“Hello, darling…”

The cultured tones of my grandmother, Millicent Thatcher, had me smiling. Taking the phone over to the couch, I stretched out as I greeted her, “Grandma. How are you doing?”

“Still wishing they’d come up with a better term for grandparents than grandma and grandpa,” she retorted with a sniff.

But I heard the smile in her voice. “I can always use French. Would that make it better?”

She laughed. “No. Because I’d know what it meant.”

“I know what it means too,” I said. I knew how to get to her. “It means you’re one of my most favorite people in the world.”

Another laugh, followed by, “I better be.”

“So, to what do I owe this honor?” I asked. We’d just talked a few days ago. I tried to remember to call her every weekend, and if I recalled correctly, we’d talked on Sunday.

“Can’t I call and talk to my one and only granddaughter without any ulterior motives?” she asked loftily.

“Of course you can.” And I waited.

She sniffed. “Very well. I was wondering if you had plans on Friday. I’m coming to town, and I’d love for us to have lunch and catch up.”

Considering my last meeting/meal with a family had almost landed me with a migraine, one might think I’d be reluctant to take on another so soon. One would be wrong.

I adored my grandmother. While I loved my father, he and I didn’t always sync. It was the opposite with Millie. There were times when I was convinced she was my best friend in the whole world, never mind the age gulf that separated us.

“I’d love to have lunch with you. What time do you think you’ll be in?”

“I’m not sure yet. Do you have appointments? I can meet you at your office.”

Millie, unlike my father, didn’t so much as bat an eyelash at what I did for a living, but then again, Millie was a recovering hippie. Although she might not exactly consider herself recovering.

She was open about sex as much as I was and was comfortable with her own sexuality. I had no doubt she still entertained lovers on the side of her rather busy lifestyle. Lovers of both persuasions too. Millie had confessed to me years ago that she was bisexual. It was possible that her open acceptance of sex and sexuality was part of the reason I’d ended up being the woman I was.

My mother hadn’t been Millie’s opposite, but she’d been more reserved. As time went by, I ended up talking to Millie when I was having guy problems, rather than my mother.

“Absolutely you can come by – just promise not to flirt with anybody you might find attractive. Remember some of the people I work with do have serious issues.”

“Of course, of course.”

We talked for a little while longer before agreeing on a rough time to meet.

“I can’t wait to see you, darling,” she said.

“Same here.”

* * *

My client left before Millie arrived.

I was more than a little glad.

Not that I doubted her promise to behave, but Millie sometimes let her mouth, and the fun of life, run away with her.

I didn’t need her flirting with the client. He was a young man, younger than those I normally saw, having issues with sex due to trauma in his early life. He’d seen several standard sex therapists with little help and had gotten my name from the internet.

I liked to think I was helping.

Today had been one of the first days I’d really gotten a glimmer of hope that I might be too. He’d gotten aroused during the session. We’d done nothing but talk about his fantasies but having him relax enough to actually speak about his fantasies had been a milestone for him.

Then for him to really start playing into the idea of a fantasy?

I hadn’t expected that. Not yet.

Sitting at my desk, I made notes about the session on my computer, keeping a close eye on the time.

I didn’t have any other appointments for the day and could spend the entire afternoon with Millie if I wanted. And I just might. But only if I finished recording everything from my last session.

I’d just finished the last keystroke when I heard Millie’s familiar voice echo through my office.

I had several rooms in my ‘office,’ a waiting room where I greeted my patients as they arrived, the main room where I handled the therapy sessions, then the real office, complete with a desk and computer, files and books lining the walls.

“I’m in the back,” I called out.

She found me as I was shutting down the computer, a mock pout on her face. “None of your clients are here,” she said with a theatrical sigh.

“As I’d planned,” I responded tartly. “Remember, what I do is confidential. My clients prefer confidentiality.”

“Which is why you always have me coming after everybody’s left for the day. I just want a peek.” She winked at me. “Do you have one who is so well-endowed, he can’t find a lover? I’ll help him out.”

I made a face at her. “That’s not the typical referral to a sex therapist, Millie.”

“Well, you’re not a typical sex therapist. You’re a sex specialist.” She grinned broadly at me.

I made a show of tossing one of my books at her before getting up to go kiss her cheek. She smelled of Chanel No. 5 as she always did. “You look beautiful,” I told her.

And she did.

She was seventy-three, but I imagined she could pass for her late fifties or early sixties, despite the snow-white hair twisted up into an elegant chignon. Her green eyes met mine, a misty smile on her face. “You’re such a sweet girl.”

“No.” I laughed as I gathered my things. “I’m a lot of things, but sweet isn’t one of them. Are you ready? I am starving.”

* * *

I let my grandmother make the lunch plans. That could always be entertaining – there had been a time or two when we’d ended up having lunch at Hooters or some similarly styled pub.

This time, though, she chose an Asian-fusion place not far from where I worked. We took a cab, chatting about odds and ends and she mentioned needing a shopping trip.

I hoped I covered my wince well enough. I loved to shop, but Millie could almost put me flat on my back when she got into a mind to hit the stores. She caught sight of my face and laughed. “Relax. I’m not going to drag you into it. Although you need to build up your stamina if shopping with me is so exhausting.”

She waggled a finger at me.

I rolled my eyes. “When you get in the middle of a sale, you’re like the energizer bunny on speed. Please. I’d need pharmaceutical help to keep up with you.”

“That’s what my current man says.” She grinned at me.

I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing and leaned over to hug her. “I love you, Grandma.”

We’d nearly finished our meal when she looked at me.

Over the remains of fried rice and some fusion dish neither of us had cared for, Millie studied me, her green eyes sharp and insightful. “Are you happy?” she asked softly.

“Happy?” I blinked, thrown by the question. “I…well…”

I thought about it because I knew my grandmother. She’d want an honest answer. After a few moments, I shrugged. “Most of the time.” I managed a wobbly smile as I said huskily, “I miss Mom. Every day.”

She covered my hand with hers. “So do I.”

Mom had been gone for two years now when chemo failed and breast cancer killed her. For so long, I didn’t think I’d be able to live with the pain.

We shared a moment, the kind you only know when you’re grieving. Then I forced myself to smile and continue.

“But I’m doing better. Like you told me after she died, the grief never really goes away, but it becomes a part of you. You learn to live with it. That’s where I am.”

Millie nodded, and judging by the gleam of wet in her eyes, I knew she understood exactly what I meant.

For a moment longer, I was silent, then I continued, going slowly as I worked my way through my thoughts. One wouldn’t think it was a complicated question – am I happy? But I did have to think it through.

“I wish my father and I could be closer. I wish he wasn’t so…him. But we love each other. I’ve got a career that makes me happy, and it’s growing. So…I guess I am happy.”

She tightened the hand that still covered mine.

But when I looked at her, she didn’t say anything.

I worked my hand free and reached for the wine, needing to wet my suddenly dry throat.

“I’ve been thinking about making some changes. I wanted to see how you were before I started. But…” She paused, studying her wine for a moment before looking up at me. “Things are a-changing, sweetheart.”

“What things?” Nonplussed, I studied her. “You…Grandma, please tell me you’re not sick.”

“Always so quick to assume the worst.” She sighed and took my hand once more. “No. I’m not sick. There are just…changes coming. And they’ll affect you, darling.”