I hang the towel on the oven door with a little twist of shame.
“Granny, I’m not worried about your mind. Your hearing, though…let’s try this again. We became good friends that day. We’re still friends. Nothing more.”
“It could be plenty more, girl, with a bull like him,” she whispers, throwing me an annoyed glance.
“Gran.”
“Oh, enough. Nothing I’ve said is that scandalous. You’re a grown woman, Tory, smack-dab in your prime. You’ve had a regular boyfriend before. I just wish you’d find one who treats you right.”
And I wish she’d butt out.
But I see her point.
In her totally outrageous Gran way, she’s always looking out for me.
“Well, he’s history now,” I tell her.
“Thank God! Didn’t that man wear leggings?” She looks up in horror.
“He’s a dance director, Gran. A guy has to put freedom of movement above fashion.”
“Bah.” She swipes a hand through the air. “And to think how your mother used to threaten me. She said I’d never see you again if you ever came home pregnant after your summers here, yet there she goes and throws you in bed with Jean-Paul What’s-his-face because he’s supposed to be the best dance coach on the planet. Never mind the fact that he was ten years older than you, and divorced twice!”
Damn.
Right between the eyes.
I bite my lips together to keep from responding. I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry because everything she’s said is true.
Besides me becoming pregnant in Dallas when I was young. That’s the first I’m hearing it, and sad to say, it’s exactly what Mom would worry about.
Why, I think her head might pop off if I ever tarnished the illustrious Redson-Riddle bloodline of admirals, artists, and politicians with something as pearl-clutching as an unplanned pregnancy with a farm boy. Even now that I’m in my mid-twenties.
Ugh.
“Quinn was just as infatuated with you,” Gran continues with a sigh. “But he was also too sensible. He understood the wretched complications with you two doves getting closer then. He really was a responsible kid, so mature for his age, and he’s a heck of a grown man now. He needs some, and so do you, dear.”
What. Is. Happening?
Of all the madness I expect with Gran, standing in her kitchen while she critiques my sex life—and Quinn’s—is not on my big list of crazy.
“Um, what?” Dumbfounded, I stare at her.
“An affair. A sleepover. A little nighttime nibble.” She shrugs like she’s telling me the weather. “Call it whatever you want, but I bet that young man’s an absolute wolverine when the lights go out. Don’t you?”
Holy Toledo.
I can’t even form a coherent response. My mind is blown by the places she’s gone, and I’m not coming along for the ride.
It also doesn’t help to have her feeding red meat to thoughts I shouldn’t be having.
“You know I love you, Tory, and I also know what you need,” Granny continues, undaunted. “To know other men so you can get that jackass dance instructor out of your head.” She points the twelve-inch knife that she’s using to dice a cucumber now right at me. “I’m sorry your knee was injured, but frankly, I think it might be the best thing to ever happen to you. Now you have a chance to see what else life has to offer besides a jerk of a boyfriend-boss who walks like he has a corncob stuck up his butt. I’ve seen the Barnet rooster, Cornelius, with a better strut.”
I groan, pushing a hand over my face.
“Is that why you were so insistent I come out here to heal?”
“Yep. You’ve also been living your mother’s dreams too long and losing yours. It’s time for you to find your own, Tory. Sometimes you kids need to hear it from your grandparents.”
“Sometimes,” I echo, sarcasm off the charts.
“Fine. Just ask Bella Larkin, then. Old Jonah Reed was still giving her advice after he was dead, or so I hear. Now look at her—married to the man of her dreams and a little bundle of joy on her knee!” She winks and goes back to cutting up her cucumber. “Don’t get me wrong, now, I love your mama. For some unholy reason, she’s made your father very happy over the years, and me, by giving birth to you.”
I sense there’s more coming. With Granny there always is.
“But she’s made you chase after her dance career since the time you could walk,” she says, shaking her head. “She wanted you to be a dancer when she couldn’t anymore. Hardly fair.”
“But I wanted to be a dancer, too,” I say, feeling the need to defend my mother on this one. She’s been my biggest motivator and probably my biggest fan. Biggest hard-ass, definitely. “I’m not some robot running around, doing whatever she tells me to.”
“I know, dear, and you’re a beautiful dancer. Always have been.” She pushes aside the cucumber and starts on an onion, dicing it in no time without a hint of tears. “Still, you never had a chance to be anything else. You’ve been a little puppet on a string, and Gloria made sure you enjoyed it.” Barely taking a breath, she points the knife at the clock. “Time’s a wasting. You’d best go get showered. Want me to pick out an outfit for you?”