“Neither, dear. Ye met him when ye were ten, or so. I believe ye told me he could pass fer, and I quote,‘a portlier David Tennant’.” She takes a chip from the plate and dips it in sauce.
I nod and take a few chips of my own, chew then swallow as I recall Morton, this mystery man of hers, “the professor from Cambridge?”
I remember the day she is talking about; we went in our usual café to warm ourselves after walking around St. James Park, the air was crisp and cool, the rare dusting of snow on the grass and trees made it feel as if time stood still.
I was nearly eleven at the time, just before Gran’s retirement from teaching. This happened to be before Isaac was shot and my world was altered. These were happier times.
Gran’s lips tilt in a grin, “Aye, he is the professor of Medieval History, and quite the looker.”
“That he is.” I nod, recalling the gentleman sat alone at the corner table with a scattering of literature about the crusades.
“But enough about me, it’s ye we have come here fer.” Her motherly side begins to take shape, “how are ye and Alexander? Ye’re not quite yerself. Did something happen?”
“It’s complicated.” Here we go. I pestered her about her new lad, it’s my turn to tell her about mine.
She points a crisp at me before popping it in her mouth, “Is it the news about Isaac that has ye scared? Or is it hard for ye to accept Alexander’s help?”
“They had no right.”
“No, they dinnae.” She agrees but I could tell she is far from done, “Had they not searched, and something happened to ye, I’d be devastated.” She sat resolute, “let them help ye and listen to Alexander’s reasonings. Ye owe him that.”
I took a sip of my pint and let her words sink in. A tourist couple nearby gathered their items to depart, leaving Gran and I alone at last. Her words solidify what my heart has tried to tell my mind however I’ve been too caught up in my selfishness.
“It’s time Daniel ken yer past-
“No. Absolutely not.” I interject, “he doesn’t need the added stress.”
He is still recovering from his accident and the news of this would only set him back.
I never wanted Daniel Thompson to learn of my secrets; he is going to be devastated and wonder why I kept it from him all these years. Sure, he can speculate as to why I have a therapist without knowing the exact truth, but as Gran said, he is no numpty; he has to sense something amiss.
Would my father view me as the same person? Would I be able to look him in the eye and not see the destruction written there?
That is why I can never tell him.
Gran gave a curt nod knowing the subject is a touchy one.
Her knowing stare raked over my face, “He’d rather hear it from ye then from someone else.” Gran took a fork full into her mouth and eyed me as she chewed.
Silence filled the space as I soak that in. I don’t want my father to think of his only daughter in that light, but in the same aspect she has a point. Either way, this cannot end well.
About halfway through our meal, it’s time I bring up a certain subject; the man who has me in knots.
“Gran, tell me about the harmony of the heart. How did you know Grandfather was the one?” I ask, remembering her stories of the first encounter and everything leading up to his untimely death.
I never met my grandfather, but his lively spirit and the love they shared is kept alive even now. The way she speaks of him, they were soulmates, a music teacher, and a factory worker in everlasting devotion.
Pure harmony.
I’ve piqued her interest as she takes the hand I had resting on the table, “ye know the stories dear,” her eyes fill with a faraway look, “Our hearts knew we were destined for eternal love. Yer grandfather Walter swept me off my feet, his heart singing the sweetest song ever heard,” her eyes crinkle with the delight of the past, “my heart sang with his in perfect harmony.”
A love like theirs is one I have always imagined finding one day. The way Gran describes it is naturalistic and easy, the flow of two becoming one. Could this be what Alexander and I share?
“What does it feel like?”
Gran gave my hand a squeeze, “everyone’s experience is unique, only two are the same, two souls singing the same song in search of the other.” She lends me her comfort in my otherwise uncertainty, “is that what ye’re beginning to feel fer Alexander?”
Gran has that look like she already knows the answer.