1
Jenna
After being on the road for a few months, there’s nothing I crave more than a home-cooked meal. There’s only so much McDonald’s and greasy diner food that a girl can stand. Give me something hearty and homemade, crafted with love, and served on a cute Corelle plate with a glass of ice-water. After so many weeks of being on the road with my band, that’s my definition of bliss.
Thankfully, my grandparents are always down to deliver.
“Jenna!” Grandma Carrie says as she opens the door. She pulls me insistently into a hug, and I melt into her familiar embrace. Grandma and Grandpa raised me from age four on, after my folks died in a car accident. I never feel more at home than when sweet Grandma Carrie has me wrapped in her arms.
“Hi, Grandma,” I laugh as we pull apart. She smiles at me, and then frowns, reaching forward to touch my shoulder-length hair.
“Another crazy color?” she sighs. “But Jenna, your blonde hair is so beautiful!”
I can’t help but grin. “It’s still mostly blonde,” I say, although my natural color has been lightened into a platinum sheen. “And don’t worry, the pink streak is just semi-permanent. It won’t last forever.”
“It’ll last until you dye it green or purple or blue,” Grandma sighs with a twinkle in her eye. “But you’ll always be my beautiful shining star, no matter what, sweetheart.”
“Aw, Grandma! You’re making me blush and I’m not even in the door yet!”
We share a laugh as she ushers me inside. Their suburban New Jersey home is small but quaint, and the quintessential elderly abode. The furniture, carpeting, and wallpaper are outdated, and the same I remember from my childhood. Grandma’s numerous knitted creations serve as decorations, as do Grandpa’s spoon collection and baseball knick-knacks. Still, the familiar sight makes my heart swell. It’s good to be in my childhood home.
“Is our girl here?” Grandpa Peter emerges from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel. His beard is just as long and white as I remember, his belly straining against his belt. I’ve always believed that my grandparents looked like Mr. and Mrs. Claus, and the image only becomes more accurate the older they get.
“I’m here!” I smile and wave. He squeezes me tightly in a hug and kisses my cheek.
“Missed you, sweetheart,” he says. “How was touring?”
“Pretty great!” I say, smiling. “I’ll tell you more over dinner. Speaking of which, what are we having?”
We walk together to the kitchen, chatting and laughing. Grandma Carrie holds my hand and doesn’t seem intent on letting it go. She knows how important my band, Lolly Popz, is to me, and how important it is for us to go on the road to play our music for others. Still, whenever I’m back in town, she wants to keep me with her as much as possible. I know that she still misses my mom, and I look just like my mom--albeit with more dye in my hair, and with a tendency to wear a lot of animal print.
Grandpa Peter, the cooking whiz of the family, stirs some spices into a pot of tomato sauce. It turns out we’re having some of his famous spaghetti and meatballs, along with a big green salad and some crusty bread. My mouth waters in anticipation as I inhale the garlicky scent of a fresh-baked loaf.
“You have no idea how excited I am for this,” I inform my grandparents. “I can’t remember the last time I had a vegetable. We were always eating burgers and fries on the road, and while I appreciate a good quarter pounder, still. I think I must be getting scurvy. Do I look orange to you?”
Grandpa Peter laughs. “Is orange skin a symptom of scurvy? No, sweetheart, you look fine. We’ll make sure you get some actual nutrients tonight, Jenna.”
“Are you taking the vitamins I told you to pack?” Grandma Carrie asks worriedly. “Scurvy is real, sweetheart. People don’t get it much these days, but I’m worried about you. Imagine that! A group of girls touring all over the country by themselves!”
I smile because back in my grandparents’ day, ladies were in bed by the time the sun set. But times have changed, and I’m a musician intent on getting my tunes out to the masses.
“Don’t worry, I’ve definitely been taking my vitamins,” I say, reassuring her with a squeeze of her hand. Of course, it’s a fib but a little white lie won’t hurt, and Grandma Carrie looks appeased.
“Oh good,” she says. “We just want you to be healthy and happy, Jenna.”
I smile and help set the table with the familiar blue-and-white plates, the striped placemats, and the sturdy plastic cups they’ve always used. Grandpa and Grandma always sit on one side, and I sit opposite them. My heart still swells at the sight of them sitting side by side, holding hands and beaming at me. They’ve been married almost fifty years now, and it’s a sight I’ll never grow tired of.