“Mouthwash,” I say, taking a sip of Chambord. “Good if you need a stiff drink before you kiss someone.”
“Grandma.” Nikky makes a face.
“I wasn’t born yesterday, you know. It’s quite clear you were talking to a young lady just now.”
Nikky doesn’t reply. He reaches for the Grand Marnier.
“You don’t have to tell me all the details.” I pat the back of Nikky’s hand. “Just nod your head or shake it.”
He knocks back a near full liqueur glass, then nods his head. Yes.
“Here, try the Crème de Cacao.” I lift the angular bottle in both hands and pour a little into each of our glasses. We drink in silence.
“Gecccchhhh.” Nikky wrinkles his nose and squints.
“Not that good, is it?” I stand behind my grandson and rest my hand on his shoulder.
“No. Too sweet.”
“It reminds me of some good old days, though. There used to be a lot more of those.”
“Then I like it.” Nikky reaches a long arm out to the sidebar and pours each of us some more. I set my glass down on the table and study my grandson. I can still see the boy in him. His facial expressions, the way he moves his body. I look him up and down, trying to record this memory of Nikky as a boy. Perhaps the last one. I notice his long-sleeved black T-shirt hangs short.
“Those long arms.” I tug on Nikky’s left shirt cuff. “I think it’s time we measured you again for the scrapbook. I’m sure you’ve grown again.” Nikky tips his glass, about to chug. I tap him on the shoulder, like I used to do, when he was a smaller boy.
“This drink is for sipping.”
Nikky takes a sip, puts his glass down, and follows me into the spare room. He watches as I retrieve the big, old Growing Up scrapbook from behind the sewing machine table and set it on his unmade bed. He looks at the familiar bright yellow cover and begins flipping through the pages: old birthday cards, ribbons from elementary school sports days, class photos. Neither of his parents kept anything like this.
“Aw, Grandma. You’ve still got some of my old artwork from high school. These sketches are terrible.”
“I like them.” I unfurl the measuring tape. “Stand up.” Nikky stands against the wall and straightens his shoulders. I reach up, place an old sewing manual on top of his head to flatten his hair, and mark the wall with a pencil.
“You should see the stuff I’m doing now at art school. It’s so much better,” Nikky says as I measure a second time for accuracy.
“Goodness, you’re much taller.” I turn to the page in the scrapbook where long ago I’d drawn a growth chart with an old wooden ruler. I hand my grandson a ballpoint pen. “Write down six feet, two inches.”
“Whoah. Two more inches.” Nikky writes in the book, his numbers large and blocky alongside my own elegant cursive. “I think I’m done growing now, though.”
“Maybe.” I sit down on the bed beside him. “But we grow in other ways, yes?”
Nikky reaches abruptly into his pocket and pulls out his cellphone. The electronic blip.
“It’s her again. Jennifer. Should I get it?”
“Of course.” I stand. I close the door behind me to give Nikky his privacy.
I drop into my chair, suddenly exhausted. I roll up the measuring tape, place it on the table beside me, lean back, and close my eyes.
“Grandma.” Something is push-pulling at my shoulder. I feel submerged as though underwater and want to stay in the murky depths, but the shaking is insistent.
“Grandma.” I open my eyes and look at Nikky. His face is out of focus.
“What is it, dear?” I blink, shiver, and straighten my glasses. Nikky rests his young, strong hand on my shoulder. I touch it with my shaking one, feeling heat radiate from his body.
“I have to go.” Nikky straightens up. I look down and see his bag at his feet.
“Where, dear?”
“Back to Vancouver. My gir — Jennifer needs me.”
I struggle up from the chair. “Is she a nice girl, this Jennifer?”
“She’s amazing. Super talented.” Nikky hoists his bag onto his shoulder. “Everything.”
“No time for laundry? Dinner?” I clutch at his arm, already knowing the answers. Nikky sighs. I look into his eyes and let go.
My whole body shakes. I walk over to the sideboard and rest my hands on it. I need something to hold on to. I need more time to teach Nikky the things he needs to know. “Now you take care of your Jennifer.” When I say it out loud, the words sound more urgent than I expect.
Nikky looks startled. This is the right reaction, because I know he’s paying attention.
“When you’re young you can feel like you can do anything, and go in any direction,” I continue. “Your career is important, yes, but life is a much grander thing when we’re responsible for each other. I want you to be a gentleman. Promise me you’ll look after her.”
Nikky nods, solemn and thoughtful. We both know we’re talking about his father. How Nikky can be different.
“I promise, Grandma.”
“And next visit stay longer.”
“Yes.” Nikky nods, blinks rapidly, then turns to look out the window. I compose myself, too, though my words still linger in the air, exposed — old sentiments finally said. I open the wooden silverware box, retrieve a small, fat envelope, then pick up the bottle of Crème de Cacao. “Here,” I hand him both. “Take a cab to the bus station. I’ll call one now. There should be enough in there for the bus, ferry, and a little extra, too. And put this in your bag. For sipping.”
“And good days.” Nikky leans down and kisses me gently on the cheek.
“And good days,” I repeat.
I wait with Nikky at the lobby door. The cab arrives too quickly. I try to stop the shaking. And the tears. There’s still so much I need to teach him.
“Oh, Grandma, I’ll be back soon.” Nikky hugs me, shoulders his bag, and opens the door.
“Leaving already?” Charles appears on the sidewalk outside the condo, carrying a small bag of groceries. I watch as Charles and Nikky shake hands. I think I see him slip a twenty-dollar bill into Nikky’s palm like a proper grandfather. My ex-husband Tibor wasn’t much for goodbyes. Or hellos, either. Charles steps back as Nikky climbs into the cab. I wave as the cab speeds away. Tremors rattle my limbs. I turn down the hall before Charles can see my teary face, but I glance back as I round the corner. Charles is standing by the door, alone.
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