𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 → 𝐥𝐮𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

26. lingerie

monday,
november 1st, 2020

LUKE HEMMINGS

I stand outside my grandparents' little cottage, waiting for one of them to open the door. I have a key, in case of emergencies, but I don't tend to use it on the daily.

I am clutching a bouquet of white roses in my hand for Grandma, she loves when I buy her flowers.

My grandparents live together in a cute cottage in Ealing, far enough from where I live now but I always make time to visit at least once a week. Besides, I lived here with them for two years before Riverside gave me the opportunity to move out on my own.

I practically owe them my life.

Finally the door swings open and my Grandma is standing there with an adorable grin on her face. She's barely 5 foot, so I have to crouch down quite a bit to hug her hello.

She pats my back, "My Luke!" she sings, "How are you, son?"

She ushers me inside and I make my way down the hallway to the small kitchen at the back of the house that overlooks their little enclosed back garden. I grab the old fashioned, glass vase that sits on the dining table, replacing her old flowers with these fresh ones, along with clean water.

"I'm good, Ma," I tell her honestly, turning to face her and remembering a huge reason as to why I'm here so early in the week, "But I've got a bone to pick with you."

Grandma sighs, shaking her head, "Don't," she holds up her hand to me, walking past me towards the kettle, "I know exactly which bone it is," she exhales, thick English accent prominent as always.

I pause, watching her fill the kettle. I lean against the kitchen counter, frowning with folded arms.

"You know I hate him," I remind her lowly, "You know I can't stand to be around him. And... and to give him my address?" I hiss, filling up with a milder form of rage than I'm used to, but that's because I don't want people I care for knowing how angry I can get.

"Luke..." she trails off quietly, flipping the kettle to boil. She turns to face me, resting her hand on her hip, "He's your brother."

"I don't care!" I snap, earning a daring look from my Grandma, who I know well enough to know that she won't take my shit. I frustratedly tug both my hands through my messy hair, jaw locked tightly. I'm silent for a moment, as is she, and it physically pains me to say,
"Grandma, he left me. For her."

"Son, you don't think I know that?" she whimpers desperately, grabbing on to my forearm, "But I worry about you. Your Grandpa and I..." she chuckles lightheartedly, "We're getting old, bud. And I don't want you to be alone."

My eyes automatically well up with salted tears and I shake my head, wanting nothing more than for her to shut up. I cannot comprehend the idea of her or Grandpa just... not being here someday.

"I'd rather be alone than be with him," I seethe, clenching my fist that isn't wrapped in her fragile hands, "He fuckin' left me! In a big empty house, a big empty country, alone, at 18!"

I can tell this topic of conversation is upsetting her now, but then she shouldn't have done what she did when she knows exactly how I feel about the situation.

Grandma looks desperate for words before she struggles with, "He... he was in love!"

I scoff loudly, escaping her grasp and pacing around the kitchen, "Love! Yeah, in fucking love with the same fuckin' person who I thought loved me."