The Someday Jar by Allison Morgan

try, I snatch it from his fingers. “Ha!” I wiggle the peppermint in the air. “Got it.”
    “I let you—” He pauses to catch his breath.
    My heart sags. “How about that water?”
    He nods.
    “Stay put.”
    Evan’s got me thinking as I fix Hollis’s drink. If he lists with another company, one of the impersonal real estate firms with their stuffy faux-painted reception areas and artificial flowers, will they pay mind to him like he deserves? Will they know he likes rooibos tea with a splash of whole milk, not cream? Will they laugh at his jokes? Warm his liver-spotted hands with their own? I gasp. Will he bring
them
candy canes?
    I would be devastated if he decided to list but did so elsewhere. Not for the ridiculously huge commission—and my God, it’s huge—but because I truly love the old man currently swallowed up in the pillows of our couch.
    And dammit, I don’t want to share my candy canes.
    Hollis thanks me for the drink. After a long sip, he says, “I came by for the analysis. You called and said it was ready.”
    “I told your housekeeper I could drop it off.”
    “I know, but it’s a beautiful day for a car ride. Besides, I enjoy seeing that smile of yours.”
    “Same to you. Hold on a second, I’ll get it.”
    I grab the shiny folder with the Evan Carter Realty logo sprawled across the cover. Inside, I’ve compiled a neatly arranged and thoroughly detailed portfolio, complete with color-coded pie charts, graphed sales predictions, current market conditions, and various other calculations. I squeeze my eyes shut and exhale. I hope they’re impressed.
    “Here you are, young man,” I say, returning a moment later.
    “I’ve grown rather curious to see what you’ve come up with. Who knows? Maybe we will sell.”
    “Only if it feels right.”
    He places a trembling hand beneath my chin, holds his eyes on mine, and says, “You’re a good girl, Lanie.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Well, I need a nap.”
    “Of course.” I help the old man to a stand, saddened he’s not feeling well.
    “I’ll call you after Bevy’s had a chance to look at this and she gives me
my
opinion. After fifty-four years, I’ve learned we share the same opinion. Hers.”
    “Smart man.”
    Hollis and I walk arm in arm toward his truck. Once inside the cab, he leans through the window and blows me a kiss.
    I catch it in my palm and press it against my heart. Though I never told Hollis, he’s the closest thing to a grandfather I’ve ever had. Both sets of mine died young, three of them before I was born and the last, nine days after my second birthday. And while it’s true Bevy and I have never met, listening to Hollis boast about his bride has made me fall in love with her, too. Never did I have a Nana who wore my colored-noodle necklace to lunch dates or hung my clothespin-reindeer ornament on the Christmas tree year after year. Never did I have a Gramps teach me how to ride a horse, squeeze my cheeks too tight, or slip me a ten-dollar bill for a good report card. Whether it’s right or it’s wrong, endearing or presumptuous, I consider Hollis more than a tender old man with bad jokes and candy canes. I consider Hollis family.
    The truck billows black smoke as it drives away.
    As the fumes dissipate, my determination grows clear. No way in hell will I let some other agent take Hollis from me.
    Back inside, I march into Evan’s office, fueled by the challenge. “The Murphys list with us and you’ll make me partner?”
    “You get me that listing, Lanie, I’ll make you anything you want.”

eleven
    The following afternoon, dressed in sweats and old T-shirts, Kit and I nervously walk into Rudy’s Martial Arts Academy for a kickboxing class. Other than the distinct smell of body odor, it’s not your typical gym with heavy dumbbells or weight machines requiring an engineering degree to adjust the seat.
    Quite the opposite, it’s a warehouse-style, echoey metal building with a mirror-paneled wall, a chain-link