Page 8 of Right Side of Paradise

Here to Stay?

I loved Rico and my best friends, but this morning when I woke up, there was a physical ache in my limbs I couldn’t explain. And when I tried to get ahead of it by starting my morning on the water, all I got was temporary relief that vanished when I sat at the breakfast table with them.

Their closeness was a palpable thing. And I’d spent the last decade of our lives popping in and out while their bond continued to grow. I missed them so deeply I couldn’t even hold eye contact with one of them for longer than a beat before my eyes felt mysteriously misty.

For the most part, I liked being a digital creator who could come and go at the drop of a dime.

Last summer, I’d flown in from Los Angeles and stayed for three days before spending the summer traveling through ten European countries.

For Christmas, I’d done the same, coming in from Thailand to spend the week of Christmas with them before hopping on another plane to explore the west coast for six months.

It’d been so long since I paused that I missed the fact that life kept going whether I was here or not.

I hated that jealousy word, but envy was rearing her ugly head again.

Maybe it was because I was turning thirty or maybe it was because no place would ever top Onyx Cove, but I was ready to take a break from my drive by visits and make some memories that lasted longer than a weekend.

I was already home for the summer, but maybe I could just keep my calendar clear.

There was nowhere else in the world I felt this calm. Even if the calm came with a little melancholy right now.

It would pass. It had to.

Christian, Soul and Rico were my friends, I shouldn’t be feeling anything but the love we shared all our lives.

I tucked those thoughts away as I came up on my destination.

My grandmother’s crepe myrtles were the talk of the town. Half of her China cabinet was dedicated to the awards she won for them over the years.

They’d long outgrown her yard and were taller than the roof of her bungalow.

Hands at my waist, I stopped to admire them after my forty-minute walk across the island to reach her. The pink flowers in bloom on the trees reminded me of the soft-pink bikini I had on, bringing a smile to my lips.

Her door was never locked, so I knocked once before walking in.

The scent of fresh baked bread pulled me in, and I found a loaf cooling on her countertop.

And I knew I wouldn’t be leaving here until she made me a tomato sandwich with two slices from that loaf.

In no hurry, I made my way around her small but clean and clutter-free kitchen.

My granny’s house was like a museum. Aside from the China cabinet that you had to squeeze past on the way to the living room, every corner of the home showcased everything she adored.

First up on that list? All of Rico’s work.

She had about ten different kitchen towels hanging from her cabinet doors and I grinned, knowing each and every one of them was one of Rico’s designs.

She’d lost her mind when she found out the patterns he designed would be on household items and sold in stores.

We’d driven all over New Hanover County buying up what we could find when he licensed his first batch of designs to a popular home-goods store.

There was no blood between them, but in my grandma’s eyes, Rico was her grandson in every way that mattered.

She told everyone she could that her grandson was a textile designer whose art was all over.

Soul and Christian were no different.

She welcomed them even though her only child had birthed an only child. The more people she could love, the better.

I walked around the counter and stopped in front of the fridge. Soon, my cheeks hurt from the way my smile stretched.

Bless my grandmother’s heart, she didn’t know what it meant when I said I was a digital creator, aside from the fact I posted pictures online.

Naturally, screenshots from my Instagram account were plastered all over her fridge and freezer doors.

Uncropped. In gray scale. With the pages curling around the edges because of the humidity.

“God, I love this woman,” I declared before turning around to go find her.

Down the hall, Edith Westbrook was in the tiny living room, flipping through channels while she grumbled about something incoherent.

“Hey, grandma.”

“Harlow!” She rushed to her feet to wrap me in her arms. Swaying from side to side, she fussed over me excitedly until she let me go.

“Sit down, sit down.”

As I did what I was told, I mentally side-eyed the plastic wrapped couch in the process.

I tugged at the hem of my dress, making sure no part of my thighs would be on the plastic and sat down.

I knew I’d be sweating in a matter of minutes regardless, but at least I wouldn’t be slipping and sliding around on her furniture.

It was only ten a.m. and already ninety degrees outside. I didn’t know how she was posted up in this house with no A/C like it was the dead of winter.

My grandmother sat down beside me and picked up the remote to keep flipping through channels. After a while, she landed on reruns of a game show, turned the volume as low as it could without being on mute and laid expectant eyes on me. She was damn near vibrating with anticipation.

With a hand on my knee, her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.

“You got my cigarettes, sweet pea?”

I didn’t care how old I got, nothing compared to being grandma’s baby.

I was a mama’s girl through and through and had always been the most spoiled in my friend group. But something about having one on one time with the matriarch of my family just did it for me.

All I did was blink and it was four o’clock. The whole day passed, and it felt like I’d just gotten there.

We watched tv for a bit, I helped her fold some sheets and we ended the afternoon outside on her porch, watching people stroll by because it was somehow cooler outside than in her house.

We had tomato sandwiches for lunch, pineapple sorbet for dessert and now she was in her rocking chair hand rolling cigarettes because Mr. Tiny had conveniently dropped off some loose tobacco.

“I thought you said you weren’t thinking about that man.”

My grandmother had the nerve to look sheepish. “I’m not. But what’s the point in a man saying he fancies you if you don’t make him prove it?”

Hiding my smile, I shook my head. “I can’t with you. You better not let my mama see you with that.”

“That lady ain’t the boss of me,” she sassed, but stopped what she was doing to squint at me. “She not getting back in town til tomorrow, right?”

I cackled at the abrupt change in her tone and caught the sly smile on her face. “What you getting up to all summer?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” That was a half-truth.

Last night, when I couldn’t sleep, I’d made a list of plenty of things I wanted to do this summer, but there were limits to the debauchery I’d share with my grandmother.

I couldn’t even explain to myself why things near the end of the list required more than one partner.

So instead of divulging the depraved things I’d written in my journal last night, I crossed my legs and enjoyed the ocean breeze while we swayed on her porch. “Just playing it by ear.”

She harrumphed and pulled a lighter out of the pocket of her housedress. “Ain’t nothing wrong with that.”