Page 47 of Brewer Family Collection, Part 1

Chloe

I shove the key into the lock and rattle it around a few times. It takes a certain finesse—a jiggle to the right while lifting the knob until it’s pointing at my boobs—to free the door. It swings open like it’s waited all day for the opportunity.

“Chloe? Honey? Is that you?”

Mimi’s voice travels through the small apartment. It’s weaker than I’d like it to be. But the fact that I can still hear it, that she’s still here—both alive and at home with me—is a blessing. It’s a blessing I don’t take for granted.

“It’s me,” I say, locking up behind me. “I’ll be right there.”

I slip off my shoes and set my bag and keys on top of an old dresser I refurbished from a salvage store. After some elbow grease and tender loving care, the piece of furniture doesn’t look as good as new, but it gets the job done. And I’m pretty freaking proud of it.

“How do you feel?” I ask, coming around the corner.

Mimi looks up from her soap opera and smiles.

There’s a cut on her forehead from her fall in the bathroom this morning.

The immediate area surrounding the burgundy line is turning a nasty shade of purple and her hair has seen better days.

Out of all the damage from this morning’s incident, the hair would bother her the most if she could see it.

The two-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment is …

humble. The paper-thin walls are peach, but I’m pretty sure they were white at some point in the distant past. The brown floor would’ve been an odd choice in any era, but the yellow appliances are straight from the seventies.

That they work—most of the time—is a small miracle.

The biggest issue I have with this unit is the bathroom tile. They’re uneven, and a few are broken. Mimi has fallen three times since we moved in a year ago, each incident ending a little worse. I’m scared shitless there will be a fourth time … and what that might look like.

“Let me see you,” I say, reaching for her chin.

She swats my hand away like a toddler. “I’m fine. I told you that this morning.”

“Your head says differently.”

“I’ve kept ice on it most of the day,” she says.

“Greta has come by every couple of hours and checked on me, swapping out my cold compress.” She rummages on the table beside her until she finds an ice pack shaped like a heart.

“She brought this about an hour ago. Before that, I was using a pack of frozen carrots.”

I laugh, kissing the top of her head and sitting on the couch beside her. “Your color is back in your face. That’s good.”

She tosses the heart down on top of a crossword puzzle book. “I feel fine, Chloe. You act like I jumped off the Grand Canyon. It was a little stumble. No biggity.”

“No biggity, huh?”

“Yes. That’s right. No biggity, boo.” She wiggles her shoulders and makes a kissy face.

I snort so hard it hurts. “No biggity? What’s that mean?”

“You were listening to it the other night. No biggity. No doubt. Boo .”

I try not to laugh, but I can’t help it. I let loose a flurry of giggles.

She settles back in her recliner, grimacing as she gets comfortable. “I really am okay. Just a bit sore.”

“How did it go with Greta?” I ask, knowing Mimi isn’t a huge fan of our nosy neighbor whose grandson sent me the gorgeous flowers I left on my desk.

“She was her typical cheery, lovely self,” Mimi says, rolling her eyes. “We played cards a little while this afternoon, and she told me about how you and Thomas would make a great couple.”

“No.” I shake my head, resolute that Mimi will not find out I occasionally bang Thomas. “I’m not dating. You know that.”

“I agree that you aren’t dating Thomas. You can do better. But I do think you should let me set you up with Sherry’s grandson. We talk about it all the time on Social. You’d make the cutest couple.”

“No blind dates, Meems. We tried that once before, and the guy you hooked me up with wound up puking off my roof at three in the morning. I’m still not sure how he got up there in the first place.”

She laughs. “He was singing love ballads in your honor. How mad can you get?”

“Very! He woke up the whole neighborhood with a terrible rendition of ‘Always.’ He wasn’t exactly a Romeo, but we almost saw his blood when he slipped on his puke and almost fell off the house.”

Her face lights up. “He was cute, you must admit. And he was spi-cy . I guarantee you would’ve had a more exciting time with him than you did with that last dud you had. What was his name? Harrison?”

Her ability to recall names might be rusty, but her instincts haven’t faded a bit.

If there’s one thing you can’t get past my grandmother, it’s a bad character. She can sniff out an asshole from a block over. I should’ve listened to her when she warned me that Harrison was a bad seed, but in my defense, he did have great shoulders.

When he broke up with me, I told Mimi that I caught him with his physical therapist even though that wasn’t true. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that Harrison made me choose between them. He was tired of me giving so much time to Mimi.

Mimi was right. He was a dud.

She shrugs and affixes her attention back to the television. “I guess Harrison was spicy too. He just got his spice on with the physical therapist, not you.”

My jaw drops. “ Mimi. That’s not nice.”

“Honey, what do you expect me to say?” She lifts her slightly bruised chin.

“That’s the best damn thing that man ever did for you.

What would’ve happened if you hadn’t walked in on them?

” She jams a bony finger my way. “You would’ve married him.

That’s what you would’ve done. Better know now than regret later. ”

“I wouldn’t have married him. We weren’t even seriously dating. And you could be a little softer with your opinions. That delivery was harsh.”

She rests her head against the chair. “How was work, sweetheart?”

“Oh!” I spring off the couch. “Hang on.”

“I’m hanging …”

I return to the entryway and grab a white paper bag from my things.

Greta called me a couple of hours ago and said that Mimi was doing better, but her spirits were a little down after her accident this morning.

She tried to have fun with my grandmother and take her mind off things, but she sensed that Mimi’s loss of mobility and independence was starting to get to her.

And it broke my heart.

“Look what I got you,” I say, entering the living room again. I drop the bag on Mimi’s lap and sit on the couch. “Open it.”

She eyes me skeptically. “Are you trying to soften a blow I don’t see coming?”

“Mimi, just open the bag.”

Instead of doing as I ask, she clasps both hands on the top. “You’re acting odd. What’s going on?”

“Nothing is going on. We just had a rough morning, and I wanted to brighten your day a little bit.”

“What are you not telling me?” Mimi asks, fear flashing momentarily through her eyes.

I pull my feet up and under me. “Nothing. I promise .”

She is uncertain. It hurts my heart that she expects every good thing to be tempered with something bad—even if I do the same thing. Always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I motion toward the paper bag. “ Open that .”

“It is getting warm on my legs.” She unfolds the top and peers inside. “Is this …” She jerks her face toward mine with eyes as wide as saucers. “ You didn’t .”

She digs inside the bag and pulls out an Italian beef sandwich from Stupey’s, a little boutique sandwich shop. It has the best sandwiches I’ve ever eaten, and the Italian beef is Mimi’s favorite. But as delicious as they are, they’re equally expensive. We’ve not had food from there in months.

“What did you get for you?” she asks.

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“Chloe Grace …” She watches me sternly, almost as if she will refuse to eat because I don’t have something. “You must’ve spent fifteen dollars on this sandwich.”

She looks at the ceiling, perhaps considering her next words. Pride is a dreadful thing for strong women. There’s something about watching her react, watching her struggle , that settles a lump in my throat.

We sit quietly. The only sound comes from the couple above us getting into one of their typical afternoon arguments.

It’ll last twenty minutes, and then they’ll have make-up sex so loud that we’ll turn the television up to drown them out.

Mimi used to take a broomstick and hit the ceiling, but they didn’t care. It only seemed to make them louder.

“I know you don’t want to hear it, Chloe, but thank you for taking such good care of me.”

I gaze at the bump on her head. Yeah. It looks like I’m really taking good care of you, Mimi.

“This isn’t easy. I know it isn’t,” she says. “You should be out there having fun instead of worrying about an old fart like me.”

“Are you saying you aren’t fun?”

She laughs. “I was fun once. And I wish with everything in me that I could’ve been young at the same time as you. Oh, the fun we could’ve had together.”

I reach for her wrinkly hand. “You’re my best friend, Meems.”

She squeezes my palm before I pull it back.

“Tell me about your day,” she says, lifting her sandwich and unwrapping the foil around it. “What happened? Give me all the details.”

I pull a throw pillow over my stomach and slow the smile stretching across my face.

“I had a good day,” I say. “I got a blueberry muffin from a bakery downtown, and it was divine.”

“Nice.”

“I’m finally caught up on work.”

“Because you’re brilliant.”

“And Jason might’ve overheard me talking about how hot he is—more or less.”

She grins wickedly, reading between the lines. “I knew a pilot once,” she says, taking a bite of her sandwich. “My gosh, Chloe. This is just what the doctor ordered.”

Watching her savor her dinner is the most satisfying thing I’ve felt in a long time. She’s been losing weight and has had too little joy. This moment means more to me than any moment of the day.

“It was in the sixties,” she says, opening a small container of peppers she prefers on the side. “He was so handsome. The studliest of the studs. He had that rugged hero thing going on. Do you know what I mean? Sharp jaw. Cheekbones to die for. The smile that melts your panties right off ya.”

I burst out laughing. This story changes slightly every time she tells it, but I’m not about to stop her.

“I can’t remember his name.” She thinks about it for a minute. “Anyway, you could look at him and just know he could handle anything that came his way. It was so damn sexy. If I hadn’t been engaged to your grandfather, I would’ve rocked that man’s world.”

“There’s no doubt.”

She grins. “Show me a picture of Mr. Brewer again.”

“ Mimi …”

“Use your phone and get me a picture. I wanna see him. I don’t get to see hotties anymore, and I want to remember what it feels like to be alive.”

I groan—not at the words, but at her tone. “Let’s not.”

She takes a bite, watching me while she chews.

Mimi is entirely too enthralled with my work life …

and my hot boss. But it’s all my fault. The day I ran into Jason after several years, I sprinted home to tell Mimi all about it.

It all came pouring out of me—how Mom had worked for them for many years until she took a job as a nurse’s aide to help take care of Mimi.

I told her about the Brewer family and how Jason had always fascinated me.

And how he was even more fascinating now.

“Guess I’ll find a picture myself,” she says, reaching for her water bottle.

The last time I tried to tell her I wouldn’t look Jason up online, she got my phone while I was in the shower and tried to do it herself. That only cost me three hours of my life and a factory reset.

I huff and get up to retrieve my phone from the hallway. When I return to the couch, I pull up Jason’s photo from the company website and hand it to her.

She takes one look at him and drops the phone in her lap. “I think he gets cuter every time I see him.”

“Yeah,” I say as nonchalantly as I can manage.

“How on earth do you get a thing done in the office aside from staring at this man all day? I’d be jumping his bones in the conference room.”

I hold out my hands and shrug. “I have good self-restraint.”

She peers at his picture again. “I don’t know why you don’t make some moves on him. You’re beautiful and smart. There’s no way he doesn’t have a thing for you.”

“Mimi, stop.”

She hands me the phone with a warning written on her face. “Why?”

I sneak a final peek at Jason before turning off the screen.

Mimi is just like my mother was—a firm believer in love. I’ve never been able to wrap my head around that fully. I’ve never had the guts to ask about it, either.

My granddad, despite his faults, was a decent man. I have a few nice memories of him as a child. But his vice was a screwdriver cocktail, and his outlet was my grandmother. I’ve heard enough stories to wonder why she stayed with him until he passed away the same summer my parents divorced.

On the other hand, Mom didn’t stay with Dad—but it wasn’t by choice. Dad left us without so much as a reliable car. Despite her heartbreak, she never gave up on the idea of a happy ending. She passed away from colon cancer two days after my eighteenth birthday with me and Mimi by her side.

But I can’t tell my grandmother that even if Jason was interested in me—something I’m not conceited enough to believe—I no longer believe in fairy tales or magical endings.

“Jason is too busy to date,” I say, grabbing her remote. “He’s the CEO of one of the largest boutique airlines in the country, remember?” I point at the ceiling as a thump rattles the room. “That was the headboard against the wall, wasn’t it?”

She rolls her eyes and sighs. “Turn it up.”

I whisper a silent thanks to the universe, turn up the volume on the TV, and settle in for some good soap opera drama.