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Reagan sips her wine and waves her hand like she’s in her car at an intersection, hurrying a pedestrian across the street. “Change the subject,” she insists. “Tell me about something less sad.”
I hum, flipping through my mental catalog of fun anecdotes to share. I could tell her about my sex life, but that might make her more depressed right now. I eventually land on Hannah—who doesn’t want to dish about some work drama?
“You will not believe what Hannah said to me at work earlier this week,” I start, but before I can really get going, my phone vibrates on the arm of the couch. “Hold that thought,” I say, reaching for it.
I glance at the screen. I don’t recognize the number, but I do my best to collect myself. Effects of the wine notwithstanding, I muster up a cordial, “Hello?”
It takes me a second to place the voice on the other end of the line—that of an older woman, but strong and refined. It’s Nora.
“Hello,” she says. “I’m looking for Sophie Anderson.”
“Oh, hello, Nora,” I reply. “This is she.” Immediately, I kick myself for sounding so formal. There’s no way Declan’s grandmother is calling for something professional, so there’s no reason for me to sound so stiff.
Reagan begins bouncing on the couch, mouthing words in my direction.
I try to ignore her. It’s obvious she’s had too much wine.
Reagan imitates my posture and mimics the words I used to introduce myself. A juvenile grin breaks out across her face as she throws herself to the center of my visual field and starts loudly whispering, “Who is it?”
I cover my microphone and pull the phone away from my face.
“It’s Declan’s grandmother—now shush,” I hiss back, also in a whisper. Talking to Nora requires my full attention right now. For some reason, her approval of me seems more important than almost anyone else’s. Of all the people in Declan’s family, she’s the one whose opinion he’ll care about.
I return the phone to my ear in time to hear her next sentence. “I apologize for calling so late, but it couldn’t be helped. I’ve been sick thinking about what happened at my birthday celebration.”
She sounds genuinely pained, like it really has been keeping her up at night.
“Oh, don’t worry about it. I—”
“I wanted to invite you to lunch this weekend,” she forges on. “It only just occurred to me that you’re dating my grandson and we hardly know a thing about one another.”
There’s something almost inspiring about the way she speaks. She didn’t wait for me or anyone. Her invitation felt more like an imperative. She reminds me of Declan. Now I can see where he gets his confidence.
It’s not the pushy, entitled bravado of his father. It’s an inborn certainty—the drive of someone who knows what they want, and knows how to get it.
“Lunch this weekend sounds great,” I reply.
Reagan, listening in, looks excited. She gives me a thumbs up, which I return somewhat nervously.
“Marvelous, dear!” Nora replies. “I’ll make a reservation. I know the perfect spot. Say hello to Declan for me, whenever you see him.”
“I will,” I promise.
“I’ll text you the time and place,” Nora tells me, and I have to stifle my laugh. Figures that Declan’s grandmother is savvy enough to text, despite her advanced age.
After she hangs up the call, I lower the phone and let out a breath. I give Reagan a quick smile. “Sorry about the interruption.”
Reagan looks delighted. “What? Don’t apologize! You’re going out to lunch with his grandma? That’s so cute!”
“Yeah, Nora’s a sweetheart,” I say. “I’ve met her a couple of times so far, and she’s just such a cool old lady, you know? She has so much energy—that’s exactly what I want out of old age.”
“I think it’s nice that he’s so close with his grandmother,” Reagan says, and I nod in agreement. “He cares about family.”
“Yeah, I think—” My reply is cut off by another buzz from my phone, vibrating in my hand. I blink at it in surprise, wondering for a moment if maybe Nora is calling me back. But it isn’t Nora—it’s Declan.
I shoot an apologetic grimace at Reagan. “Sorry.”
She gives me a smile and a relaxed, one-shouldered shrug. “Hey, no worries. Go ahead and take it.”
