It’s my turn to cock an eyebrow. “You do?”
He nods and takes his glasses out of his breast pocket, putting them on his face. His eyes twinkle beneath the lenses. “I do. A nice lady from the assisted facility home. I met her at Walmart.”
“You hound dog,” I tease, and he chuckles.
“I can be.” Grandpa shakes his head. “Don’t tell your mother, though. For some reason, she thinks I’m supposed to die alone since your grandmother died two years ago.”
I grimace at the mention of my mother, my shoulders tensing. I hate the mention of my parents. I don’t get why they can’t accept me as me. I don’t want to do the whole college bullshit, and they’re still pissed at how things ended. They also refuse to believe that I’m bisexual. They want a straight son who goes to college to get a good degree, finds a good woman and career, settles down, and marries to have a family. Not a son who has to live with his grandfather at the age of twenty-one, wants both guys and girls, doesn’t really care, and has no desire to settle down any time soon. If marriage comes, it comes. But it’s not within sight at the moment, and that’s perfectly fine with me.
They just can’t accept that, and it isn’t fair.
I’ll live with grandpa for the rest of my life to avoid that toxic bullshit if I have to. I miss my brother and sister, though; I can’t deny that. If I ever visit, it’ll be for them, not our parents.
“I won’t tell her,” I promise my grandfather.
He winks and pats me on the shoulder as he passes me. “You’re a good boy Colton, even with messing up. You’ve learned. That’s what matters.”
I grin. He’s an old man; sometimes, his hips hurt too much to get out of bed, and I have to step in and help him. But the rest of the time, he has more energy than I sometimes do. When I get old, I want to be like him. Boisterous and full of life.
I watch as my grandpa leaves. I feel like he’s barely here most of the time. Always up to something. I don’t question him and his whereabouts; when I’m gone and return, he doesn’t question me either. We’re both adults. I stick to my schedule, though. I try to stay out of trouble these days. Lack of friends helps in that department.
Shortly after grandpa leaves, a soft knock raps on the door before it creaks open, and Gracie pops her head around it.
“Evening,” I greet and wave her in. “Did you have a good meeting?”
She nods and sniffs the air, closing the door behind her. “It smells good in here.”
“Spaghetti and garlic bread,” I motion towards the stove where the pot of noodles and sauce are still sitting.
Gracie hesitates, then crosses the little apartment into the kitchen and peeks into the pans. When she turns back around, she’s biting her lip and looking at me guiltily.
“I really appreciate it, Colton, but there’s a little problem,” she starts and looks over her shoulder before back at me. “The sauce has meat, and it’s already touching the noodles.”
I blink, confused. I remember her getting a salad on our dinner date, but I thought that was just a weight thing. Does she really want to eat salad on repeat? “I don’t get it,” I finally admit, furrowing my eyebrows.
She chews her bottom lip, shakes her head, and looks over her shoulder one more time before looking at me sheepishly. “Colton, I’m a vegetarian.”
I feel my heart sink at her words, and my face falls. “You are?”
She nods and looks at the ground. “I told you before, Colton. At the restaurant.”
“Oh,” I say quickly, exhaling. I’m embarrassed that I forgot about that. “Right. You’re absolutely right. You know what, there’s salad stuff in the fridge. I can make you a salad, and I’ll eat the spaghetti. Is that okay with you?”
Her eyes shoot back up to me, and she smiles, little dimples dappling into her cheeks. Her brown eyes twinkle, and warmth spreads through me at the sight. I like her smile. No, I love her smile. I want her to keep smiling because of me. Or if it isn’t me, I want to at least make sure she’s always happy.
“I’d like that.” She nods. “Do you want any help?”
I shake my head quickly. “No, I got it. Um, you sit down. You look a bit exhausted.”
Gracie shakes her head. “You’re supposed to be personal in the meetings; doing so can be a bit mentally exhausting. I’ll be okay.”
I hesitate, staring her over. She’s in the same outfit she showed up in last night, which tells me she didn’t even bother going home for clothes or anything. “Do you… need something to wear?”
Her eyebrows shoot up in question, and I continue quickly before she can think the wrong thing.
“So we can wash your clothes. Or maybe we can call somebody to bring you clothes if you don’t want to go home.”
She looks down at her outfit and then back up at me. “Yeah, I guess I can call somebody.”