As I slide my arms under her to carry her to the bedroom, she wakes, her eyes heavy with sleep. “I didn’t mean to wake you up,” I whisper, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.
“I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I’m just really tired.” She yawns, stretches, then pushes herself up from the couch, following me to the bedroom. She strips down naked, dropping her clothes in a pile on the floor before sliding into the center of my king-sized bed and wrapping her entire body around a pillow. I do the same, sliding in behind her and wrapping myself around her.
I wake to an empty bed and the sound of a toilet flushing. It’s still dark and I crack an eye open to see the clock. Three thirty-seven in the morning. I hear more sounds and the toilet flush again before I finally get up to see if Gracie is okay.
“G,” I say, knocking on the bathroom door.
“Go away,” she mumbles back, then the sounds of the toilet flushing again.
“Are you okay?”
“No. I’m dying.”
I hear her spitting into the toilet, and my heart sinks for her. I think back to yesterday and wonder if she ate something bad. She had fish on the airplane.
“I think I have food poisoning,” she says, flushing the toilet again.
I’m hesitant to go in, knowing that she wants some privacy, but I also want to make sure she’s okay.
“Can I get you anything?”
“A new stomach,” she answers. I’d chuckle if I didn’t feel so bad. Even when she’s sick, she keeps her snark at the helm, prepared to use it at any time. That’s when I remember I have Pepto Bismol in the kitchen. Hopefully that and a glass of tea will help settle her stomach.
When I return to the bedroom, tea and medicine in hand, I find her back in bed and already falling asleep. I set the medicine and tea on the nightstand closest to her side of the bed and slide in behind her. I press a gentle hand to her forehead to see if she has a fever, but she feels fine. Hopefully, whatever she ate has passed and we can still have our weekend away.
Gracie moans when she finally wakes around seven thirty. I’ve been up and sorting through clothes I’m going to have shipped to New York.
“Morning.” I walk over to the bed and sit down next to her. She reaches for my hand and I gently massage her palm while she wakes up.
“Morning,” she musters out and rolls to her side.
“Feeling any better?”
She groans again, but then makes a cooing sound as I hit that pressure point between her thumb and forefinger. “Not really. I shouldn’t have eaten that fish on the plane. I thought it smelled funny.” She grumbles and rolls onto her back.
“Let me draw you a bath.” I lay her hand on top of her stomach. “Soaking in some warm water might help, oh, and there’s some Pepto Bismol.” I point to the bottle of pink medicine on the nightstand.
While I get her bath ready, Grace must have rewarmed her tea. She’s carrying the mug and the bottle of Pepto into the bathroom in all her naked gloriousness. Sighing, I reach for both items while she slides into the tub and moans in pleasure as the hot water covers her.
“Relax,” I tell her. “I’m just going to get a few more things together to have shipped to New York. Hopefully, this makes you feel better, because I have one more surprise for you this weekend.”
She offers me a tired smile and nods her head. I know she’s not feeling well when she doesn’t argue with me about another surprise. “Thank you for taking care of me,” she says, her voice weak.
“Always.” And I mean that. I’ll always take care of her if she’ll let me.
Gracie perked up after her bath. I can tell she’s not one hundred percent, but Tylenol, some Pepto Bismol, and ginger tea seemed to bring some life back into her. She said she’s still nauseous and her body aches, but she’s powering through, and for that I’m grateful.
Early this morning, I sent a text message to my mom to tell her I was coming for the night and bringing someone. This prompted nearly one thousand additional text messages wanting all the details. Being the horrible son that I am, I didn’t respond to a single one. She can wait and form her own opinion of Grace in person, just like everyone else.
Tiffany also had my car cleaned and filled with gas, so it’s all ready and waiting for us in the parking garage.
With a tea for the road, and everything we need for the night, Gracie and I begin our hour trek north to Napa.
“Where are you taking me?” she asks.
“Another surprise.” I wink at her and she groans. “But we’re going over the Golden Gate Bridge first.”
This changes her mood. She smiles and stares out the window into the foggy San Francisco morning. The fog will break in the next fifteen minutes or so, but I’m glad she gets to experience what we get nearly every morning in the city.
She’s in awe of the bridge and closes her eyes for most of the remainder of the trip. I’m hoping the short nap will help her feel better so she can enjoy Napa. The drive is painless, which isn’t always the case. Traffic out of San Francisco is almost always as bad as traffic in New York City.
I pull into the long drive that leads up to the house I grew up in. The house sits on five acres and is surrounded by vineyards. Vineyards we don’t own, but the five acres our house sits on is nothing short of amazing. There’s a creek that runs through the property behind the house and oak trees line the perimeter. It’s like a mini forest behind the house and it was everything Aaron and I loved growing up as kids.
We hid in those trees, played in the creek, and helped my mom work in her huge garden. The house, while familiar, has changed dramatically. After my dad died, my mom renovated the house from top to bottom, both inside and out. Now it looks more like a massive modern farmhouse than the two-story Craftsman style home we grew up in, but as I’ve learned, change is good. My mom loves the house, and as long as she’s happy, I’m happy.
“We’re here,” I gently wake Gracie and she startles.
“Oh, my gosh, I was so tired!” She stretches and notices the house we’re parked in front of. “Where are we?” She looks at me and back to the house.
I smile nostalgically. “This is where I grew up.”
Her eyes widen as she takes in the massive house in front of us. “Holy crap.” Reaching for the door handle, she steps out of the car. I meet her on her side just as I hear footsteps.
“Oh, my god!” I hear my mother’s voice before I see her lunging down the stairs and right toward me. “Andrew!” she says, wrapping me into a tight hug.
“Hi, Mom.” I kiss her cheek. “I want to introduce you to Grace. Grace Morgan.” My mom unwraps herself from me and bounces over to Gracie, pulling her into an equally obnoxiously tight hug. She looks at me over Gracie’s shoulder and gives me a surprised look. I haven’t brought anyone home since Melissa.
Gracie smiles and hugs her back. “So nice to meet you, Mrs. McPherson.”
“Stop that.” My mom swats at her playfully. “Rose. You call me Rose, honey.”
And that is my mother. Rose McPherson. Over the top, but the most loving person I’ve ever met. She is exactly what Aaron and I needed in the absence of our father. Someone to smother us with hugs and kisses. Someone who was always in our business and front and center at every game, at every school play, and the only person who was a constant in our lives.