It drew Grandma’s attention instantly. “What’s wrong, Jeraline?”
I half laughed. “Nothing. I didn’t mean to sigh that loud.”
“I feel a little better now. We can finish the dance if you like?” Grams didn’t seem like she was buying my nothing excuse.
“I’m really okay, and I don’t want you pulling anything,” I responded.
Sitting down next to me, Grandma paused for a minute as if considering something, then trudged forward with the conversation that always made me cringe. “There are so many apps today for dating. You’re not interested?”
“Grandma.” I sighed for real this time.
“Dancing with your grandmother at nine o’clock at night isn’t exactly what I’d imagine a fun time for most people your age.” She eyed me up and down, wheels turning when she asked, “What’s wrong? You look nervous.”
And there it was.
The crux of my “accidental” dramatic sigh. “Tomorrow at the bookstore we’re having an author come in and do a signing. I don’t want to mess it up.” I smiled at her warmly. “And dancing with you is the highlight of my night.”
“I don’t want you to miss out on anything. You don’t go out much, and you don’t have friends like you used to . . . It’s been three years since we lost my Hannah and Paul,” Grandma said carefully.
She was testing me. Testing to see how I’d react. She was right, but I didn’t want to make friends. I didn’t want friends. Josh was the only one I had even considered being friends with, but I had barely spoken three words to him since he started working at the bookstore a few months ago. And frankly, that was the way I wanted to keep it. I was too scared to put myself out there. It might be worth it, but it might not, and I didn’t want to take the risk. Not yet anyway.
Grandma seemed to sense my reluctance to talk about the subject (possibly because I never wanted to talk about the subject) and said, “Being in a relationship isn’t the meaning of existence, but I was with your grandpa Ed for thirty years before he passed, and let me tell you, Jeraline . . .” She paused, eyes full of wonder as she continued, “It was magical.” Grams gently took my hands in hers. “Your parents may have died before their time, but their love was like a fairy tale too. I want that for you. Or if it’s not with a person, then whatever else you’re passionate about. Sewing? Fashion? Books? Anything you want. I just want you to do it. What about that school you wanted to apply to? Why don’t you do that?”
“Grandma, you know I can’t afford that.” Cassiopeia Design School. It was my dream. A place I could learn about sewing and fashion, because so far everything I knew about sewing was self-taught. But it cost too much money. Who would pay for the loans after I graduated? It was something that was out of reach.
“We could make it work, if it’s what you truly want?” Grandma’s eyes sparkled with hope.
My defenses shot up like a steel wall as I resisted the urge to yank my hands away from hers. There were a million reasons why I didn’t apply other than money . . . a bunch of other things, just none of them were coming to me right now. I didn’t dare tell her about the contest the school was running—the prize being a full scholarship. She’d probably do something insane, like try to get me to enter! The truth was: I wasn’t ready. I just wasn’t ready. She had struck a nerve, but I didn’t lash out. I kept my cool and answered, “Someday, Grandma, when we’re better off financially.” I hoped she’d stop pushing.
She did.
Grandma took her hands away from mine and lifted them in supplication. “All right. No more lectures. I’m one to talk anyway. My butt has been plastered to this couch for twelve years.” She cocked her head to the side, musing, “Is it possible to have watched every show available on streaming?”
My chest relaxed from relief at the change of subject. “If anyone can do it, you can,” I teased.
That was my cue to leave. Standing up, I kissed the top of her head. “I’m going to bed. I have to make sure everything is perfect at the store tomorrow. I don’t want to give Rachel any reason to fire me.” Rachel. My boss. The bane of my existence. Tomorrow was a big day for the store, and I didn’t want to mess it up.
“You’ll do great.” Grandma was already surfing through the TV show menu of one of the streaming networks. She’d officially lost interest in my stress attack concerning tomorrow’s big event.
I walked through the door furthest to the right as Grandma landed on some kind of British murder mystery show and pressed play.
My bedroom.
My oasis.
My escape from reality.
A tall bookshelf stretched all the way to the ceiling and greeted me on my left, full of every book I’d ever loved. I had an addiction. I loved books. I loved everything about books. And I worked at a used bookstore, so I could hardly be blamed for the amount of books I owned.
Jumping into new worlds, experiencing things I never would in real life: climbing mountains, flying on a giant eagle’s back, having superpowers, defeating pure evil. All of it. Reading made me cry, laugh, seethe with rage, be filled with such happiness that I’d have tears of joy. And if I was being honest, the only friends I had were characters from books. I wasn’t ashamed to admit it, but I talked to them on a regular basis. Crazy? Probably. But characters in books were easier to connect with than real people. Real people could let you down. Real people could leave. Real people could die.
But not the people in
