“Tulips,” Gram declared as she walked over to greet us, looking regal as always. “It came to me last night as I was reading a fascinating biography of Katherine Graham. I’m not sure why, exactly, but I became instantly convinced, you need to go with tulips.”
Good thing Ana seemed to know what she was talking about. The two of them hugged like long lost relatives, which I guess they were soon to officially become. Our wedding was set for the springtime, only a few months away. And apparently we were going to have tulips at it.
“Asher.” An older, jowly British relative cornered me the moment I entered the ballroom. “May I have a word?” I watched my fiancée and Gram walk away, knowing there was no getting out of it. It was time for my annual disapproving lecture.
“Jolly good show young man.” Say what now? I looked at him in surprise. “That new album of yours, quite excellent if I do say so myself.”
“Oh, thanks.”
“That second number you have on there.” He started humming and I suppressed a wince. Apparently I hadn’t inherited my musical abilities from him.
He was talking about my latest album, released just last month in time for the holidays. I’d recorded an album of standards with some of the greats, legendary jazz musicians with more talent in their pinky fingers than many of the pop stars I knew and couldn’t say I loved. I’d learned a lot from them and had a blast.
We’d roughed up the songs everyone knew, given them some Ash Black signature style but still kept them true to their roots. So far, the album was selling great. It was the kind of thing I never would have considered doing before I met Ana. Now, I couldn’t imagine not having done it. It felt great to break out of the mold and have some fun, not worry so much about looking and seeming cool and instead simply enjoy making music.
Meanwhile, “Undone” had been nominated for a Grammy in a couple of categories. The success of that song still blew me away. But more than that, I was grateful for how it brought me and Ana back together. Had she not been invited to that BMA show, we might have kept right on keeping on, each of us stupidly thinking the other wanted it that way. We’d wasted enough time as it was.
Since that show, I’d barely let her out of my sight. We’d divided our time between S.F. and New York, and Ana had a whole new role at the library now, overseeing the disbursement of the funds I’d established to refurbish and expand children’s programming and services. I’d never seen anyone so happy about making other people happy, but Ana lit up about it, spending time visiting children’s branches and asking them about what they could use to improve their offerings. Me, I liked making her happy and if that meant making a bunch of kids happy, too, well it was a win-win.
She also made me appear on a poster. I wasn’t too happy about that at first but, hey, it was for a good cause. Styled like the celebrity posters that simply said “READ” and featured celebrities with a book, she had me photographed with a book. Only she had them reverse the R in READ. It was eye-catching, I’ll give her that. And it was all to raise awareness and funding to help kids with learning disabilities like dyslexia, the kinds of processing differences that made reading a struggle.
Talk about uncool. Ash Black from a year ago would have laughed at the absurdity of the idea. Get on a poster to promote reading? No. And then on top of it, advertise my learning disability? Become the poster boy for dyslexia? Not going to happen.
Then I fell in love with Ana and it turned out she could talk me into absolutely anything. And it turned out people loved it and the campaign was raising all kinds of awareness about and money for kids with learning disabilities. All kinds of celebrities had taken to social media, sharing their own stories about struggling in school, feeling stupid, and how they’d gone on to overcome it all. Add it to the list—the long list—of things I never would have pictured myself doing before Ana. Now, I was so grateful I had.
“Thank you so much for your guidance, Chester.” Gram swooped in, rescuing me from my jowly relative whose name was apparently Chester. All these years I’d never known. I’d have to send him a signed copy of the album he so enjoyed.
“I have to say.” Gram walked us through the room, Ana on one arm, me on another. “I am so pleased by the alacrity with which you followed my directive.”
“Alacrity?” I mouthed at Ana.
“Brisk and cheerful readiness,” Gram replied, apparently picking up on my confusion.
“Eagerness,” Ana offered as a synonym.
“Quite so,” Gram agreed.
“So, you’re happy we’re eager…” I still needed someone to connect the dots.
“Last Christmas I told you that you needed to go and get yourself married. Here we are, a year later, and you’re properly engaged to a lovely young woman who does a tremendous credit to our family.” She paused in her progress across the room, looking first at Ana, then at me. “I could not be more thrilled.”
“You are so kind.” Ana beamed at her.
“You know I always try to follow rules.” I couldn’t help teasing Gram. I’d reformed some of my ways, but not all.
“Pish posh.” Gram dismissed my assertion without any real annoyance. “So, that’s two of you tucked in nicely if we count Declan, as we certainly should.” Her keen eyes roved through the crowd, searching for her next target.
I spotted my older brother Colton standing tall and regal talking to a dreadful looking woman in a black suit. She looked like she was attending a funeral instead of a holiday party.
“You should tell Colton he needs to get married next.” I snickered as I leaned down to Gram, speaking loud enough for Ana to hear.
“Hmm.” She seemed to consider it, and I half believed she had the power to make it happen should she wish. But, as if pressing on the top of
a loaf of bread, declaring it not done yet and popping it back into the oven, Gram shook her head. “No, he needs more time. Still coming into his own, you know.”
“Colton’s been in his own since the day he was born,” I insisted. No one was more confident and sure of himself than my pompous older brother, CEO of Kavanaugh Industries.
“No…” Gram paused, surveying the crowd, searching, searching, until… “Ah, yes. Perfect.”
“No,” I disagreed, seeing the poor sibling she’d alighted upon as the next up to get married.
“I’m not following,” Ana admitted.
“She’d deciding which one of us is next to get married,” I explained.
“Of course,” Ana agreed, as if it made perfect sense. Maybe she perceived my Gram as all-powerful as well.
“I’m 84,” Gram declared. “And I still have three grandchildren unattached. It simply will not do.”
“I agree.” Ana nodded.
“Heathcliff,” Gram announced as if by decree. “By this time next year—”
“Gram, I hate to interrupt you—”
“And yet you insist on doing it.”
“I do, because Heath is not going to get married next.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Please, enlighten me as to why not. But first let me remind you that last year you declared that under absolutely no circumstances were you going to get married.”
“Oh, did he?” Ana asked, amused.
“He most certainly did. But this was before you,” Gram assured her. “Back in the days when he refused to wear shirts.”
I cleared my throat. It was true, I did used to take off my shirt a lot. I had to do something for the ladies, like a public service. But now all I had to offer belonged to Ana.
But this was about Heath, and Heath was a different story. “Heath doesn’t shower.” I started with the obvious.
“You’re exaggerating,” Gram dismissed me.