Face-to-face feels better for what I’m about to ask her, so I will wait in my anxiety until she returns. Taking a seat in Grandpa’s favorite weathered armchair, my long skirt covers tapping sandals, gaze dropping to pick at my nails.
Grandma returns and sets down a tray of two pretty glasses of ice and lemonade, two saucers, a plate of cookies and scones with a ramekin of jelly which I know from experience is blackberry — her favorite. But what makes it truly loved is Grandma’s final touch…three pink roses in bright bloom. Smiling at my expression, she waves, “You know I enjoy playing hostess.”
“But it’s just me.”
“There’s no ‘just’ Tempest in my world. You get star treatment in our house.” She moves a throw pillow out of her way, long fingers patting it before she sits down, “Is this a casual visit…” clasping her hands, “or did you have something you wish to discuss?”
Choosing the scone, I spoon a bit of jelly on it, “Um…both?”
“You nervous, child?”
“No,” I lie, but at the knowing look in her eyes I admit, “A little.”
“What’s worrying you?”
I place the scone atop one of the saucers and lift the plate in both hands to my lap, staring at it. “I’ve been wondering what to do with my life, job wise.”
“That’s a big question.”
“Very big.”
“You have a luxury I didn’t.”
My nervous gaze lifts, eyebrows twisting. “I do?”
“When I was your age, people were expected to hold only one station. That was the norm. You’d stay in the same job for your entire adult life, achieve seniority, the greatest goal, and hopefully be promoted and granted multiple raises. Then you’d retire. That was how things were done, for the most part. There are exceptions to every rule.” Grandma pauses, and hands me a napkin. “But it was much harder for women, Tempest. When I came here to New York with your grandfather it was after the end of World War II. Most of the jobs women had went back to the men when they returned. In the fifties women were housewives. That was sold to us by way of propaganda, and while some want to be that, others do not. But we had few choices, unlike you do now. I’m not in your shoes, but I suspect freedom, while a blessing, can also be confusing.”
I set down the saucer. “I’m good at marketing, but being in an office doesn’t feel like me anymore, Grandma Lily. Did you know I became a yoga teacher?”
She nods, “I did hear that from your mother. We laughed because when she was your age it was just for hippies.”
I smile at the thought. “Really? That’s hilarious. It’s not that way anymore.”
“I’m aware.”
“Have you ever taken a class?”
“At my age? Heavens no.”
“It’s not just for young people. It helps everyone.”
She laughs, “I’m very stiff,” waving her hand.
“I could change that.”
Lifting her lemonade she demurs, “I’m not sure I’d like to embarrass myself in public.”
“I could do a private session.”
“Perhaps one day. Drink your lemonade.”
Taking a deep breath, I reach for the glass, but lay it on my lap, not able to stomach anything quite yet. “The thing is, I really enjoy teaching, Grandma. It feels right, inside of my heart. I was meant to do this, I can feel it. Each class has grown in numbers since I began. When you first start, people are trying to find out who you are, and if your vibe resonates with what they’re looking for, they come back. The owner of the studio says that my classes are the fastest growing ones.”
“That must be good to hear.”
“Very good, but the problem is I can only teach two classes a week. All of her other instructors have been there longer, and she doesn’t feel like it’s right to take away their time slots.” Setting down my glass, I pick at my scone instead to keep my shaking hands busy. “I could go to other studios, and I have visited some, but…”
Grandma waits patiently for me to finish. When I don’t, she eggs me on. “Take your time, child. I’m in no hurry.”
Tears push at a wall that’s about to crack. “Christina is starting a family, and she’s got this great charity she’s building.”
“I heard about what your sister is doing. Very noble cause.”
One tear breaks through. I hurry to wipe it, wishing she hadn’t seen. “It’s okay if you say no.”
Grandma’s voice comes gentler, drawl slower now. “Tempest honey, if it is in my power to help you, I will. Just tell me what you need. I am here for you.”
The front door opens, “I’m home!”
I sit up straight, start to rise from Grandpa’s chair as he walks in, returning home from his errand. “Don’t get up! I have to put these upstairs.” Pausing at the state of me, he asks, “Do you need me to stay up there awhile?”
I wipe away a fresh tear. “No, that’s okay.”
He glances to Grandma. “You sure?”
But I tell him, “No, it involves you, too.”
The dry cleaning lowers, plastic brushing hardwood floors. “Everyone okay?”
Grandma reassures him, “Everyone is healthy, Peter. Tempest is just wondering what to do with her life.”
Relief spreads in a smile as he sets his load onto the piano’s bench, “I can help with that,” crossing to take a seat with her on their sofa.
Grandma places her hand on his leg and brings him up to speed while my heart hammers an unsteady beat in my chest, finishing with, “It’s a modern problem, isn’t it, Peter?”
This gives me my entry point. “Uh…it’s even more modern than my trying to decide which job I want.” They face me with Grandpa’s hand covering hers as they wait. I set the scone back down because I don’t
