Josh

 

 

“The key to a woman’s heart,” Pops intones seriously, “is through her feet.”

I laugh, tipping to the side in my chair. “Her feet?”

“Her feet. I have years of study to back this up.”

“I don’t want to hear about your years of foot fetishism.”

“Uh, uh, uh,” he scolds lightly. “It’s not a fetish. It’s a deep adoration and respect for the beauty of a woman’s foot.”

“Yeah, whatever you say, Tarantino.”

Pops frowns. “Who is that? Is that a Latin singer?”

“No. And gin.” I proudly spread my cards on the tray between us.

Pops’ frown deepens as he studies them. He quickly shoves them back at me. “That’s not gin.”

“What?”

“You said you knew how to play.”

I gather my cards, crestfallen. “I thought I did.”

“You don’t. And I’m right. If you want a woman to love you, be good to her feet. Especially when she’s pregnant. At that point, just worship every inch of her. She deserves it.”

“Where’s all this advice coming from?” I ask distractedly, sorting my cards. “Two minutes ago we were talking about pasta and suddenly you’re giving me the keys to the kingdom telling me how to score with women.”

He shakes his head in disgust. “I’m not telling you ‘how to score’. I’m telling you how to make a woman fall in love with you.”

“Oh, right. Okay.”

“You don’t want my advice?”

I shrug, discarding a three of spades that’s doing me no damn good. “I mean, I’ll always take free advice but I don’t know what you expect me to do with it.”

“I’m going to die soon, Josh,” he tells me matter-of-fact. “I’d like to see you and Harlow together before that happens.”

I freeze, my fingers pinching the glossy edge of a queen of spades. “What are you talking about?”

“I had hoped I’d live to see great-grandchildren, but I’ve given up on that. I’m not even hoping for a wedding. At this point, I’m waiting for a look.”

“A look?”

“The look. The one that says you both get it.”

Slowly, I push the queen back into my hand, shaking my head. “You’re not dying, Pops.”

“Like hell I’m not,” he argues, obviously offended. “I’ve got one foot and three toes in the grave.”

I hang my head. “Just for one visit can we not do this?”

“You want to lie to each other? The way you and Harlow do?”

“What is your obsession with me and Harlow?”

“What’s yours?”

I look up at him from under my furrowed brow. “She’s my friend. She always has been.”

“And you’re in love with her,” he tells me, his hard, old eyes shining sharply, daring me to lie to him again.

I run my hand over my face, dragging my fingers down it tiredly. It’s been over a month since I kissed her in the kitchen and things between us have been strained. We don’t talk about anything important. We’re never alone together. We barely even look at each other. The distance hurts worse than it did the first time. It’s shorter but it’s deeper. It’s harder to handle because I feel like we’re so close to something great but we can’t get over that threshold.

“Yeah,” I grunt quietly. “I’m in love with her.”

“Well, let’s hope you’re better at wooing women than playing cards.” He slaps his hand down on the table. “Gin.”

I have no idea if he’s actually won, but I willingly concede. When I offer to play another hand, he waves me away. He’s already lowering his bed back down. It’s naptime.

I shuffle the cards once quickly before stuffing them back in the worn, blue and white box. “Can I ask you something, Pops?”

“You can ask me anything.”

“Yeah, so can you. That’s why I’m wondering why you never asked.”

“Asked about what?”

“My face. When I was bruised, you never said a word about it. Why?”

Pops looks me over slowly before settling his eyes on mine. “I didn’t ask you about your face because you’d tell me the truth. And I don’t think I’m ready for that truth. Can you understand that feeling, Josh?”

“Yeah.”

“When I’m ready for the truth, I’ll ask you for it. Until then, don’t force it on me. Just be there. That’s all you have to do is be there.”

“I got it.”

“Do you?”

“You’re being transparent here, Pops,” I tell him, grinning with amusement at the blunt brush strokes of the picture he’s painting. Subtlety is not his medium. “Don’t give you more truth than you’re ready for and be good to your feet. Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“What if, um…” I hesitate, not sure how much to tell him. “What if I already told her a little too much?”

“How much?”

“I might have kissed her. And told her I want her.”

“That’s not so—”

“To leave Devo,” I finish on a rush. “I told her I want her to leave Devo for me.”

Pops looks at me with pity. That sucks. “You told her too much too soon.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Is there some sage advice coming or are you just going to keep agreeing with me that I screwed up?”

“I’m going to keep agreeing with you. I don’t know how to fix what you did.”

“Perfect,” I mutter. I toss the cards on the nightstand before shoving my hands in my pockets, feeling like a little kid who broke a beautiful vase but there’s no super glue in the house. I want to fix it but it looks like it’s going to stay broken.

Pops’ eyes soften as he stares up at me. “What did she say?”

“Uh, that she loves Devo and she’s going to marry him and have his babies and that she’ll forget all about me when I leave this town.” I click my tongue in the back of my throat. “It was pretty brutal.”

“It’s not true.”

“Which part?”

“All of it. She’s pushing you away because she’s scared of you. She doesn’t love easily, Josh. Her dad made sure of that. You can’t flood a girl like Harlow. She’ll willingly drown or swim away. You have to come on her slow, like a river filling in the spring.”

“That’s surprisingly poetic.”

Pops gestures to the stack of library books on his other nightstand. “I’ve been reading the shit nonstop. I got sick of Stephen King and his haunted everything.”

“I get that.”

“Are you going to remember what I told you? About the river?”

“Yes. You want me to get her wet.”

Pops points an annoyed finger at my face. “Watch it. You’re not too old to get a slap in the face.”

“You want me to take it slow with Harlow,” I chuckle.

“But not too slow.”

“No. Never. Perfectly paced. I promise. Any more advice I might need?”

“Never buy American. It’s patriotic but we build shit. Just look at Ford.”

I smile, studying the taupe and green pattern on the floor. “I was actually thinking about buying a bike.”

“Are you getting a newspaper route?”

“No. I don’t mean a ten speed or something. I mean I’m thinking about buying a used Harley. I’ve got a line on a pretty good old one that someone is selling in Reno. I might go check it out this weekend.”

Pops is quiet for a long time. I glance up but he’s not looking at me. He’s focused out the window at the road running along the front of the home.

“Pops?”

“I want to ask where you’re going to get the money for that,” he says softly, “but I don’t want to know, do I? I’m not ready for that.”

My heart hammers nervously in my chest. “No. I doubt you are.”

“Then I don’t know what to say.”

“Me either.” I run my hand through my hair, pushing it away from my face. “I probably shouldn’t have said anything.”

“If buying a bike is what you want to do, then I think you should do it.”

“It was a stupid idea. I wasn’t really serious about it.”

“Josh.”

I stop, looking up at him. I hadn’t realized I looked away. “Yeah?”

“What everyone else thinks doesn’t matter,” he tells me. “It’s what you think that’s important. If you want to buy a bike, buy a bike. If you want to love Harlow, love Harlow. Be honest with yourself first. Everything else will follow after.”

I grin, nodding my head. “Got it.”

“Was that sage enough for you?”

“Yeah,” I chuckle. “That was pretty good.”

“Good. Now go on, get out of here. Roadshow’s about to start.”

I lean down to hug him goodbye. “I’ll see you in a couple days, okay?”

“If I’m not dead, I’ll be here.”

“For fuck’s sake.”