CHAPTER 4

PIMP CANES

MIRYAM

I bring breakfast to my grandma the next morning, like I do every Saturday. I like to check on her every couple of days, even though one of my aunts lives with her. She might not have her vision anymore, but she still has her spunk. Time is a weird thing. When I was a girl, she seemed so giant and unstoppable. Now that I’m grown, she seems so much smaller and fragile. It’s my turn to take care of her.

She’s the mother I remember best. My three aunts did more than their fair share of helping raise me, but Bubbie was the one who put her life completely on hold to raise another child. She never took a day off. She was there every night to tuck me in. She would tell me stories of all the mischievous things my mom would do when she was my age. She said my memories of her would fade, but at least I would have her stories. She was right. I can’t remember how she walked or what her hair felt like, but I know the stories of all the times she tried to pull a fast one on my grandma. That’s how it is in our family. We’re an untamable bunch, but you get a lot of forgiveness if your transgressions are at least funny.

I portion out her French toast onto a plate. I pour two glasses of juice before putting the new carton away in the fridge. Aunt Abagail likes to sleep in on Saturdays because she knows I’m here. I always leave a plate of food for her in the fridge as well. She’s the only one of her sisters who never married, so she was the logical choice to move in with Bubbie. Aunt Abagail is the most relieved of everyone in the family that I got engaged. She would always tell me I was far too pretty to be single. Bubbie said she saw a lot of my mom in me and didn’t want me to end up alone like my mom. My mom is a superhero in my mind, so having her life doesn’t seem so bad.

Bubbie comes padding into the kitchen in her robe and slippers. She gets around the house so easily, it’s hard to remember she’s blind. She moved into this house when my mom was little, so the location of all its contents are burned into her brain. She refuses to get a service dog. She says she’s gone eighty-one years without a pet and she’s not going to get one now.

I walk over and hug her. “Good morning, Bubbie. How are you feeling?” I take her arm and lead her to the breakfast table. She hates being helped, so I’m trying to get subtler at it.

“Good morning, Miri. I can find my way to the table. I’ve been walking this path longer than you’ve walked the earth.”

That’s her nice way of saying back off. She slides into the built-in bench along the wall. She feels along the table top for her silverware. She sniffs the plate in front of her. “Is this that French toast I like?”

She’s always had a good nose. Maybe that’s how she could sniff out my mom’s teenage attempts at deception. “The very one. I know it’s your favorite. Do you want me to cut it for you?” I know what’s coming.

“I wish you all would stop treating me like I’m going to croak any day now. I can cut my own food, thank you very much, and I plan to dance at all your funerals.”

Like clockwork. Strangers looking from the outside in would think she’s the meanest old lady. She’s got a tough exterior, but that’s for show. She’s a survivor. Inside, she’s the most big-hearted softie there ever was. I watch her cut her toast with precision.

“I can feel you watching me.” She tries to sound irritated, but her smile gives her away.

I start cutting my own toast. “I like watching you. I need more stories to tell my future grandkids.”

She smiles bigger. “Speaking of, how is David?”

My smile matches hers. “He’s good. He’s juggling two huge cases right now, so he’s working a lot of long hours. Longer than usual. One of them might settle, so things could slow down for him soon.”

She dabs at her mouth with the napkin from her lap. “When are you moving?”

My stomach drops every time I think about moving. I’m so excited to live with David, but it’s a huge change. “I’m not sure yet. Packing is going slow. I have a lot of memories in my house. There’s isn’t room for most of my stuff in David’s condo, so it will have to go into storage. It’s taking time to pare down.”

“Why don’t you buy a new house together for your new life?”

This isn’t the first time she’s asked that question. I know she just doesn’t want me to sacrifice anything. But David is worth sacrificing for. “His condo is down the street from the firm. It’s more convenient right now. I’m sure we’ll move into a house outside of downtown at some point.”

She pauses before shoving another bite of heavenly French toast into her mouth. “Well, you’ll certainly have to move before you have babies. His condo isn’t built for children.”

She’s not wrong. David doesn’t want to have kids until he makes senior partner. Men don’t have a biological clock that is constantly being mentioned by three aunts. While children aren’t technically banned from his building, there are none living there by design. His condo caters to the young, single demographic. A few couples live there, but they are the minority. It’s not my ideal, but I would rather live closer to the office so I can see David more.

“How’s the wedding planning going, Miri? Do you need me to do anything?”

My bubbie is my favorite person in the world. She’s an eighty-one-year-old blind woman, but all she wants is to help me. “No, Bubbie. I don’t think so. Heather has it under control. Sheba’s been quite the taskmaster, making sure everything is perfect.”

Her brow furrows. “Who is Heather again?”

I swear she has a mental block on any names not of Hebrew origin. “Heather is the wedding planner, Bubbie.”

She nods. “That’s right. I don’t understand why kids these days don’t plan their own weddings. Your grandfather and I got married in my parent’s backyard and it only took three days to plan. I can’t understand dragging it out when you know you’ve got the right person. I’m not sure why you need to have a huge hoopla with a bunch of people blowing smoke up your ass.”

I wish I had her bluntness. I’m sure I inherited it and it’s lying dormant somewhere. It will manifest itself someday. “We didn’t purchase the smoke blowing package, but we needed someone to handle all the details. We invited a lot of people and we want everyone to enjoy their time. Heather came highly recommended and I’m sure everything is going to be top notch.”

Bubbie tilts her head as if she’s staring at something only she can see. “You know what I remember most about my wedding day? I remember feeling so beautiful in my dress. The way your grandfather looked at me when he first saw me… Well, I can’t even describe it. He looked almost enchanted. I will never, ever forget that.”

I love how much she still loves her husband, even though he’s been gone eleven years. He had a heart attack one day shortly after I went off to college and that was it. He took such good care of the person who took care of the rest of us.

“What does your dress look like? You still haven’t described it to me.”

I have to think for a second. I know Heather sent me a picture in an e-mail with a bunch of other items. I don’t recall opening it, though. “My dress is white. I think. I asked for something simple. I know I have to go in for a final fitting in a couple of months. I’ll try it on then. The tailor took super detailed measurements, so I’m sure it’s fine.”

She shakes her head and I know she’s about to voice her disapproval. “’I’m sure it’s fine’ is a heck of a way to describe your wedding dress, Miryam.”

“I don’t care about the dress. I care about marrying David.” I pick up our plates and move them to the sink. I turn on the water to heat it up. “I have lots of dresses. I don’t care what I wear as long as I get to be his wife.”

She brings the glasses and silverware to the sink and almost growls when I try to help her with them. “David makes you happy, so that makes him family automatically. We all love David and we want you to have the best start to your marriage that you can. This is your day and you have it however you want it. Don’t let an old woman talk you into doing anything you don’t want to do.”

I laugh because she has to know I would do anything for her. If she asked me to get married in a seafoam green ballgown, I would do it in a heartbeat.

We wash and dry the dishes together in silence. About once a month I bring up an issue she hates. It’s about time to bring it up again. I’ve given up on getting her a service animal because she will absolutely not allow it. As I watch her pad her way to the couch in the living room, I know she’s going to need more help soon.

I sit next to her on the couch. “Bubbie, I worry about you falling or running into something.”

Her back stiffens instantly. “I’ve never once fallen when I wasn’t tripped!”

She says that all the time and one day I’ll ask her who was tripping her so much. I suspect my aunts when they were growing up.

I cover her wrinkled hand with mine. “You’ve made that clear. But I worry it could happen in the future. I think it’s time to talk about getting a walker.”

“Over my dead body. I’m as agile as I ever was.” She pulls her hand out from under mine.

I overshot on the walker. I should’ve known that. That was my bad. “No walker. Got it. What about a cane? That’s smaller and almost distinguished.”

“Canes are for pimps, Miryam. Do I look like a pimp to you?”

I wish someone in the room could see the look on my face because I bet it’s one for the books. It takes me a second to remember that Aunt Abagail got cable last year for the first time in both of their lives. There’s no telling what my grandma has been watching. I have no idea how to answer my grandmother when she asks me if she looks like a pimp, so she’s won this round. Again.