Incandescent

“I’m hungry,” Grant said to Delaney as we were heading out to the truck, carrying the supplies I’d gathered.

“We can make something when we get home. Maybe sandwiches?”

“Unless you’re up for some pizza?” I said, not trying to insert myself into their plans, though it didn’t really seem like they had any.

“What do you have in mind?” Delaney asked as he placed the drop cloths in the bed of my truck.

“How about Geraci’s?” I was thinking about the small, old-school pizzeria in University Heights that’d been in business since the fifties.

Delaney’s eyes lit up. “We haven’t been there in years. What do you say, Grant?”

“Let’s do it.”

So we did, Grant chattering animatedly on the way there, mostly about my shop and the British Royal Navy. We ordered two pies and stuffed our faces with the pizza that reminded me of childhood. On the way back to their house, Delaney turned up the music again, and we all sang the refrain to an overplayed pop song. It was cheesy and fun, and given the satisfied grin on Delaney’s face, he thought so too.

15

Delaney

The next weekend brought fantastic autumn weather, though the leaves wouldn’t reach their peak color until the beginning of November. Fall was always a relief from the blistering-hot summer months, and Marcus would no doubt enjoy the mild temperatures and sunny weekends as he used our backyard to sand and paint.

When I glanced out the window, I noted the vivid blue sky, so the weather would likely cooperate all afternoon. I smiled, watching Marcus don eye protection before firing up his electric sander. There was something so attractive about how sure he was of himself when it came to his work—and I needed to stop staring, or he was liable to accuse me of stalker behavior.

I made my way around the boxes and drop cloths to the refrigerator. It was less daunting to do the kitchen update in stages, and we already had a system going. I painted and updated the electrical boxes in the spaces where the cabinets were missing so that Marcus could do his thing outside.

“Send Grant over anytime,” my mother-in-law, Donna, had said when I’d told her of our kitchen renovation plans. I’d also noted the melancholy in her voice, which was why I’d nearly avoided the subject, but I didn’t want her to be surprised on their next visit. I might’ve been projecting again, but it was as if she thought we were moving on and leaving Rebecca behind, and that wasn’t the case at all.

Grant had decided to stick around this weekend and take his grandmother up on the offer another time, likely because he was solidifying plans with his friends.

When I walked outside to hand Marcus a soda, he said, “I was thinking white for the cabinets and a charcoal for the island, to complement the pearl-gray wall color you chose.”

For the lower cabinets surrounding the sink, Marcus would have to complete the work indoors, and an errand to choose new countertops and stainless-steel fixtures was on the horizon.

“Let’s ask Grant because he’s the one who—”

Suddenly, a familiar tune drifted through Grant’s upstairs bedroom window, and Marcus grinned because it was from Hamilton. Grant had promised him music. When Grant slid the window open farther, I spotted his revolutionary jacket with the brass buttons along with the tricorn hat.

Marcus hooted his approval and clapped his hands, and I felt guilty about all the times I’d worried my child would be ostracized in public. If Marcus could embrace his uniqueness so easily, why couldn’t I? Grant’s cheeks were flushed, his smile bright and beautiful, and I felt a sharp stitch in my chest that I didn’t appreciate him fully.

“We were just talking about the paint colors,” I called up to him. “Want to come down?”

“I will in a minute. Is it okay if I bike over to Ellie’s house? She finally passed her driver’s exam and wants to take her mom’s car to the movies.”

“Sure,” I replied, though I bristled a little inside. It was always hard to imagine teenagers on the road, and Grant wouldn’t be far behind. “Which theater?”

“The Cedar Lee. Jeremy said we can use his employee discount for our tickets.”

“What about dinner?”

“Popcorn and soft pretzels?” Grant teased.

“A guy after my own heart,” Marcus said with a laugh.

I stopped myself from asking if he was going to wear that outfit. Of course he was, and it would be fine. Even if it wasn’t, he was old enough to take care of himself.

When Grant walked out a few minutes later to retrieve his bike from the garage, Marcus asked about his outfit, then sought his advice on the paint colors.

“I think the island should be stained a dark wood so the natural grain shows through,” Grant said.

“Look at you, knowing your stuff,” Marcus replied, and I’d admit I was pleasantly surprised.