Timebound

1





I do not require life to be neat and orderly. Anyone who doubts that should dig around in my backpack, where you will likely find a half-eaten candy bar that has been there since Iowa—a state we moved from nearly a year ago. I’ve changed schools five times since kindergarten. I spend half of each week with my mom and half with my dad, where I sleep on the sofa and share a ridiculously tiny bathroom. I’m not high-maintenance. I can deal with chaos.

Some things, however, should happen in the correct order. Shoes go on after socks. Peanut butter is applied after the bread comes out of the toaster, not before. And grandchildren are born after their grandparents.

Most people never give much thought to that last point. I certainly hadn’t—at least not until my grandmother showed up last April. Because that one little element was out of order, my entire life changed. And I’m not being melodramatic here. Having your existence completely erased has to qualify as a life-changing event, by anyone’s definition.

Before my grandmother’s sudden reappearance, I hadn’t seen her for more than a decade. There were a few yellowed photographs of the two of us in an old album, but to me she was simply someone who sent money for birthdays and Christmas—and someone my mom doesn’t like.

“This is so typical,” Mom said as we stepped off the subway. “Mother breezes into town and demands an audience. Never mind that we might have other plans.”

I didn’t have other plans and I was pretty sure Mom didn’t either. But I also knew that probably wasn’t the point.

A slightly chilly breeze greeted us as the escalator reached street level and we stepped onto Wisconsin Avenue. Mom raised her arm to hail a taxi, but it pulled over to take another passenger.

“The restaurant is only a few blocks away,” I said. “We could be there by the time—”

“These heels hurt my feet.” She glanced around, but seeing that there were no other cabs in sight, she gave in. “Fine, Kate, we’ll walk.”

“Why did you buy heels in the first place? I thought you didn’t care about her opinion.”

She scowled at me and began down the sidewalk. “Could we move it, please? I don’t want to be late.”

I really wasn’t trying to annoy her. We usually get along very well. But on any issue involving her own mother, Mom is unreasonable. The birthday and Christmas checks I mentioned earlier? They go straight into my college savings, even though Mom usually says I should make my own financial choices and deal with the consequences.

The previous night, she had actually talked to her mother for more than five minutes—a record, at least to my memory. I only heard Mom’s side, but I was able to put the pieces together. My grandmother was back from Europe, she was ill, and she wanted to see us. Mom argued but finally gave in. The negotiations then proceeded to logistics—location (neutral turf), cuisine (vegetarian), time of the meeting (seven thirty), and so forth.

We reached the restaurant a good ten minutes early. It was a trendy, mostly vegetarian spot, with large paintings of vegetables on the exterior walls that reminded me of the illustrations in one of Dad’s well-worn cookbooks. Mom breathed a sigh of relief when we entered and she was able to confirm that we had indeed arrived before my grandmother.

I took the chair facing the bar. The young guy behind the counter making mixed drinks and smoothies was cute, in an artistic, moody sort of way, with long hair pulled back in a ponytail. Even if he was a bit too old for me, at least I’d have a pleasant view while they argued.

When my grandmother arrived a few minutes later, she was not what I expected. For one thing, she was more petite than she’d appeared in photographs—my height or a little shorter. Her gray hair was almost a buzz cut, and she was dressed casually, in a bold print tunic and black knit pants that looked, I thought enviously, a lot more comfortable than what I’d been forced to wear. And she didn’t look ill. A bit tired, maybe. Sick? Not so much.

Mom apparently agreed. “Hello, Mother. You’re looking surprisingly well.”

“Don’t scold me, Deborah. I didn’t say I was going to expire before the end of the week.” Her words were aimed at Mom, but her eyes were on me as she spoke. “I needed to see you and I needed to see my granddaughter—all grown-up and so pretty. School pictures did not do you justice, dear.” She pulled out her chair to sit down. “I’m quite hungry, Kate. Is the food good?”

I had been so certain that she would call me Prudence that it took a few seconds to realize the question was for me. “It’s not bad,” I responded. “They have decent sandwiches, and it’s not all vegetarian. Some okay fish, too. The desserts are good.”