blue (book one) - h.s. ✔️ watty's 2019

chapter 19

"This game is rigged! How have I gone to jail five times already when we've played only three rounds," I exasperate, waving my hands at the infernal Monopoly game.

"All's fair in love and monopolizing, sweetie," my nona claims.

"I'm just one bad ass grandma."

Taking the dice in my left palm, I roll again and roll a four. I move my little top hat player piece and land on one of the four railing railroads.

"I think I'll buy that," I say counting out the two hundred dollars necessary, but pause mid-count.

"I'm sorry, dear, but I own that one already."

I look at the leftover properties and sure enough there's only one railroad left, and its not Reading Railroads. I don't even remember her buying it!

"How much do I owe you?" I groan fed up with the game.

"Seventy five bucks," she smiles, bringing out a stack of play money to collect her dues.

"Seventy five dollars!"

"I'll be broke!" I semi shout as I count the colorful money. I guess the business world is just not meant for me. I'd surely declare bankruptcy a few years out of college if I had followed my father's career path.

"That's the point of the game," she says, holding her hand out.

Surprisingly, I last a few more rounds before all of my money is gone, all of my property sold, and I'm literally groveling for mercy. In the end, nona wins.

Again.

"You'd think that going to such an elite school would make your mind more crafty, more systematic. But I guess not," she jokes, sorting out the paper money in color coded stacks.

"Ha-ha. Real funny," I say, glancing at all of my old furniture and accessories.

Everything I didn't take with me years ago is in its exact same spot. My old pillow pet collection, school books, and cozy blankets litter the place in an organized way. It all brings back old memories.

As we cleanup the board and put back all the pieces, we make idle conversation. I talk about some new clubs I'm considering joining, my piano and dance recital, and more. After we're done we continue our conversation sitting on my old bed, and I instantly regret allowing her to talk.

"Don't think I've forgotten where we left off earlier today," she begins sliding the board game under my bed.

"What's the name of this boy you're so smitten about?" she pressures giving me her undivided attention.

Smitten.

As mentioned before, Diana and I have always been attached at the hip. She practically raised me. She provided all of the love of a parent without any of the scorn. That was left for my parents. She is what kept me grounded in the toughest times. With a constant pressure to be perfect for my actual grandma and grandpa, parents and just about everyone in this scorched city, she was my only outlet.

I did not have to sit upright or act a certain way and talk about certain things. No. She's the only one who knows me for me. I remember times when I'd have to diet to keep fit in elementary - by request of my actual grandparents - and she'd sneak me a cookie every night during those weeks.

She's my best friend.

Taking a deep breath I open my mouth to finally speak. "His name is Harry, nona. He's an undergrad student at Penn."

"What does he want to do?"

Taking a moment I realize I have no idea why he's there. As a matter of fact, I don't even know what his major is. I know nothing about the tall boy, really.

"I have no idea."

"Okay. Well, what is he studying?"

"I'm not sure. We have a class together," I say slightly down.

"Literature."

"How old is this young man?"

Blushing deeply I sink into my many pillows and shrug my shoulders.

"Parker Drue, you know absolutely nothing about this boy and here you are falling all over him," she scolds.

"I thought I raised you better."

"I know, I know," I groan, taking a pillow to cover my face with.

"Why are you so in love with someone you barely know, " she pushes.

"Is it the sex? Do you guys have sex?"

Shooting up a little too quickly, I get a bit lightheaded and reach for the glass of water adjacent to my bed.

The woman is seriously going to kill me.

"I'm not in love with him," I say incredibly hot, sipping the cold, refreshing water.

"And we haven't had sex. I've never," I trail off until her eyes grow with acknowledgement.

"I see."

"Harry is just different from other guys, nona,"

"And it doesn't matter what he is to me. He's straight and has a girlfriend," I mutter as flashes of him and the blonde flood my mind.

"Then what's the big deal? Why wait so long to tell me and get so nervous and frantic when I bring him up?" she states, making a great point.

"I don't know," I declare rubbing my hands over my face, an action I immediately stop as soon as I realize where I got it from.

"There has to be something else. This is. . . unlike you," she says sipping her cup of coffee patiently.

This woman.

"Okay, okay. Give me a second," I start.

Breathing deeply, I try to find the right words to describe. . . at least something about my relationship with Harry.

"Do you remember that lovely garden you used to have before you moved in here? The one you'd used to take me to almost every weekend to help tend and nurture it?"

"What does this have to do with the boy? Don't try and change the subject," she scolds.

"I'm not! I promise."

She starts at me quizzically, but answers anyways.

"Yes, yes, I do. Why?"

"Well, then remember the beautiful parcel of roses you portioned off," I continue smiling at the memory.

"They were oh so beautiful! I was so proud of them in blooming season. I even remember planting them and accidentally mixing in a another seed. A random seed that I didn't tell you about till it was already buried," I say, remembering the moment vividly.

"You were so mad at me!" I laugh softly, causing her to join in. I had never seen her so red in the face. Her garden meant everything to her; it was her baby.

"I was, wasn't I?" she chimes in, recalling the memory.

"And that summer we were both surprised, weren't we?"

Smiling brightly, she finishes the memory for me looking distant.

"Yes, we were! I remember walking out one morning to tend to my garden. It was so very chilly!" she exclaims rubbing her arms as if it were a living memory.

"When it came around time to water the roses, I was captivated beyond measure! In a sea of beautiful roses, there was only one flower worthy of higher title . . the seed you planted on accident," she adds.

"A beautiful white daisy. Capable of stealing the entire garden show! How beautiful it was!" She says looking into the distance with a childish glee. Her hands clasped together in an awe-filled moment.

"Nona," I start. "Harry is that daisy."