Thirty Days: Part Two (A SwipeDate Novella) Read online

  “You’re an idiot,” Bobby responds, motioning down the street. “Let’s go to Record Runner. There’s a new Sam Hunt vinyl out I wanna pick up.”

  “Two things. One, you know they make these things called MP3s, which allow you to store your music on your phone without any need for records. B, stop assaulting your eardrums with such garbage. You’re better than that, Bobby boy,” I say with a laugh as I follow behind him, weaving through the busy sidewalk.

  “A romance author who doesn’t like country. Maybe that’s your problem, Gavin. I don’t think listening to Slayer while writing is going to stimulate the feels and get you the results you’re looking for.”

  “Slayer? Where the fuck did you pull that from? I don’t think I’ve ever even heard a song by them. You know I listen to that emo, screamo shit.”

  “And you’re judging me and my country music?” he asks, scrutinizing me as he opens up Record Runner’s front doors before making his way inside. The cluttered space inside is filled floor to ceiling with vinyl records, and a musty smell clings to the air. Though I like to give him shit for it, there is something oddly comforting about walking into a record store as a music lover; to flip through the vinyls, both new and old, and take in the nostalgic nature of them all.

  Bobby heads straight for the country section and begins flipping through the records. “You know the sound is different too, right?” he asks, looking over his shoulder at me briefly before resuming his search.

  “What, country music?”

  He looks back over at me and rolls his eyes. “No, you jackass, vinyls. There’s a different sound to them. Raw. Genuine. I hate that overproduced bullshit you listen to.”

  “Bobby, you know I just love fucking with you, right? I have a crate of vinyls packed away somewhere at the house. I get it.”

  “You’re a cock,” he says, finding what he was looking for and pulling it out with an “A-ha!” He tucks it into the crook of his armpit and meanders through the rest of the store, letting a few things here and there catch his attention.

  “Why? Because I give you as much shit as you give me? I’d call it getting even, hombre.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I would never.” He feigns offense as he sets the record and a twenty on the counter to be rung up.

  “Yeah, just like you haven’t been enjoying this bullshit challenge of yours either, right?”

  “Oh, that’s right,” he says, eyes wide as the clerk gives him his change and he nods in appreciation, grabbing the record from her. “I forgot we had a discussion going on before you took it off into Gavin fuck-fuck land,” he says over his shoulder as he heads back out the front door.

  “Gavin fuck-fuck land? Sounds like it’d give Disney a run for their money,” I joke, following behind him and stuffing my hands in my pockets to combat the persistent, bone-chilling wind.

  “Stop. You aren’t redirecting this conversation again. We were talking about Megan and uh…” He looks up toward the sky and he snaps his fingers a few times.

  “Sami,” I mutter, finishing his sentence for him.

  “Yeah, that’s it, Sami. So, what’s the deal here? I still don’t see an issue. Stop overthinking shit. You been on what, one date with them?”

  “Two with Megan.”

  “Oh yeah, well regardless, I’m pretty sure they aren’t beating themselves up as much as you are when they’re out with Steve, or Jimmy, or Evan, or whoever the fuck else they find on that SwipeDating shit. It’s how that stuff works. Nobody takes it seriously.”

  “I’d beg to differ with you there.”

  “And why is that?” he asks, looking back at me as we approach the street in which we are to go our separate ways.

  “Maria’s still texting,” I say with a chuckle and a quick shake of my head.

  “No fucking way,” he replies, turning toward me now with a quick shiver.

  “Yes, way.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned. You did a number on that woman.”

  “I didn’t do shit,” I retort, shaking my head. “Not one damn thing. Now I gotta get to the retirement home. I’ll hit you up later, okay?” I walk past Bobby, giving him a few good pats on the chest when he grabs my arm.

  “Hey, Gavin, one second.” I turn to face him as he continues. “So, I can’t join you today with your grandma, but what about Sunday? I feel like shit about missing the last time.”

  “I told you, it’s no big thing, really,” I say, brushing him off.

  “I’m serious, man. I want to. What are your plans?”

  “I was just going to take her to Washington Park for a few, maybe, and then to the house. Or maybe just the house, depending on the weather.”

  “Why don’t we change it up?”

  “What do you mean ‘change it up’? The woman is seventy-eight years old. We don’t have a whole lot of options.”

  “According to whom? You, or the doctors.”

  “What are you getting at, Bobby?” I ask, my brow scrunching.

  “I was just thinking, why not try something new. What did she love to do when she was well that you haven’t done with her yet?”

  I think for a moment, trying to remember the summers with Grandma, and all the things she used to love when she was still okay.

  “Jazz,” I finally say. “She always loved jazz. Grandpa would put a record on, and they’d dance around the house, just laughing and singing. She loved it.” I smile, the memory of her retelling running through me like it was yesterday and not some ten years ago.

  “A jazz club, then,” he says with a quick shrug of his shoulders.

  “Are you crazy?” I shake him off, getting ready to head down the road to hail a cab when he swipes at me again, grabbing my jacket and stopping me in my tracks. “What, fucker?” I stop, looking at him, annoyed. “Think about what you’re saying here. An old woman with severe Alzheimer’s getting wheeled around a jazz club.” I jab two fingers against my temple as if to say, ‘what are you thinking’ and continue. “It’s just ridiculous.”

  “And how exactly is it going to hurt her to be around something she loves. Julius has his guy Frankie, with the jazz club off Madison. We can have him close a section off for us. And besides, it’s going to be what, early evening on a Sunday. There’s a good chance she won’t be the oldest one there,” he says with a chuckle.

  I hesitate for a moment, genuinely thinking over what he’s just proposed, because I am trying to be more open-minded, and I’m not trying to dismiss Bobby so quickly again. He does have good intentions, even if I can’t initially spot them.

  “I’ll ask the nurses, but I guarantee they’ll say no.” I nod down the sidewalk behind me. “Now, I gotta go.”

  “Seriously, ask them, Gavin. I think it could be good for her. Promise me.” He shoots me a pointed look, his eyebrows raised.

  I sigh loudly, letting out a little ‘ugh’ before saying, “Yes, dick. I will.” I turn with a laugh, walking briskly down the sidewalk in an attempt to warm up.

  “Hey, Gavinnnn,” I hear him call out behind me, a slight sing-song tone to his words. “I said, promise.”

  “I promise, you little shit,” I yell out over my shoulder, stealing a few nasty glances from passersby, and then I hear his throaty laughter echo from behind me.

  Nurse Jackie is as welcoming as ever when I come strolling in from the bitter cold. As I strip my jacket, scarf, and hat, she approaches with her hands clasped together and a big smile on her face.

  “Well, don’t you look all chipper this morning,” I say, bringing her in for a half-hug, holding my winter gear in my other hand.

  “As I ought to be. And you should be too. Gracie’s been doing mighty fine these past few days,” she says, pulling back and motioning for me to follow her.

  “Yeah?” I ask, thrilled by the news.

  “Oh yeah,” she responds over her shoulder, the big smile still on her face. “She’s been eating more, a bit more responsive, and she hasn’t had any outbursts in qu
ite some time.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” I say, nodding as we approach Grandma’s room. Jackie raps her knuckles against the frame, and leans in.

  “Gracie, Gavin’s here to see you,” she calls into the room as I pop my head around the doorframe. Grandma is seated in her side chair, which I haven’t seen in months, and she’s crocheting, though it doesn’t look as if she quite remembers how to do it. Seeing the attempt, at the very least, is heartwarming.

  “Who’s Gavin,” she replies, eyeing me as she drops the yarn and crochet hooks to her lap.

  “A volunteer, Gracie,” I say before Jackie can, and I turn back to give Jackie a reassuring nod. She rests a hand on my shoulder, smiles, and then heads back to the nurse’s station. “So, how are you doing today?” I ask, making my way into her room and dropping my stuff on the dresser lining the back wall. I pull the chair just in front of it toward Grandma and take a seat.

  She eyes me, her small frame drowning in an oversized hospital gown.

  “I’m doing okay.” Her pale blue eyes drop to her hands and she lifts the yarn and hooks. “I’ve been trying for hours to do this and I can’t. I thought I could.”

  “Why are you in hospital clothes, Grandma?” I ask, and I only catch it once it’s left my mouth. I freeze as her gaze fixes back on me, a curious look in her eye.

  “What did you say?” she asks in her shaky voice, almost too quiet to hear.

  “Sorry.” I laugh, brushing it off. “You remind me so much of my grandmother. Spitting image. I can’t help it sometimes.” She looks at me a bit longer before her eyes fall to her hands again. “Can I help you with that?” I ask, motioning to the materials, and she shakes her head.

  “No, no, I’m done with this.” She holds it out and I take it from her, setting it on her nightstand behind her before returning to my seat.

  “Well, what would you like to do?”

  She hesitates for a moment, her focus shifting to the window, condensation framing the beautiful fall colors outside. “Is it very cold out?” she asks, her eyes landing back on mine.

  “It’s not too bad. We could get you out of that gown and into something warmer and go wherever you’d like.”

  “A park?” she asks, clasping her hands together and bringing them to her mouth.

  “Yes, of course. Let me get Jackie and we’ll get you ready,” I say, standing and making my way to the door as she beams with excitement.

  After an hour or so of cruising Washington Square Park, I could see a complete difference in my grandma’s behavior and mood. She was in high spirits as her eyes darted from the beaming sun in the cloudless sky to the other people enjoying a little Vitamin D in the midst of a terrible cold front. The cold inevitably led us back here to Brookdale and now, Grandma is all nestled in bed, in her own nightgown as she should be.

  Slipping my jacket on, I meet Jackie off to the side of the nurse’s station, reading the curiosity on her face.

  “What do you need, dear? You best speak up. I’ve got patients to tend to,” she jokes, throwing a thumb behind her with a big smile on her face. Her other hand rests on her hip.

  “Well, Bobby had mentioned taking her to a jazz club. We’d close an area off and stuff. But I don’t know. He was just thinking of ways to get her back…and it seemed like it’d be worth a shot.”

  She considers this for a moment, her eyes roaming over the bland eggshell walls and her foot bobbing. “You say it’ll be closed off?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “And only a few hours?” She lifts her wrist and eyes her watch. “Gotta be around the same time too.”

  “That’d be just fine,” I respond, nodding with a grin.

  “I trust you, baby. Just make sure it doesn’t end up being too much for her.”

  “Never. Thank you, Jackie. I’m kind of excited to see how she takes it all. I was worried too, when he mentioned it, but the more I think about it, it seems like a good way to get the memories going.”

  She rests a hand to my shoulder, a look of sympathy on her face. “I’ll hope for the best, Gavin, baby. I always do.” She brings me in for a big hug, holding it longer than usual before she lets me go, her smile ever-present and luminous. “I love ya.”

  “I love you, J. I’ll see you Sunday.”

  “Now, tell me about this challenge. How is it going?” Dr. Thresher asks me for the third time since I sat in this chair fifteen minutes ago. I’ve managed to put off the question the previous times, but the look in her eyes tells me it’s about time I spill.

  “It hasn’t been too bad,” I respond and a still silence follows. She narrows her eyes at me.

  “Gavin,” she says in that motherly tone of hers.

  “I’ve met two that I’m interested in,” I blurt, and she sits back a little in her chair, crossing her arms as she does.

  “Go on,” she says with a quick nod.

  “And then a few bad dates. A couple who have been a bit too interested.”

  She shakes her head slowly, tilting it a bit with a wrinkle in her brow. “I guess ‘I told you so’ would be appropriate here?” She smirks.

  “Maybe for someone other than my psychiatrist. I think those in your profession give up the ability to judge, no?”

  “Publicly, at least,” she says with an abrupt laugh. She covers her mouth to catch it and waves me off with her other hand. “No, no judgment here, Gavin. You know that. I just knew something like this would happen when you brought up this challenge to begin with. Remember that?”

  “I do.”

  “But there’s two of them you like, huh?” she asks, leaning into her desk a little.

  “Yeah.”

  “In just a week? These must be quite the ladies.”

  “They’re different. That’s for sure. And I’m not saying I’m into them, into them.” I lock my eyes on hers, shaking my head. “They’re just…cool.”

  “Gavin, you must know by now I don’t speak in those terms, so what you’ve just said is complete gibberish to me.”

  I smile, clearing my throat before I continue. “Two of them have me intrigued. Curious for more, I guess.”

  “Do they know they’re a part of this challenge?” she asks, tapping the end of her pen against her chin, her inquisitive eyes piercing through me.

  I scoff, my eyes trailing around the room. “Not necessarily.”

  “So no, then…” She shrugs. “I’ll tell you, Gavin. This is what I was worried about. I’m all for you meeting someone, but I also know there’s a lot you need to work on with yourself, too. A lot that needs to be figured out. I worry what could happen to you both if you really fall for one of these girls and they find out the truth. I worry about your response to that.”

  I roll my eyes, shaking my head stiffly, leaning in for emphasis. “I’m not going to ever have another bridge day, doc. Not ever. I can promise you that.”

  “I understand that, Gavin. Not only do I understand it, but I believe it, too. But I also know that you aren’t quite out of the woods yet, and the last thing I want is to see you backtrack.”

  “Everything is okay. If…and I mean if, I end up wanting to take things further with one of them, I’ll tell them upfront about the challenge, and I’ll be nothing but respectful and honest toward the other.”

  “And you have how many dates left? What if you feel a connection with others? And what if whichever of these girls you like and want to take to the next level doesn’t care much for the truth, regardless of your honesty. That’s possible.”

  I shrug. “Then, oh well. I move on.”

  She tilts her head, a slight smile building at the corner of her mouth. “How long have we talked about Joanne?” she asks, reminding me that erasing the feelings of love is about as effective as driving on fumes. You’ll go for a little bit, maybe even second guess the correctness of your fuel gauge, but no matter what, your vehicle will sputter to a stop at some point, and you’ll be fucked. And
maybe you come across an old gas can in your trunk, pouring the few droplets down into the tank, and you get that bitch rolling again. But it’ll only go so far before it stops again. Love sticks to some. For me, it becomes like another limb, attached for life. If only you could amputate it.

  “Okay, okay,” I agree, putting a hand up in resignation. “But I think I’ve heard from both you and Bobby to stop letting fear and what ifs control my actions. Doesn’t this fall into that category?”

  “In a way, yes, it does. But you’re involving other people in this, other people’s feelings, and truth be told, you’re doing it at a point where I believe you’re still vulnerable. I don’t want to see you hurt either, Gavin. Not when you’ve been doing so well.”

  “I’ll be fine, doc,” I reply, brushing her off, trying to sound as convincing as possible.

  “I’m going to move past this, because I can see you getting agitated and—”

  “I’m not agitated,” I say, cutting her off. “I just think maybe you doubt me sometimes, and where I’m at in my recovery.”

  She shakes her head firmly, furrowing her brow, which I don’t often see from her. “No, Gavin. Not one bit. I know very well where you are in your recovery because I’ve been with you nearly every step of the way. I know you much better than you’d like to believe. That’s why I’m concerned. Now as I was saying…” She puts a hand up to keep me from talking and raises that motherly eyebrow of hers. The one that says it’s her turn to speak. I settle back into my seat, my eyes dropping to the floor, waving my invisible white flag. She continues, “Accelerated Resolution Therapy—or ART—is a new treatment benefitting veterans dealing with PTSD in the military system. It’s gotten spectacular marks across the board so far in many studies.”