3. Grant

CHAPTER 3

Grant

“ I appreciate you doing this,” I force out as Elsie parks her car in front of my house. “Let me give you some money for gas.”

“Grant.” She chuckles, shaking her head. “It took fifteen minutes and it’s a hybrid. I don’t need gas money. Now, let me help you inside.” Panic fills me at her words. Her? Alone? In my house? Yeah, no… abso-fucking-lutely not happening.

“I would rather just go inside and ice my leg and nuts, Els, but than—” The driver’s door shuts as Elsie—completely ignoring me—starts strolling up to my steps. I notice a slight limp and wonder if she hurt herself in the fall.

Contorting myself out of the tiny-ass car, I make my way toward her. “Are you alright?” I ask while climbing the couple steps that lead onto the front porch of my snow-covered bungalow.

“Yeah, why?” She beams up at me as I unlock the door.

“You’re limping,” I point out, gesturing to her leg as we walk in and she instantly removes her snow covered shoes, leaving them on the mat by the door.

“Oh it’s nothing—” Her voice trails off as she looks around expectantly. “What on earth is going on here?”

“What?” I ask, feeling almost defensive. What’s wrong with my house? It’s a nice house, I keep it up-to-date and it’s relatively clean.

“Where are the Christmas decorations? Where’s your tree?” Oh for fucksake.

“Un-purchased and at the store where they belong,” I mutter while moving past her to my couch. I sit at the end with the chaise as I begin unzipping the interior zipper of my pant leg. “You don’t have to be here for this,” I mutter, feeling exposed. It’s not a secret about my prosthetic—obviously. She’s seen it. Fuck she’s seen the worst of the worst. But still, removing the prosthesis, the socket and liner—it’s not necessarily the sexiest position I've been in.

“Here for what?” she asks, partially distracted as she wanders around my living room. “This would be perfect for those old-school Christmas lights.” She beams, while running her fingers over my mantle. “Honestly, I feel like your house would be amazing with the old, colorful lights, lots of red and green…” She trails off as she turns toward me while I slide the sleeve off my leg and let out a hiss in pain.

“Yeah, ain’t happening.” I chuckle to mask my discomfort as I rest back against the couch pillow. I look at her, expecting to see her staring at my leg, but she’s not. She’s taking her coat off and hanging it up by the door before lightly limping back to me.

“I’ll get you some ice.”

“I’m fine,” I say softly. “I’ll take some painkillers and elevate it.” She wrinkles her nose while giggling lightly.

“I meant for your nuts.” I feel the heat rush to my cheeks at her statement. She walks to the kitchen and returns after a moment with a plastic bag of ice and a kitchen towel.

“Thanks,” I say while placing the bag on my crotch. She sits on the couch next to me and I think I make it to the count of twelve before she inhales to begin her nervous chatter. She’s been doing this since we were kids and her dad was still around. Silence always meant she was going to be in trouble by him, so she continuously talked in hopes it would distract him—it rarely ever did.

“You know what you need?” she starts, and I roll my eyes.

“I don’t want Christmas decorations,” I groan as she huffs.

“First off, those are happening. We can’t have Project Chestnuts happening in an unseasonal location. No, headquarters has to be top notch for photo ops.” A–Am I having a stroke?

“Headquarters? Project Chestnuts? Els, what are you talking about?”

“Project Chestnuts is the name of the Christmas Marketplace project. Like it? I just came up with it.”

“Why chestnuts? Why not just call it the ‘Christmas Marketplace Project’?” Why am I humoring this? I don’t care why? Why is she still here is the question I need to be asking.

“Chest.” Elsie pokes her beautiful—emphasis on the full—breasts. “And nuts!” She points to my sore crotch.

“I don’t want to play anymore,” I groan as she giggles excitedly. “Fine,” I relent, but only because that sweet little laugh is my fucking kryptonite. “Why is my house the headquarters? And what in the fuck makes you think there will be any photos taken in here?”

“There will be pictures, because memories are important and some day you may want to look back on them.” Her voice holds a tone that hits me in the gut. She shakes her head before shrugging. “And it’s either your place or mine and seeing as I am kind of without a place to live at the moment…” She trails off and I watch her tuck her coppery hair behind her ears—it’s a tic of hers, she has a couple that I’ve watched develop since we were kids. Hair behind the ears, popping her knuckles individually three complete times, and if she’s really bad, she starts counting things while tapping her fingers against her thumb.

“Why not stay with Nona?” I ask, trying to get her moving past the sad thoughts.

“Ha! Are you insane!” She laughs while curling her legs up onto the couch cushion. My chest is doing this weird tightening thing that I’m sure warrants a call to my doctor. “I ain’t staying with that crazy woman and whatever gentleman or lady callers she brings home for the night!” I shudder at the thought. Nona is a—worldly woman. She’s been fighting and protesting for women’s rights all over the country for decades, though her tactics are a bit…unorthodox. While some believe in signs and human barriers, Nona was out there setting things on fire and holding public orgies. While she doesn’t protest anymore her… ummm… desires haven’t diminished with age and she’s often seen with other men, women, or groups. Honestly it’s not what you’d expect in this quiet, Hallmark looking town, but I’m pretty sure Nona either secretly owns the town or has dirt on the people who do because no one bats an eye at the eighty-something, heavily tattooed, no bra wearing woman.

“Valid,” I state, rubbing my aching thigh.

“You never let me finish my statement,” she says while rubbing her eye. I wonder if the contacts she’s wearing are bothering her. Elsie has terrible vision and usually has on glasses. She looks so fucking adorable in them. But over the last month I’ve noticed her switching to contacts, I also have noticed she’s constantly rubbing and blinking her eyes to adjust them. “Do you know what you need?”

“Right now? A large pizza and a nap.”

“Oh that sounds delicious, but no. You need a friend.” I scoff at her suggestion as the hairs on the back of my neck prickle and stand on end.

“If this is you offering—”

“Shut up, I’m the best friend you got.” She swats my bicep and I raise my brow.

“We aren’t even friends.”

“Woah, excuse the mess but my heart just shattered all over your floor,” she states dryly and I give her a low chuckle before she continues. “No you need a furbaby, like a dog.”

“Hard pass.” I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone to find something—anything to do besides have this conversation. I don’t want friends—human or otherwise.

“Well, I think a friend would be good for you.” She smiles while standing. “Along with some Christmas decorations.” Sighing, I drop my phone down as I glare up at her.

“Well, maybe this is a time of the year I’d rather forget,” I snap out and watch as the color and playfulness leave her face. “Maybe, I would rather not think about the last time I had lights up, or a tree. Maybe I would rather not think about the last time I had a fucking friend. Maybe Elsie, just maybe, I do the things I do to keep going and I don’t need you coming along and fucking it up with your suggestions. Don’t you fucking get it? I want to be left the fuck alone!” I hear the pop pop pop of her knuckles as her lip quivers and her eyes go glassy.

“Fuck, Els—” She waves me off and forces a smile which squeezes the tears from her eyes.

“I should go. I-If you need a ride to your tr—” She pauses while grabbing her coat. “Right, you’ll find a way, without my help. Have a good night, Grant.”

“Elsie, goddamnit, wait!” I call out as I reach for my crutch. It’s too late, though, she’s already in her car and driving back down to town, leaving me here with a pit in my stomach and chest pain that could be a heart attack. Why didn’t I humor her? I finally had her in my house, she said pizza sounded good. I could’ve ordered us some, this could’ve been an unofficial date and yet…

“You fucking moron.”