Nanny Marty always tells me I’m a lot like her. Independent, stubborn and fundamentally batshit crazy. Izzy, on the other hand, is Graham through and through. A happy-go-lucky, well-mannered person. I always like visiting Nanna, and today, I’m especially eager to hear all the gossip. I take the train to Oakland, knowing Ty is going to pick me up when I’m done. I bring a banana bread with me, freshly baked from The Sweetest Affair.
I walk into the senior housing complex and glance around, struggling to believe Simon is among the sleepy crowd. I pass through the sage-green hallways until I reach her door and knock twice, trying to ignore the stale scent of mothballs, microwaved food and baby powder.
Old-people scent.
Gran opens the door wearing a pair of leather pants, matching black boots and a leopard top. Bleached hair, red lips—this woman is more of a pin-up girl than most of my twenty-something classmates.
“Hello, rascal. Oh, look at you, all dressed up and ready to impress. Who’s the lucky boy?”
Nana Marty sure knows the drill.
She grabs me by my collar and pulls me into her apartment. Nana has a stylish condo, with floor to ceiling windows and abstract paintings hung throughout. The more it looks like someone threw up on the canvas, the more likely she’ll hang it on her wall.
She pours us warm cider and munches on the banana bread straight from the tin foil. Signaling me to sit down with her red manicured fingernail, she clip-clops back and forth while opening a bottle of red wine to spike the cider.
“Is Simon here? I’d hate to barge in on something…” I bite back a smirk and take a sip of my alcoholic cider. It doesn’t escape me that earlier today I promised to never drink again. But it’s a whole different ball game now that I need to engage in yet another "date" with Tyler.
“He’s at his place. We need our space or we go mad. You know your old gran.”
I do, actually, since I'm much the same. I don't do needy, barely handle relationships, and even though I gave up my V-card when I was seventeen to my first serious boyfriend, it was mostly to get it out of the way and move on with my life as an adult.
“So getting married, huh?” I ask.
She slides a piece of banana bread onto a small plate for me, chuckling to herself. “What can I say? He’s too sexy to say no to.”
“Gross, Nana.”
“Trust me, it’s good news that your libido doesn’t die before you do.” She pats my forearm with her spotted, blue-veined hand, before sharing the story of her and Simon.
Simon arrived at the complex about a month ago. Reluctant would be an understatement to describe how he felt about changing his zip code. His sons forced him into moving here after he set his house on fire for the third time in two years when he hosted a romantic night with one of his lovers. (Yup. One of his lovers!) No longer willing to put up with his antics, his three sons pulled their widowed father by the ear and threw him into a retirement home.
Considering Simon spent his days on gambling, fine dining and working out, he soon found that he was bored out of his mind with the activities his senior building had to offer.
First, he tried his luck playing cards with all the oldies, spiking their tea with whiskey when they weren’t looking and cheating his way into winning, until he convinced them to play for money. Management found out and banned him from playing, so he switched to working out.
Next, he got caught trying to bench press the weight of an elephant, so management revoked his gym privileges too.
The incidents just kept piling up like firewood. Everything Simon did made everyone cringe, until one day his neighbor Ruth saw him in the hallway and offered some advice. “You should really meet Marty. You two will either burn the place down or move in together and leave us in peace.”
Figuring he’d already done enough burning for one lifetime, Simon opted for option number two. He knocked on my grandmother’s door the very same day. He brought peanuts, beer and classic movies. When she opened the door and wordlessly ushered him in, he knew that she knew, too, that this was fate.
Soon, they started spending every other day together, playing cards (for cash!) and working out (military style!). When every other day became every single day, Simon went down on one knee and said, “Marty, I have no idea how much longer we’ll live, but as long as we’re still kicking, I want to make an honest woman outta you. Let’s get married, move out of this shithole and show the world what we’re made of.”