If I Tell

said, “Will you go shopping with me? Take my mind off it?”
    “Uh…” I tried to think of an excuse, but my mind was still too slow.
    “Please,” she begged until I agreed to meet her at the mall after work.
    When I hung up, I picked my guitar back up but instead of my own song, I played Grandpa’s favorite Neil Diamond song. The same song Jackson had sung the night he drove me home.
    “Sweet Caroline,” I sang and closed my eyes. The hole Grandpa had left throbbed in my heart, and I couldn’t breathe properly for a second.
    “Jasmine?”
    I jumped at the sound of Grandma’s voice and pulled my fingers off the strings almost guiltily.
    “I didn’t hear you come home.” I put my guitar down on the bed.
    “I just came from the church. I could really use your help.”
    “What’s up?”
    “There’s an open volunteer spot,” she said.
    I waited. I’d heard a million variations over the years since Grandma retired from nursing. For as long as I could remember, I helped serve Thanksgiving dinners to the needy at the local church. At Christmas I helped put together food hampers. Then there were Grandpa Joe’s impromptu concerts at the Senior Center and community fund-raisers Grandma volunteered us for.
    “Our seniors group needs a volunteer on Wednesday nights. Kind of a karaoke thing. They need someone to play guitar. The man who was supposed to handle it had a heart attack.”
    I wrinkled my nose, thinking how much I didn’t want to play guitar for a bunch of off-key old people. “There’s no one else?”
    Grandma shook her head and pressed her lips tight, and I knew she wanted me.
    I sighed. “All right. I’ll talk to Amber about not scheduling me Wednesday nights.”
    “Thank you, sweetie.” Grandma sat on my bed, her slight frame barely indenting the comforter beside me. “Are you working tonight?”
    I nodded.
    “Good. You can talk to her tonight.” She smiled. “You could use some nights out. Other than work, I mean.”
    Things were pretty bad if Grandma thought a night out with senior citizens would do me good.
    “I go out. I hang out with Ashley at school and I work.”
    “Hmph. I’ve never even met this mysterious Ashley. When are you going to have her over?”
    “For a play date?” I said. “We’re a little old for that.”
    “I’d like to meet her. I don’t care that she’s gay, you know.”
    I stared at her, wondering how she even knew that.
    “I’m not stupid, Jazzie. I catch on. I read between the lines. And while I may not understand the whole homosexuality thing, I certainly appreciate that it is a reality. I’m a pretty flexible old woman, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
    I held in a laugh and managed to keep a straight face. “Well, I didn’t think you’d care. She’s a competitive swimmer, and she’s really good, so she spends most of her time in the pool. Which is why she doesn’t come over, not because I didn’t think you couldn’t handle it.”
    Grandma harrumphed at me. “She swims? I wish you’d swim. I never understood why you gave swimming up. You know, your grandfather overruled me on that one, but I’ve always regretted not putting you in more lessons. What if you fall off a boat?”
    “When’s the last time I was on a boat?”
    Grandma cleared her throat. “You never know when life will invite you on a boat.”
    “Really, Grandma? I’ve made it this far without an invite.”
    “Well, that’s because your grandfather was as afraid of the water as you were. All the more reason to get you swimming. I might want to take you on a cruise or something, except I can’t because you don’t swim.”
    “You would never go on a cruise,” I told her. “You’re too busy.”
    “Well, someday I might want to.” She harrumphed again. “Your grandpa was stubborn. Just like you. He didn’t want to make you feel bad about fearing water. I thought you should overcome it. I should have put my foot down.”
    She cleared her throat and glanced at the watch on her thin wrist.
    “Why don’t you bring Ashley over after work if she’s not swimming? I’d like to meet her.”
    “I’m meeting Mom after work to go shopping.”
    “You are?” She frowned and sat down on the end of my bed. “Can you do me a favor? She’s really not dealing with her last trimester well. Poor Simon.”
    I reached for my charm and rolled it in my fingers. “Poor Simon? He’s the one who got her pregnant.”
    “Your mom’s acting very temperamental.”