course.”
Julian left his shoes in the foyer, not wanting to get scolded for messing up his grandmother’s rugs. It was kind of funny that here, with his grandmother, he felt like a child again—safe and loved.
He followed her into the living room. She moved cautiously, her eyes on her feet as she tottered across the wood floor and pale pink area rug. The soft leather of her flats bulged from her bunions. She hoisted herself up into one of the two turquoise leather chairs closest to the windowed alcove where three of her sculptures stood.
The apartment hadn’t changed since Julian’s earliest memories. It was like stepping into a circa 1945 time capsule, where every object seemed important because of the absence of clutter. Nana still had a wind-up Victor Victrola in one corner and, against the long wall, a large wood console with its original black-and-white television. The TV hadn’t worked even when he was a kid and he wondered why she kept it. Julian had gotten her a flat-screen TV for her bedroom that he knew she watched because she was always up-to-date on the latest episodes of Downton Abbey.
The walls were the same mint green they had always been, and in front of the console was a crimson art deco sofa with bulbous arms and the two turquoise chairs. He remembered Sephora’s reaction the first time she came here. She’d pinched Julian’s arm and whispered, not realizing Nana’s hearing was excellent. “This stuff is so retro. I’d love it in our place.”
His grandmother had called out in her sweetest voice. “I’m not dead yet, darling.”
“How’s your girlfriend?” Nana asked now, as though reading Julian’s mind. “Cremora? Remora? I never remember her name.”
“Sephora.”
“That’s right. Sephora. What kind of people name their child after a make-up store?”
“We broke up.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. “Sorry if it makes you sad. Not sorry about the girl.”
“I know you didn’t like her much.”
“She was pretty,” Nana said. “There are plenty of pretty girls out there.”
“She was a symptom of the wrong choices I’ve been making.”
His grandmother nodded, as though she knew what he was referring to.
“Somehow I got myself into the wrong life,” he said. “Wrong girlfriend. Wrong apartment. Wrong career.”
He went over to the sculptures that Nana had created with her own hands. Most of her work had been sold or given to museums, but she had kept these three for herself. Each one was a four-foot-high representation of a person made of steel rods and bronze golf-ball joints, a bit like the Tinkertoy set he’d played with as a kid. The brass plaques on their bases read: Woman Wearing New Hat. Man Reading. Boy Playing Stickball .
They’d been there his entire life, but Julian had never paid much attention to them. Of course, Julian was realizing there was quite a bit he hadn’t noticed growing up.
“Anyway,” he said. “I’m trying to fix all that. I quit my job and now that Sephora’s gone, I can start looking for a new apartment.”
“And will that make everything better?” she asked.
He turned back to her. “Not everything.” He sat down in the chair next to hers. “I went to see Essie last night.”
“Good,” she said. “You should spend more time with your mother.”
“That’s never been easy for me.”
“Your mother loves you.”
“So you’ve been telling me my whole life, but I’m trying to understand why she never seemed to want to be around me.”
His grandmother closed her eyes. Her wrinkled cheeks and mouth sagged and she looked terribly sad.
Julian rested his elbows on his knees. “Nana, I need your help.”
She opened her eyes. “You know I’d do anything for you.”
“Then please explain to me why she’s so cold and angry. Did she not want me? Rhonda’s ten years older. Was I a mistake she can’t get over?”
“Oh, Julian. It’s nothing like that. I’m telling you, your mother loves
Julian left his shoes in the foyer, not wanting to get scolded for messing up his grandmother’s rugs. It was kind of funny that here, with his grandmother, he felt like a child again—safe and loved.
He followed her into the living room. She moved cautiously, her eyes on her feet as she tottered across the wood floor and pale pink area rug. The soft leather of her flats bulged from her bunions. She hoisted herself up into one of the two turquoise leather chairs closest to the windowed alcove where three of her sculptures stood.
The apartment hadn’t changed since Julian’s earliest memories. It was like stepping into a circa 1945 time capsule, where every object seemed important because of the absence of clutter. Nana still had a wind-up Victor Victrola in one corner and, against the long wall, a large wood console with its original black-and-white television. The TV hadn’t worked even when he was a kid and he wondered why she kept it. Julian had gotten her a flat-screen TV for her bedroom that he knew she watched because she was always up-to-date on the latest episodes of Downton Abbey.
The walls were the same mint green they had always been, and in front of the console was a crimson art deco sofa with bulbous arms and the two turquoise chairs. He remembered Sephora’s reaction the first time she came here. She’d pinched Julian’s arm and whispered, not realizing Nana’s hearing was excellent. “This stuff is so retro. I’d love it in our place.”
His grandmother had called out in her sweetest voice. “I’m not dead yet, darling.”
“How’s your girlfriend?” Nana asked now, as though reading Julian’s mind. “Cremora? Remora? I never remember her name.”
“Sephora.”
“That’s right. Sephora. What kind of people name their child after a make-up store?”
“We broke up.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. “Sorry if it makes you sad. Not sorry about the girl.”
“I know you didn’t like her much.”
“She was pretty,” Nana said. “There are plenty of pretty girls out there.”
“She was a symptom of the wrong choices I’ve been making.”
His grandmother nodded, as though she knew what he was referring to.
“Somehow I got myself into the wrong life,” he said. “Wrong girlfriend. Wrong apartment. Wrong career.”
He went over to the sculptures that Nana had created with her own hands. Most of her work had been sold or given to museums, but she had kept these three for herself. Each one was a four-foot-high representation of a person made of steel rods and bronze golf-ball joints, a bit like the Tinkertoy set he’d played with as a kid. The brass plaques on their bases read: Woman Wearing New Hat. Man Reading. Boy Playing Stickball .
They’d been there his entire life, but Julian had never paid much attention to them. Of course, Julian was realizing there was quite a bit he hadn’t noticed growing up.
“Anyway,” he said. “I’m trying to fix all that. I quit my job and now that Sephora’s gone, I can start looking for a new apartment.”
“And will that make everything better?” she asked.
He turned back to her. “Not everything.” He sat down in the chair next to hers. “I went to see Essie last night.”
“Good,” she said. “You should spend more time with your mother.”
“That’s never been easy for me.”
“Your mother loves you.”
“So you’ve been telling me my whole life, but I’m trying to understand why she never seemed to want to be around me.”
His grandmother closed her eyes. Her wrinkled cheeks and mouth sagged and she looked terribly sad.
Julian rested his elbows on his knees. “Nana, I need your help.”
She opened her eyes. “You know I’d do anything for you.”
“Then please explain to me why she’s so cold and angry. Did she not want me? Rhonda’s ten years older. Was I a mistake she can’t get over?”
“Oh, Julian. It’s nothing like that. I’m telling you, your mother loves
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