3. Rowan

3

ROWAN

" D id you have fun last night?" Grammy asked around a mouthful of cereal. A half-empty cup of tea sat at her elbow. Dressed in her pink fleece llama-print pajamas, she drooped over her breakfast, her bedhead a wild, white nimbus backlit by the morning sun streaming into the kitchen. She eyed Rowan as she tapped a stubby nail on the retro dinette set's turquoise formica top, the hydrating patches she'd put on her under-eye circles bringing out gold flecks in her light brown eyes.

Rowan's head whipped around and her pulse shot up. What? Why was she asking? Had she heard that Rowan went to the crossroads after dropping off her bag last night and not out with Eloise like she'd claimed? God, why did she suddenly feel like she was sixteen again, caught sneaking home through her bedroom window after partying until the wee hours down by the river? "That sugary cereal is bad for you," she said, deflecting the question as she splashed milk into her tea.

Baring her teeth at her granddaughter, Grammy pulled her bowl closer, curling a protective arm around it. "It's been so peaceful and quiet here without you around, judging my life choices, sweetheart."

She placed a fresh cup of tea in front of her grandmother and gave her a kiss on her soft curls. "I'm only trying to look out for you."

"And I appreciate your concern, I really do, but stay away from my cereal or I'll bite you." Grammy stuffed another spoonful of the colorful circles into her mouth and chewed loudly.

Snickering at her feisty grandmother, she slid into a chair and almost slid off, the purple silk of her borrowed pajama set making her glide a hair too fast over the seat's turquoise vinyl. That's what she got for forgetting her own PJs when packing. Luckily, she and her grandmother were about the same size, complete with the same big boobs and wide hips. Grammy had called it an hourglass figure when trying to comfort a teenaged Rowan, upset that the popular low-rise jeans she wanted didn't fit her curves.

"Hey, you want to start the day out on a sugar high, go for it," she said, taking a big bite of her avocado toast. Mmm, everything bagel seasoning , she thought, munching happily. "But don't come complaining to me when you crash later," she added after swallowing.

Grammy grunted and took another sip from the mug Rowan got her for her birthday that read "Preserved by sugar, powered by spite".

She pointed the point of her toast triangle at the mug. "Shoulda had them change it to ‘Decomposing from sugar'." For that, she got a swat on her arm.

"Honey, you do realize you're getting older, too, right?" Granny fluffed her hair. "You'll be lucky to look this good at my age."

"I'm counting on your genes to win out over Dad's side," she said, noting how few wrinkles her 80-year-old grandmother had.

On the other hand, the remaining over-70s on her father's side all looked like beef jerky. Too much time worshiping the sun, coated in oil, roasting their retirement away under the Florida sunshine. Even her dad, who'd moved down there after her mother's death, was well on his way to the jerky stage. Whatever floated their boats, she supposed.

From its place on the burnished wood countertop across the room, Rowan's phone buzzed.

"No phones at the table," Granny reminded her.

She rolled her eyes, an automatic response. "Okay, Granny."

Stuffing the rest of her toast in her mouth, Rowan grabbed her plate and mug, rinsing them before setting them in the sink to wash later. The phone let out a running chime that didn't stop until Rowan reached over to shut it off.

"Boy, aren't we Miss Popular today," Granny said, leaning back in her chair, her hands wrapped around her mug.

"That last one was an alarm. I'm opening the shop for you this morning so you can go to your doctor's appointment, remember?"

Granny scowled into her tea.

"You didn't forget, did you?"

"No." Her scowl deepened. "I don't need that patronizing doctor to pat me on the head and tell me my joints are creaky, and I need an afternoon nap because I'm getting older. I don't need to shell out a fifty-dollar co-pay to be told what I already know. Healthcare in America is a scam."

"Agreed, but it's your yearly, and I want him to check your blood pressure." She knew the added stress her grandmother was under. Folding her arms, she gave Granny a look. "You need to go. Do you want me to go with you? We can open the shop after."

"No. My blood pressure's fine," Granny growled. "And I don't like this new guy who took over Doc Earl's practice. He's a patronizing little prick."

Rowan sighed. "Okay, well, go see him today and get it out of the way. After that, we'll find you someone new. Someone non-patronizing." Her second alarm sounded. She blew out a breath. "I've got to run. Just promise me you'll go. I worry about you, you know."

"Not as much as I worry about you, sweetheart," Granny said, caving. "Fine. I'll go. You go. We'll all go." She flapped a hand. "So go."

Rowan checked her phone, noting that the notification buzz had been for a meeting later this morning. She didn't remember scheduling anything. A frown flickered over her face as she tried to recall what it was for or who it was with. Her calendar only gave a time and address. While she thanked Past Ro for adding it to her calendar, she cursed Past Ro in the same breath for leaving out the details. Her memory sucked, which was why she wrote everything down and religiously used her online calendar. Mentally, she shuffled things around so she could make it to her mystery meeting. If everything timed out right, Granny should be done and back at the shop before she had to go.

"I'll see you after your appointment." She gave her grandmother another hard look.

"I already said I was going, Little Miss Bossypants," Granny grumbled. "And don't go moving anything around in my store. I just got it all exactly where it's supposed to be."

Rowan snorted. "I know the rules, Big Miss Bossypants," she said, scooting out the door before her grandmother could respond.