this two-bedroom apartment for its safer location. He beefed up security in his car and home and applied to be an ATF dog handler, which he’d been thinking about doing for a while anyway.
The soft creaking of wheels announced the arrival of his eighty-four-year-old grandfather, Archie Day. A moment later, he pushed the walker into the TV-dining room, pausing to pat Maggie.
They were both six-one, but Archie’s slight stoop made him appear shorter. He parted his short silvery-white hair with authority ( It’s all in how you tip the comb ), and owned more plaid shirts than anyone on the planet—flannel for winter and cotton for summer—but stuck with two kinds of shoes: Moccasins at home and white leather slip-ons with Velcro straps for dressier occasions.
The wheels softly clattered as he crossed the parquet flooring of TV-dining room. When he reached the kitchen door, he paused. “Sounds like funeral music in here! Are you cooking that fish or laying it to rest?”
Mike half smiled. “I forgot about the sad songs on this album. Please, take the phone from my pocket and turn off the music.”
“ Semper Fi .” Archie pushed his walker toward his grandson. “Roommate to the rescue.”
Semper Fi , Always Faithful , was the motto for the US Marine Corps, which Archibald Monte Day proudly served during the Korean War from 1950 to 1953. Semper Fi represented loyalty not only to their comrades, but also to their country, family, friends, even roommates.
Mike’s loyalty to family was unconditional. Until it came to being roommates.
A year ago his grandfather fractured a rib after a fall at his apartment and was bedridden for several weeks, during which time friends and family took turns staying with him. One day Archie confided to Catarina that he didn’t want to impose on people like this again, and maybe it was time he stopped living alone. “She started insisting I move into her and Kenneth’s Pacific Palisades home,” he later told Mike. “I said no, and she wanted to know why, so I said I wanted to move into your bachelor pad in Santa Monica because it was close to my book reading group.”
Which Mike learned about one Saturday when his mother dropped by with his favorite pasta sauce, “Sunday gravy,” a thick, garlic-y tomato sauce laden with Italian sausage and meatballs the size of baseballs. As a boy, Mike looked forward all week to Sunday gravy.
“ Nonno is moving out of his apartment and wants to live with you,” she announced, carrying the pot to his kitchen. “The movers are available next Friday.”
Mike had always gotten along with Nonno , Italian for Grandfather, but roommates? Mike had his fill of smoke by the time he got home, and Archie’s after-dinner ritual was a few puffs of his pipe. The apartment laundry room was down two flights of stairs. Plus Mike hadn’t lived with anyone since college and had no desire to change that.
All of which was reported to Archie via the Italian-Mama Hotline, instigating a one-on-one over beers that kicked off with his grandfather’s apology. “I’m sorry, Grandson. I felt steamrolled into a life I didn’t want, remembered your empty room and made up the book group story. Was afraid if I moved in with Kenneth and Catarina, it’d only be a matter of time before I became one of those cranky old farts who forget to pull up their zippers and live for the early bird special at Arnie’s Buffet.”
His grandfather came from the school of Never Complain, Never Show Pain: Always look forward, problem solve and endure, even if it kills you. So of course he’d make a joke about being afraid. Had to be scary as hell to lose control of your independence, although lots of people would jump at the chance to live in the Palisades, a community of stately homes, manicured lawns and people who exuded a quiet sophistication. That attitude had always grated on Mike, as if exhibitions of gleefulness were a class three (doesn’t get lower) five misdemeanor.
Of
The soft creaking of wheels announced the arrival of his eighty-four-year-old grandfather, Archie Day. A moment later, he pushed the walker into the TV-dining room, pausing to pat Maggie.
They were both six-one, but Archie’s slight stoop made him appear shorter. He parted his short silvery-white hair with authority ( It’s all in how you tip the comb ), and owned more plaid shirts than anyone on the planet—flannel for winter and cotton for summer—but stuck with two kinds of shoes: Moccasins at home and white leather slip-ons with Velcro straps for dressier occasions.
The wheels softly clattered as he crossed the parquet flooring of TV-dining room. When he reached the kitchen door, he paused. “Sounds like funeral music in here! Are you cooking that fish or laying it to rest?”
Mike half smiled. “I forgot about the sad songs on this album. Please, take the phone from my pocket and turn off the music.”
“ Semper Fi .” Archie pushed his walker toward his grandson. “Roommate to the rescue.”
Semper Fi , Always Faithful , was the motto for the US Marine Corps, which Archibald Monte Day proudly served during the Korean War from 1950 to 1953. Semper Fi represented loyalty not only to their comrades, but also to their country, family, friends, even roommates.
Mike’s loyalty to family was unconditional. Until it came to being roommates.
A year ago his grandfather fractured a rib after a fall at his apartment and was bedridden for several weeks, during which time friends and family took turns staying with him. One day Archie confided to Catarina that he didn’t want to impose on people like this again, and maybe it was time he stopped living alone. “She started insisting I move into her and Kenneth’s Pacific Palisades home,” he later told Mike. “I said no, and she wanted to know why, so I said I wanted to move into your bachelor pad in Santa Monica because it was close to my book reading group.”
Which Mike learned about one Saturday when his mother dropped by with his favorite pasta sauce, “Sunday gravy,” a thick, garlic-y tomato sauce laden with Italian sausage and meatballs the size of baseballs. As a boy, Mike looked forward all week to Sunday gravy.
“ Nonno is moving out of his apartment and wants to live with you,” she announced, carrying the pot to his kitchen. “The movers are available next Friday.”
Mike had always gotten along with Nonno , Italian for Grandfather, but roommates? Mike had his fill of smoke by the time he got home, and Archie’s after-dinner ritual was a few puffs of his pipe. The apartment laundry room was down two flights of stairs. Plus Mike hadn’t lived with anyone since college and had no desire to change that.
All of which was reported to Archie via the Italian-Mama Hotline, instigating a one-on-one over beers that kicked off with his grandfather’s apology. “I’m sorry, Grandson. I felt steamrolled into a life I didn’t want, remembered your empty room and made up the book group story. Was afraid if I moved in with Kenneth and Catarina, it’d only be a matter of time before I became one of those cranky old farts who forget to pull up their zippers and live for the early bird special at Arnie’s Buffet.”
His grandfather came from the school of Never Complain, Never Show Pain: Always look forward, problem solve and endure, even if it kills you. So of course he’d make a joke about being afraid. Had to be scary as hell to lose control of your independence, although lots of people would jump at the chance to live in the Palisades, a community of stately homes, manicured lawns and people who exuded a quiet sophistication. That attitude had always grated on Mike, as if exhibitions of gleefulness were a class three (doesn’t get lower) five misdemeanor.
Of
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