Inappropriate by Vi Keeland
Chapter 25
Grant
I leaned back in my chair and whipped the pen in my hand across the room. It hit the corner of the credenza and boomeranged back at me, landing on my desk right on top of the most recent letter. Figures. I can’t even get that shit right today. Stewing, I picked up the envelope, angrily shredded it into twenty little pieces, and threw them all in the direction of the wastepaper basket. Half wound up on the floor.
I’d come to the office right after dropping off Ireland, thinking I could knock out a few hours of work. But four hours had passed, and I’d only managed to get about five minutes of business done. I couldn’t fucking concentrate.
Of course Ireland wanted kids. She was a loving person with so much to offer. It wasn’t the first time the subject had come up with women I’d dated. Hell, before Ireland, just having the subject raised by a woman had been a red flag. The mention of any long-term plans meant their expectations were too much, and it was time to call it quits. But Ireland wasn’t some fuck buddy I wanted to run away from.
I picked up my phone and debated sending her a text. Should I give her some space? Bring it up again? Pretend it never happened and move on? I decided to stop acting like such a pussy and just send a damn text without overthinking it. I’d overthought enough for one day.
Grant: Dinner tonight? I could swing by on the way home from the office, and we could have Chinese on the boat and watch the sunset.
I watched as the little dots jumped up and down. Then stopped. Then started again. It was a long-ass few minutes waiting while she deliberated over her response.
Ireland: I’m actually pretty wiped out. Think I’m just going to crash early.
Fuck.I wanted to be with her, even if it meant just sleeping with her in my arms. But she wasn’t offering. And I couldn’t be a dick and bulldoze my way in with her. So I let it go.
Grant: Okay. Sleep well. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.
She sent back a happy face. Though I was sure neither of us was smiling right about now.
I managed to answer a few emails and approve a marketing budget before I called it a day. The work would be here when I was in a better frame of mind. Neither of us had gotten much sleep last night, so I convinced myself Ireland was right: going home and crashing was for the best. Though halfway through my drive, I found myself getting off the highway two exits before the marina. Pops had been like a second father to me my entire life, even more so since my dad was gone, and he was the one person I knew would give me the truth—even if it wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I just hoped today was a good day for his memory.
***
“Grant, what a nice surprise. Come in. Come in.”
My grandmother stepped aside for me to enter, and I kissed her cheek as I went through the doorway. “How’s the alarm system doing?”
“It’s fine. But your grandfather has slept like a baby since it was installed.”
“Good.” I looked around the living room. The house was quiet. “Is Pops around?”
“He’s downstairs tinkering in the basement. Last I looked, he was making a miniature coffin for that crazy dollhouse he and Leo love so much. I try to keep away when he’s doing the woodwork. The pieces are so small, and I get nervous he’s going to cut his fingers off sawing them.”
I smiled. Pops had started to forget a lot of things, but using tools wasn’t one of them. Though dementia affects the memory, his woodworking skills were more second nature to him than learned. I couldn’t imagine there would ever come a time he couldn’t make things, whether he knew the name of the person he was making them for or not.
“I’m going to go down and visit him.”
“I’ll make you some snacks and bring them down in a bit.”
“Thanks, Gram.”
I found Pops in his pjs and a bathrobe, with a toolbelt wrapped around his hips. He had on a pair of goggles, and his gray hair was littered with wood shavings as he planed down the rough sides of a tiny coffin to make them smooth.
He smiled when he saw me, lifted the goggles to rest on top of his head, and held up three fingers with Band-Aids. “Mousetraps,” he said.
My brows drew together. “You have mice?”
“Not that I’m aware of. But I used the little old wooden traps to make floorboards for the bedrooms and the hinges to attach the coffin doors. Leo set one up with cheese while we were working last week to see if he could catch a mouse. I picked it up this morning. Cheese is still there.” He wiggled his fingers. “Now some of my skin is, too.”
I chuckled. “Gotta be more careful, Pops. Grams is already worried about you using power tools. Cut off a finger, and you’ll come back from the hospital with an empty workshop.”
Pops muttered, “She worries like a rocking chair. Gives her something to do, but it never gets her anywhere.”
I walked over to the creepy dollhouse and checked out the new pieces he’d made this week. There were tiny wood-framed mirrors with scary faces painted in them, a few hanging ghosts, and a fireplace carved with an ornate, angry wolf’s head. Picking up the fireplace, I admired the workmanship that had gone into it. Pops was truly gifted.
“So what’s new?” I asked as I set the fireplace back down in the dollhouse.
“Nothing. And that’s exactly how I like it at my age. Every time I get something new, it’s a pill, a pain, or prostate exam I don’t enjoy.” He looked over at me and set down his tool and the wood he’d been sanding. Under his woodworking table were two stools. He pulled one out and slid it over to me before taking a seat on the other.
“Have a seat. Tell me what’s bothering you.”
“How do you know something’s bothering me?”
Pops lifted his chin and pointed to my pants. “Your hands are shoved in your pockets. Always a dead giveaway with you. Remember the time you cut off your sister’s ponytail while she was sleeping because she left your bike outside and it got stolen?”
I laughed. It never ceased to amaze me how far back he could remember, even in stage one of dementia, yet sometimes he forgot the simplest things right after he heard them.
“I remember. Someone found the bike the next day and returned it, but Mom didn’t let me ride it again for months.”
“You had your hands in your pockets that day. Probably because you also had her damn ponytail shoved in there. You have done it every time you were worried about something since.”
I wasn’t so sure he was right, yet I made a conscious choice to remove my hands from my pockets before I sat down.
I sighed. “Am I a selfish person?”
Pops frowned. “You mean because you hold the reins at work and boss around your sisters?”
That hadn’t been what I was referring to, but thanks, Pops. I shook my head. “I met a woman.”
Pops nodded. “The looker? Charlize?”
I chuckled. “Yeah, that’s her.”
“Good choice. She seems like a woman who won’t put up with your shit.” Pops wagged a finger at me. “That’s the key to a happy marriage. Marry a woman who scares you a little, one who makes you think what the hell is she doing with a jackass like me? Then spend the rest of your life trying to live up to what you think she deserves.”
Pops had a lot of wisdom, and I knew he was right, but I wasn’t asking the question I really wanted answered. So I took a deep breath and spit out what was really bothering me.
“It’s new. But I really like her…and…she wants kids.”
Pops held my eyes as so many unspoken words passed between us. He didn’t need any more of an explanation about why that was an issue for me.
His face saddened, but he nodded. “So you think you’re selfish for not wanting kids.”
I nodded.
“You’re not selfish, son. You just don’t know how to deny someone you love anything. That’s an admirable quality in a man. Your situation is different than a man who doesn’t want children because he likes his lifestyle. I could see how that might seem somewhat selfish, though it’s still a person’s choice. It’s their life. But you…it’s not about that. I’d guess that down deep you even want to have children, that your reasons are more of a protective nature—for a future child, and maybe even a little for yourself.”
I felt a heavy weight on my chest and looked down. “I don’t know about that, Pops.”
When I looked back up, he caught my gaze. “Do you trust me?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then trust me when I say you’re not selfish. That’s not what this is about.” Pops sighed. “Have you spoken to your lady about your reasons?”
I shook my head.
“Well, that’s where you need to start. If nothing else, at least she’ll understand your position better.”
“It’s not something that’s easy to explain.”
“Of course not. But I think you need to tell your story. It’s been a long time coming. And even if you two can’t work out your differences, it’s important for you to come clean with her…and yourself.”
***
Ireland blew me off again on Monday. By Tuesday morning, I was feeling restless and snapping at my staff. Even Millie was keeping her distance. But then my desk phone rang in the early afternoon, and the caller ID flashed the name Ireland Richardson.
My heart was pumping before I even lifted the receiver. “I got my zoning variance!”
I smiled at the sound of her voice. I’d forgotten her hearing was this morning. “That’s great news. I’m glad it worked out.”
“It didn’t work out. You made it work out. Thank you so much, Grant. I owe you one.”
My normal response would’ve been Why don’t you bring your sexy ass up here to my office, and I’ll cash that chip in after I lock my door, but things still felt off. So instead I said, “You’re welcome. But it was really no trouble at all.”
“I think I might have even found a new contractor to finish the bathroom. He said if I could get someone in to sheetrock by midweek, he could tile the shower and floors. Then the plumber would just need to come back to set the sink and toilet and I’d at least have one working bathroom. If I can get that and a bedroom done, I could move in when my lease is up and get the kitchen and other rooms done slowly.”
“Do you have a drywaller lined up?”
She sighed. “No. But I’m going to start searching as soon as we hang up.”
“You just need the bathroom done this week?”
“Yeah. So hopefully it won’t be too hard to find someone.”
I remembered all the house construction Pops and I had done over the years. They were actually some of the best memories of my life. We’d spend the day bullshitting and laughing, and things would somehow get done. Which gave me an idea...
“You don’t have to call around. I have someone for you.”
“You do?”
“I do.”
“Oh my God. I wish I could climb through the phone and kiss your face right now.”
I grinned. “Save that thought. Because that’s how you’ll be paying the contractor who’s going to do your work.”
“Did you just tell me I have to make out with the contractor?”
I chuckled. “I most certainly did.”
“Now I’m lost. Who is this contractor?”
“Me.”
