wrapped in blue and neon green glitter so that I’m driving a mermiata.”

I can picture it, and it makes me smile. “Top down, hair blowing?”