Page 101 of The Unfluencer

“Is she okay?” I ask. Again, just in case. The woman works my nerves something awful, but she’s still my mother.

“We’re fine,” she says, full stop.

And now I’m confused, because what do you mean do I have a moment and you spoke to my mother, but you want me to play the guessing game about what y’all talked about? Hello?

“Uh-huh.” It’s all I’m giving.

“Well, we’ve just had quite an illuminating disagreement about the Restroom Rendezvous.” Are we being serious? “Your mother seems to think it’s healthy for you to engage in such… uncomely behavior.”

“I see.” I start the engine and weave through the parking lot toward the exit. “And you believe…”

She clears her throat, tellingly. “Listen, it’s not important what I believe,” she says. “My point is, after I spoke to Phyllis… after she was rather rigid about my… disciplined rearing choices⁠—”

“What are you trying to say?” I blurt, deciding to help her along as I flip on my blinker and wait out the oncoming traffic. “You were strict, inflexible, unyielding, controlling, by the book, yes. We’ve got all the adjectives. Now, what about it?”

She inhales sharply. “Whitney Anika Graves.” There it is. “Is that really how you feel?”

It’s something about the way she asks, a slight hint of hurt in her tone, that makes me pause. Does she really remember it differently? She’s actually got the nerve to be taken aback? How I feel? It’s just the facts.

“Gertrude, you said disciplined, and I think we can all agree that’s putting it lightly.” Easing into the lane, I go easy on the gas, toeing the speed limit because it’s the first of the month, and I’m not trying to help some overachieving cop get a head start on his quota. “Everything you say to me usually begins with ‘Well, it’s quite unfortunate that you don’t seem to recognize the error in your thinking.’ Or ‘I know good and well I done raised you better than that.’”

She sucks her teeth. “Usually it applies,” she says, weakly.

“Right, I’m sassy, putting myself into precarious situations, or it’s a shame that I’m such a brilliant young lady who just needs to apply myself.”

The low hum in my ear is a telltale sign. Something’s getting through.

She clears her throat again. “If rendezvousing in restrooms is how you choose to find and nurture love in your life⁠—”

I actually choke on my spit.

“What are you even saying?” A laugh shoots out of me straight from my gut. “There was no rendezvousing. I’m not looking for, nor nurturing love in my life.” Anymore. “Or don’t you read the headlines?” It’s apparently where I live these days.

“Yes,” Gertrude says, so dang matter-of-fact it grates on my nerves. “That’s what spurred our conversation.”

Ah, yes. Today’s inspired whopper in the Ellswood Times.

RESTROOM RENDEZVOUS ENDS IN ROMANTIC RECKONING

WARNER EASTON AND WHITNEY GRAVES OVER

“Well, then you already know how it ends.” I chuckle.

I’m three blocks from my house, ready to put a wrap on this conversation, and unbelievably, my grandmother fixes her lips to blow my mind.

“I’m sorry,” Gertrude says.

It’s so off-putting that I have to pull over to fully grasp what’s happening.

“You’re sorry?” I repeat.

She sighs like she’s the one put out because I’m making such a big deal of it. “You heard me correctly. I’m sorry that your new relationship didn’t pan out the way you might’ve hoped.” Another throat clearing, so I know whatever follows will be a doozy. “Contrary to what you and Phyllis may believe, I wasn’t always a curmudgeonly old woman.” She chuckles, and it’s so light and airy.

“Oh, wow…” I grin. “Do tell.”

My heart swells a little. I can’t remember the last time we talked like this. Probably because we’ve never talked like this. Just us, two women, sharing casual stories.

“Eons ago, long before I met your grandfather, I too was a dazzling young lady with my heart cautiously on my dress sleeve.” I hear the smile in her raspy voice. “I fell hard and fast for a man at a tender age. No one could tell me a thing. And by the time I realized he dimmed the light right out of me, I was living a state away from my family and friends, wearing clothes he’d picked out—that I hated—sitting in my car parked around the corner from our house, wishing I’d listened to even half what my mother had been trying to tell me, and wondering how I’d gotten things so screwed up.”