And like the guy has magical powers, my phone vibrates. I pull it out and see the letters: CC
With a huge smile I answer, “Morning, handsome.”
Caden shouts, “I’m coming back to Atlanta!!”
Laughing and happy, I take him with me on my ride home.
CHAPTER 46
C ADEN
G randma Nance opens the door, asking herself, “Who shut this? We always keep it open for BBQs.” She looks up, warm brown eyes crinkling with joy. “Caden! There you are! And back for good. Don’t you look handsome in this sweater!”
I hug and whisper to the woman who inspired me to go into medicine, “Hi Grandma, man, it’s great to see you!” Stepping back I introduce them, pride in my voice, “This is my girlfriend, Elizabeth Myers. She’s a trauma surgeon at Atlanta Hope.”
Grandma’s eyes widen. “Now that’s a profession! In my day few women were doctors. Thank goodness that’s changed. I’ve always thought they’d be better with empathy.” She opens her arms.
Elizabeth walks into them for a quick hug, laughing, “That’s what I always say Caden is so good at!”
“Really?” Grandma grabs my arm. “Are you a sweetheart? I have a hard time believing that!”
I crack up, taking Elizabeth’s hand as we follow Grandma Nance in.
My grandparents are two of the most accepting people I’ve ever met. They come from old money, but they never act ‘above’ anyone. Except maybe during the years where one of their sons was a black sheep, but those are behind us now. He’s still him, but the rift has been repaired. That was a memorable day for everyone. It was the day my life changed and brought me to where I am now.
Outside of what happened with Jett, for my entire life I’ve only witnessed them treat people of all classes with respect. That’s probably why we want to earn theirs.
Grandpa Michael was a Congressman until another of his son’s, my Uncle Justin, changed the term limits for Congress and Senate when Justin served as Senator. Pretty funny that in stopping what he felt was an unhealthy policy, Justin put his father out of a job. But Grandpa was proud of him, and ready to retire by that time anyway so he could spend more time with Nancy Cocker—or as us grandkids call her, Grandma Nance—his wife of over sixty years.
“Well, come on in. It’s too cold to be outside today. What am I saying? Our BBQ’s outside! But we’ve got loads of heat lamps in the back, don’t you worry.” She walks us through the home my dad and his five brothers grew up in. “This is our living room. Have had that couch for almost forty-five years, can you believe that? And my favorite part of the whole house is right here.”
Grandma pauses at the foot of the stairs to their enormous but comfortable home, pointing to photographs framed as far as the eye can see.
“My boys! These pictures chronicle the days of our youth. Every single day I get to relive those wonderful memories just by walking by these.” Smiling with a glint of humor she informs Elizabeth, “Lucky nobody photographs the bad moments! Caden, do you know why I don’t have pictures of you grandkids up?”
“Too many of us?” I smirk.
She touches my shoulder, “That’s right!” chuckling as she continues guiding us toward the party where overlapping conversations grow louder. “This is my kitchen, where you’ll find me most days. See that nook by the window, that’s where I perch to do my crossword puzzles and read. As for this counter, excuse the mess!”
Charmed, Elizabeth argues, “It’s pretty tidy, Mrs. Cocker, considering all the people I see through that window. What a gorgeous backyard!”
“Oh, thank you. Call me Nancy! Yes, well, if you clean as you go there’s less mess later! Caden, will you carry this chili for me?” After touching my arm with a grateful smile, she turns to whisper to Elizabeth, “I always get the boys to carry the heavy stuff. Makes them feel strong.”
I laugh, “You’re not supposed to give away your secrets!”
“I’d better give them away while I still have breath to do so,” she smiles, quickly crossing to open the screen door for me.
Grunting, I heave a crock pot the size of Rhode Island, and tell her, “Grandma, don’t talk like that!”
Elizabeth follows me out to the backyard that’s filled with more memories than I can count, and damn it’s good to be here.
The BBQ is dressed in its winter finest, heat lamps strategically placed, white canopies with hundreds of twinkle lights hanging over long fold-out tables decorated with flowers that my cousin Zoe insists we have as centerpieces now. There’s another canopy in case of rain over the mountains of food served buffet-style on a reaching side table, and the small mesh tents that keep bugs off each dish aren’t necessary this time of year.
As soon as I’m spotted, it’s an uproar of family shouting my name. They make way for the chili and Gabriel rushes over to help, but Grandma says, “Where’s the ginger ale? Is it gone already? Oh no you don’t! You’ll eat it all! I didn’t ask you to carry it for a reason, Gabriel!”
He laughs, whipping his long hair back by swinging his head in mock-shock. “You think I’m going to shove my hand into your chili?”
I set the crock pot down in its usual place as she tells him, “You might!” Amusement sparkles as she add with a shrug, “It’s that good.”
The family laughs with surprise. She’s normally very humble about her specialty. We’re the ones always reassuring her and complimenting the dish.
As she searches for the ginger-ale, Uncle Jake calls through cupped hands, “Cocky Grandma!”
There’s some approval from the family until, from her trademark perch of two cushions, centenarian May Cocker, AKA Grams, raises her southern drawl to be heard. “That’s my fucking title!”
Everyone gasps then shouts, “Language, Grams, Language!!” cracking up so hard.
She mutters, “Well, it should be mine,” irate for literally the first time I’ve
