Page 73 of The Way I Hate Him
“Areyou going to get a haircut soon?” Grandma asks as I walk into her apartment.
“Good to see you too, Gran,” I say. I set down a plate of the cherry almond cookies I can’t stop consuming and offer Gran a kiss on the cheek. Hattie and Maggie helped me make more cookies this morning before they went off to have a pool day in my backyard. I knew the minute they headed to their rooms to change into their bathing suits, I needed to leave. No fucking way was I about to sit around and catch Hattie prancing around in a bikini.
No, that would destroy the crumbling resolve I’ve tried to desperately hold on to where Hattie is concerned.
A visit to my grandma’s is exactly what I need.
They’re always sobering.
“Well, are you?” she asks.
“Gran, I got one a few weeks ago.”
“That can’t be the truth. You look like you have a mop on your head.”
I toss around my thick hair on the top that I keep longer than the sides. “This is how I wear it.”
“Stop joking with me. It looks like there’s a dead raccoon on your head.”
See . . . sobering.
“What have you been up to, Gran? Besides counting the millimeters of hair growth on my head?” It’s healthy to change the subject with her. It keeps the conversation fresh, or she’ll drag down the same topic until it’s dead and buried.
“Being smart with me, I see,” she says as she adjusts herself in her chair to pull back her window curtain with her cane. She uses the end and points down to the house in front of hers. “See those children down there playing? The Macabees? They keep throwing rocks at the fire hydrant. I hope one of them knocks off the screw, and they get popped in the face with a blast of water.”
Did I mention she’s an old crotch?
Because she is.
The biggest of them all.
“I mentioned their disrespect to the Peach Society, and they said they’d have a conversation with the parents. But I don’t think it’s happened yet because I still see them throwing rocks. Is that what the world has come to? Throwing rocks at innocent fire hydrants?”
“It’s almost as if they’re forced to play outside rather than be on their electronics,” I say.
“Exactly! We have screens for a reason. Stick them in front of one.”
I chuckle and shake my head. “Some people might say that more kids need to be outside.”
“Nonsense. Screens keep them out of trouble.”
“Whatever you say, Gran.”
“When are you going to give me great-grandchildren?”
Oh Jesus, here we go again. I swear great-grandchildren and her impending death are her favorite things to discuss. I don’t think she sees the irony of the two things.If she dies, there will still be no great-grandchildren.
“Not for a while unless you want me having children out of wedlock.”
“I don’t care how you have them. Impregnate a giraffe for all I care. I just want great-grandchildren. I’m not getting any younger, you know. I broke my hip. Do you know what that means? I’m dying in six months.”
Wow, she combined them today. I’m impressed.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “If you’re dying in six months, how could I possibly give you great-grandchildren if it takes at least nine months to make one?”
“I don’t know. You have your ding-a-ling that’s been around the block. Any accidents happen?”
Jesus Christ, did they give her an upper today?
