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Every Wednesday I have a date.
Or at least that’s what my Gran calls it.
I accompany her to her Bridge night with her old lady friends, (don't tell them I called them old) …(but they are).
Her weekly Wednesday date with her favorite grandson.
“I’m your only grandson,” I tell her every week.
“So? That doesn’t make you any less my favorite,” she responds back every week.
I can’t deny that I look forward to this. It was a bit awkward at first, but slowly we started thawing towards each other. Well, I thawed, my Gran has never been anything less than warm and welcoming.
She picks me up at 6pm sharp with some kind of treat waiting for me on the passenger’s seat.
I’ve never felt so spoiled in my life.
Had a proper fit about it back when it first started.
Broke down in front of Baz, going on and on about not deserving this.
“She barely knows me!” I yelled at him, sobbing into my hands. “She wouldn’t do this if she knew me! I don’t deserve her kindness.”
“You do, Love,” he told me, as if it were that simple.
“I killed her daughter!” My voice seemed to echo in our small flat.
My labored breathing is the only thing left after my outburst.
Finally, Baz takes my face in his cold hands.
“You listen to me, Simon Snow.” He waits until I bring my teary eyes up to his loving gray. “You deserve all of it. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were a pawn and the World of Mages should be making it up to you for the rest of your life, and your children’s life, and your children’s, children’s life.” He pauses and I can see the pink blush that bloomed on his cheeks. He rarely speaks of our future like that. That’s my fault too. I must show it on my face because he grabs my chin hard to bring the focus back to him. “No, none of that. Let that woman spoil you. Let her spoil you so rotten your teeth rot right out of your gorgeous face.”
I laugh through the snot and tears.
“How?” I asked.
“By letting her love you,” he told me, bringing me into a hug. “Just let us love you. You deserve it.”
After that, I accepted her gifts, her hugs, and eventually, her love.
Tonight, she’s brought me a basketful of scones, wrapped up all pretty like they should be displayed in a fancy bakery window.
It makes my mouth water.
“Hello, Dear,” she greets me, reaching over the center console to give me a quick hug. She pulls back, motioning at the basket of scones, “I think I finally cracked that damned Prichard cherry scone recipe. Baz and you will have to let me know.”
“Baz could just get you the recipe you know?” I tell her.
She looks at me aghast, “Never! What kind of baker do you take me for?!” I panic for a moment, thinking I’ve offended her. But before that thought gets away from me, she barks out a laugh.
Her laugh is the kind that fills a whole room. She uses her entire body and the sound travels into your core, vibrating your soul.
It’s lovely.
I put up my hands in mock surrender, “How silly of me. Please don’t take out my misstep on the baked goods.”
She laughs again and I take in this moment.
“Should we get going?” She asks, slapping the steering wheel.
“Let’s go kick some bridge butt!” I tell her.
“I heard through the grapevine, that Lady Whithington is bringing her grandson tonight.” She smiles over at me, like I’m in on a secret. “Made those old biddies jealous, I have. All them going to start bringing their grandkids now.”
“Wow, like—Whithington, Dr. Blaine Whithington? He’s—that’s—” I’m stumbling over my words.
“Yeah, that’s the one,” she confirms, seeming very unconcerned that I’m going to have to make small talk with a person who came up with the cure for Spell Blindness. “Stuffy twat, that’s what he is.”
“Yeah, but like, a smart stuffy twat,” I say, nervously fidgeting with my hands.
Usually it’s just me in a room with a bunch of old ladies. They play their game. I get them drinks and snacks while they swap gossip.
Gran snorts and glances over at me quickly, “He’s boring. Even Helen has said so! And he’s her grandson!”
“Still,” I say.
My thoughts start spiraling.
She’s going to see that I’m trash. That my life is in shambles compared to some fancy doctor. I don’t know if I can handle losing all this. I just finally accepted it all. Why can’t anything go right? Why don’t I ever get to keep things?
“—not one of them gets to say that their blood saved all of magic,” Ruth is saying, while parking the car and collecting her bag.
I lost all track of time.
How are we here? How long had she been talking?
“I didn’t do that,” is all I can say.
“Bollocks!” She says, waving me off. She swears more than I ever imagined an old lady swearing. It has a weird calming effect on me. “You very well did. Those old hags can bring every heir they have and it won’t ever hold a candle to what you’ve sacrificed for us.”
“It doesn’t feel that way,” I say, shoving my hands in my pocket and following behind her.
She stops abruptly and I almost run right into her.
“I haven’t had to pull my grandmother card before, but I’m pulling it now,” she says with her hands on her hips trying to look stern. I’d laugh if I wasn’t moments away from crying. Instead I look down at the ground and hope she isn’t too disappointed in me. “I will say this to you as many times as I need to, young man. Every magician in this Circe’s cursed planet owes you a debt of gratitude. Not a single one of them would have sacrificed what you did, not even for their own mother. And you did it for the people who spat on you your whole life. Fuck them, and their doctor grandsons.”
We stand there, facing each other for several moments. I let what she said sink it.
I don’t know if I believe it, but I believe she believes it. And that’s enough for right now.
“Baz says the same thing,” I tell her.
“Smart man. Always liked him,” she says, spinning around and heading toward the door. “Better put a ring on that.”
I trip over my feet and sputter nonsense back at her.
She laughs and my soul feels lighter.