Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 126850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
“You will. You said that about your degree and you got it done.” She paused. “What will you be when it’s done? Doctor Lady Grace? Lady Doctor Grace?”
I blinked at her. “I… don’t know. I will technically be able to use the doctor title, and I probably will professionally.”
“But not personally?”
“Eh, it’s too much hassle having to change your name everywhere. If I ever get married, I can just do it all then.” I waved my hand. “It is what it is.”
Granny shook her head and picked up her cup of tea. “What about Amber? I haven’t seen her in a while.”
“Ah. She wants you to come over and make your roast beef.”
“Ooh, a bitchfest. Lovely. I’ll come after you’ve had dinner with that ratbag of a father of yours.”
Ratbag wasn’t the word I’d use to describe my father, but still more polite than her usual ‘knobhead,’ so I was just going to have to let it slide.
“All right,” I replied, brushing it off. “Fine. Sunday?”
“Yes, Sunday.” She paused. “This Sunday? Or next?”
“This Sunday.”
“Oh, good. I have a wedding to attend in three weeks.”
“What on Earth does a wedding in three weeks have to do with us having dinner this weekend or next, Granny?”
Granny pursed her lips. “If I cook for you, I need enough time after to bribe you both into helping me decide what to wear. It’s for the granddaughter of a dear old friend of mine, and I’d like to look my best.”
“You always look fabulous,” I reminded her, glancing at her navy pantsuit. “You’d be even more fabulous if you brought your mascara out of the spider-leg craze of two-thousand-and-seven, though.”
She batted those spider-leg eyelashes at me. “I’m holding onto my youth.”
“You’re seventy-six. I think your grip is slipping.”
“I maintain a tempestuous relationship with your father for your own good, and this is how you treat me.” She dug in her bag and pulled out her purse. “And I was about to buy your breakfast, too.”
“You’re being a drama queen.”
“You’d know. You are one.”
“Yes, and I get it from you.” I grinned and put my hand on hers. “I’ve got this one. You paid last time.”
She waited for a second before she smiled and put her purse away. “I wish I’d known that before. I’d have ordered the smoked salmon.”
I laughed and shook my head, taking my purse out from my bag while she got the attention of our waitress and made the universal sign for the bill.
“I’m going to powder my nose,” Granny said, shuffling her chair back. She got up and stopped, then turned back to look at me. “That doesn’t mean the same thing these days, does it?”
I grimaced and offered a slight shake of my head. “It could be taken in another way, yes.”
“Right-o,” she replied before she quickly disappeared through the restaurant towards the bathrooms.
It was tough having a grandma who was a twenty-year-old in a seventy-six-year-old body.
She was more energetic than I was.
The waitress returned with the bill, and I paid it on the card machine, thanked her, and dug in my bag for a tip. The service and food here was always incredible, but I couldn’t wait to get out of here and be a basic bitch and get a cheap-arse coffee to wake me up.
I loved my granny, but my goodness, it was like entertaining toddlers sometimes. She was so full of life and energy, and I adored that about her, but I also needed a little pick-me-up after a prolonged period together.
Sometimes it was coffee, other times it was a shot of vodka.
Sadly, it was before midday and I wasn’t a Bloody Mary fan, so coffee it was.
Granny returned after several minutes, and I peered up from my phone as she approached the table.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded. “Yes, dear. Darn toilet wouldn’t flush. Are we ready to leave?”
“Yep.” I picked up my bag and fetched my coat from the back of the chair. I slipped my arms into the sleeves and buttoned it up, helped Granny with hers, and we left the restaurant together.
She looked up at the greying sky. “It’s going to rain.”
“It’s England and it’s February. Of course it’s going to rain.” I smiled at her. “What are your plans for today?”
“I’m going to the knitting shop and meeting Marcie for lunch.”
Ah.
Her friend.
Marcie was not her friend. Marcie was quite a bit more than Granny’s friend, but neither of them would ever admit it out loud.
Not when they were sober, at least.
“Lunch? You’ve only just eaten.”
“I didn’t say I was eating now, did I?” Her eyes twinkled. “There’s a great cocktail bar that just opened over on Kinleigh Street.”
“I’ve heard about it,” I replied. “Do you want me to walk you over to the knitting shop?”
“No, dear, you’ve got things to do. Are you going to work on your slavery project?”