Danny?”
“Yeah.” I sit down on the couch and gesture to the TV. “Is this the episode where Lou takes over that bar?”
Nana scowls. “You stink like a brothel.”
“How do you know what a brothel smells like?”
“The mouth on you. Your mother and father are always so angry that I let you stay here. I’ve been thinking that maybe they have a point after all.”
This oft-repeated threat causes a thrill of anxiety to shoot through my stomach. I smile and try and turn on the charm. “That’s why you’re the best grandma in the whole world,” I tell her. “Because you care and you have the guts to be nice to me even when there’s all this pressure from people who say you’re too old to make your own decisions.”
This is a low blow. I know that one of Nana’s biggest fears is my mom and dad getting power of attorney and trying to sell her house and put her in a nursing home.
“Of course I make my own decisions,” she says. “I’ve been living pretty well for seventy-six years and I’m doing just fine looking after myself.”
“You tell ‘em, Nana.”
“Don’t patronize me.” She turns up her nose. “You should be getting serious about your own life by now.”
“I’m plenty serious.”
“You’re almost twenty-eight years old. You work that silly job parking cars—“
“Actually, I’m a Venue Attendant Specialist. It’s not just parking cars, Nana.
There’s a lot more going on. A lot more.”
She puts her knitting down and turns fully to me now. “Oh, really? Tell me what else you do besides park cars and meet those little trollops you call women.”
“I deal with the public, I escort people to their vehicles, interact with VIPs—just last week I worked with Paul Pierce of the Boston Celtics. Pretty big deal if you know professional basketball.”
She smirks. “I know what you’re up to. Just because I’m old, doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”
“I know you aren’t stupid, Nana.”
She sighs. “And I’ve thought a lot about it. I just can’t see myself continuing to subsidize your perverse lifestyle any longer. You’re going to have to move out.”
For a moment I feel entirely frozen. This isn’t supposed to be how this conversation goes. In the six years I’ve lived here since my folks kicked me out, Nana has threatened me dozens of times. But she never came right out and said I was being evicted.
“At least…at least give me a few months to save,” I stutter.
“You’ve had six years to save every penny you’ve made. I never charged you rent, I made you home-cooked meals at least five days a week, you’ve used my telephone and my television. If you don’t have millions in the bank, it’s because you’re a lazy, irresponsible young man. It isn’t because you lack the time or ability to save any money.”
Of course she’s right. But I’m in a panic.
I have almost nothing in the bank. I’ve spent money on stupid things like fancy dinners to impress chicks I wanted to fuck, or on a bar tab when me and the boys go out, or nice clothes.
Somehow the money went. It’s not as though I make a great living at the garage, but with my cushy situation at Nana’s, it didn’t matter how much I spent or how little I saved.
“You’re really pulling the rug out from under me here, Nana,” I say, getting up and pacing the room. “When do you need me out?”
“End of the month.”
“That’s in two weeks. That’s not enough time.”
She glares at me. “Complain again and it will be tomorrow. Out on your spoiled little behind with nothing but the clothes on your back. And if you refuse, I’ll call the police.”
“I don’t understand why you’re being so mean.”
She snorts and picks up her knitting again. The needles click and clack with deceptive speed. Her old, arthritic hands are chock full of liver spots and saggy skin, yet I know she’s still strong as an ox. “This isn’t me being mean, Danny. This is what’s called tough love.
“Yeah.” I sit down on the couch and gesture to the TV. “Is this the episode where Lou takes over that bar?”
Nana scowls. “You stink like a brothel.”
“How do you know what a brothel smells like?”
“The mouth on you. Your mother and father are always so angry that I let you stay here. I’ve been thinking that maybe they have a point after all.”
This oft-repeated threat causes a thrill of anxiety to shoot through my stomach. I smile and try and turn on the charm. “That’s why you’re the best grandma in the whole world,” I tell her. “Because you care and you have the guts to be nice to me even when there’s all this pressure from people who say you’re too old to make your own decisions.”
This is a low blow. I know that one of Nana’s biggest fears is my mom and dad getting power of attorney and trying to sell her house and put her in a nursing home.
“Of course I make my own decisions,” she says. “I’ve been living pretty well for seventy-six years and I’m doing just fine looking after myself.”
“You tell ‘em, Nana.”
“Don’t patronize me.” She turns up her nose. “You should be getting serious about your own life by now.”
“I’m plenty serious.”
“You’re almost twenty-eight years old. You work that silly job parking cars—“
“Actually, I’m a Venue Attendant Specialist. It’s not just parking cars, Nana.
There’s a lot more going on. A lot more.”
She puts her knitting down and turns fully to me now. “Oh, really? Tell me what else you do besides park cars and meet those little trollops you call women.”
“I deal with the public, I escort people to their vehicles, interact with VIPs—just last week I worked with Paul Pierce of the Boston Celtics. Pretty big deal if you know professional basketball.”
She smirks. “I know what you’re up to. Just because I’m old, doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”
“I know you aren’t stupid, Nana.”
She sighs. “And I’ve thought a lot about it. I just can’t see myself continuing to subsidize your perverse lifestyle any longer. You’re going to have to move out.”
For a moment I feel entirely frozen. This isn’t supposed to be how this conversation goes. In the six years I’ve lived here since my folks kicked me out, Nana has threatened me dozens of times. But she never came right out and said I was being evicted.
“At least…at least give me a few months to save,” I stutter.
“You’ve had six years to save every penny you’ve made. I never charged you rent, I made you home-cooked meals at least five days a week, you’ve used my telephone and my television. If you don’t have millions in the bank, it’s because you’re a lazy, irresponsible young man. It isn’t because you lack the time or ability to save any money.”
Of course she’s right. But I’m in a panic.
I have almost nothing in the bank. I’ve spent money on stupid things like fancy dinners to impress chicks I wanted to fuck, or on a bar tab when me and the boys go out, or nice clothes.
Somehow the money went. It’s not as though I make a great living at the garage, but with my cushy situation at Nana’s, it didn’t matter how much I spent or how little I saved.
“You’re really pulling the rug out from under me here, Nana,” I say, getting up and pacing the room. “When do you need me out?”
“End of the month.”
“That’s in two weeks. That’s not enough time.”
She glares at me. “Complain again and it will be tomorrow. Out on your spoiled little behind with nothing but the clothes on your back. And if you refuse, I’ll call the police.”
“I don’t understand why you’re being so mean.”
She snorts and picks up her knitting again. The needles click and clack with deceptive speed. Her old, arthritic hands are chock full of liver spots and saggy skin, yet I know she’s still strong as an ox. “This isn’t me being mean, Danny. This is what’s called tough love.
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