Grandma asked me to arrange her hospice wedding. I thought she wanted one final celebration. During the ceremony, she confessed she’d lied, reached beneath her veil, and pulled out something meant for me. Her groom already knew. But the man standing near the window looked as surprised as I was.
Grandma Rose had never asked me for much.
Even at 89, she hated being a bother.
She apologized when nurses brought her water.
Her call came while I was drinking coffee.
“Emma, sweetheart, I need a favor.”
Even at 89, she hated being a bother.
“Anything, Grandma.”
“I want you to arrange my wedding.”
I nearly dropped my coffee.
“Your what?”
“My wedding.”
“I want you to arrange my wedding.”
“Grandma, are you serious?”
“Unless somebody’s already married me without telling me!”
I sat down.
She laughed at my silence.
“His name is Arthur.”
“Grandma, are you serious?”
“Arthur?”
“Room 12. Lovely man.”
I remembered an elderly gentleman near the garden.
He always carried a newspaper.
“He brings me his crossword every morning,” she continued.
“Arthur?”
“Does he?”
“Pretends he needs help with the answers.”
“Maybe he does.”
“Emma, the man’s been finishing crosswords since 1958.”
I laughed despite myself.
“Pretends he needs help with the answers.”
Grandma coughed.
The sound lasted longer than her laughter.
I waited until her breathing settled.
“Are you feeling all right?”
“I’m feeling engaged, dear.”
The sound lasted longer than her laughter.
“Grandma?!”
“Listen, sweetheart.”
She took another breath before continuing.
“I’m not spending my last months alone.”
I pressed my palm against the cooling coffee cup.
“I’m not spending my last months alone.”
“I finally have something to celebrate,” she finished.
I visited the following afternoon.
Arthur was sitting beside Grandma’s bed.
Their hands rested together on the blanket.
Neither noticed me immediately.
“I finally have something to celebrate.”
A newspaper lay open across Arthur’s knees.
“Seven letters,” he said. “Someone who complains constantly.”
“Arthur,” Grandma answered.
He looked offended.
“That’s six.”
“Someone who complains constantly.”
“Add an S. There are plenty of you.”
He laughed.
Then he noticed me.
“You must be Emma.”
“And you must be the crossword criminal.”
He noticed me.
Arthur folded his newspaper.
“I’ve heard wonderful things about you.”
“Don’t believe everything she says.”
Grandma pointed toward the chair.
“Sit down, Emma. You’re hovering.”
“I’ve heard wonderful things about you.”
Arthur stood.
“I’ll fetch us some tea.”
“You’ll fetch yourself tea,” Grandma corrected.
She nudged her untouched cup toward him.
“Mine tastes like dishwater these days.”
“I’ll fetch us some tea.”
He kissed her hand before leaving.
I watched him walk down the corridor.
Then I turned toward Grandma.
“You’re really doing this?”
“Of course.”
He kissed her hand before leaving.
“After knowing him only a few months?”
“At my age, months are valuable, sweetheart.”
I pulled my chair closer.
“Are you sure?”
She studied my face.
“At my age, months are valuable, sweetheart.”
“Please don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m already gone.”
I picked at a loose thread on my sleeve.
“I’m getting married, Emma,” she whispered. “Not saying goodbye.”
“Please don’t look at me like that.”
I laughed.
Then I excused myself.
The bathroom was empty.
I turned on the faucet.
Water splashed against the porcelain sink.
I excused myself.
Grandma hated wasting water.
I kept it running anyway.
She had raised me after my parents died.
I was seven when they died in a car crash.
She had already buried my grandfather.
She had raised me after my parents died.
Still, she made room for me.
She attended every school play.
Even the dreadful one where I played a tree.
She taught me to drive in an empty parking lot.
“Brake, Emma! That shopping cart has a family!”
She made room for me.
And she waited whenever I came home late.
A crossword always rested beside her chair.
“Couldn’t sleep,” she’d say.
I turned off the faucet.
Red patches covered both cheeks.
She waited whenever I came home late.
Grandma wanted a wedding.
I wanted another 20 years with her.
I wiped my face and went back.
Arthur returned carrying tea for himself.
He also brought a fresh crossword.
I wanted another 20 years with her.
Grandma glanced at my eyes.
“Did you wash your face?”
“Yes.”
“With a fire hose?”
Arthur lowered his eyes to the crossword.
Grandma glanced at my eyes.
I sat beside her.
“Tell me what kind of wedding you want.”
Grandma smiled.
“One with a groom.”
“That’s usually recommended.”
“Tell me what kind of wedding you want.”
“And flowers.”
“Done.”
“And my sister Lorraine.”
“From Phoenix?”
“Unless she’s moved without telling me.”
“And flowers.”
I took out my notebook.
Grandma began listing names.
Old neighbors.
Arthur’s family.
“That’s a lot of people,” I said.
Grandma began listing names.
“Then we’ll need more chairs.”
Arthur cleared his throat.
“The hospice has a small gathering room.”
Grandma shook her head.
“I want to stay here.”
“Then we’ll need more chairs.”
She touched the blanket.
“Some days, getting dressed takes everything I’ve got.”
I closed my notebook.
“We’ll arrange it around you.”
“Good.”
“Some days, getting dressed takes everything I’ve got.”
Then she caught Arthur’s hand.
“And no gloomy faces.”
The following week became a blur.
Lorraine booked a flight from Phoenix.
Arthur’s relatives offered to arrange flowers.
“And no gloomy faces.”
The hospice nurse helped us choose Saturday afternoon.
Grandma usually felt strongest after her midday rest.
The officiant confirmed the required paperwork.
Grandma insisted on reading every page herself.
“Still know what I’m signing,” she told him.
The hospice nurse helped us choose Saturday afternoon.
Arthur signed beside her.
His hand shook slightly.
Grandma covered it with hers.
“Don’t worry. I won’t ask for your fortune.”
Arthur smiled.
Arthur signed beside her.
“That’s fortunate. I’ve misplaced it.”
They laughed together.
For the first time, I understood their decision.
They weren’t pretending death had disappeared.
They simply didn’t want it making every decision.
For the first time, I understood their decision.
Their conversations sometimes stopped when I entered.
Whenever I mentioned the guest list, they exchanged glances.
Once, Grandma whispered something into Arthur’s ear.
He looked toward me and nodded.
I asked what they’d been discussing.
Their conversations sometimes stopped when I entered.
“Wedding secrets,” Grandma said.
“Grandma, I’m organizing the wedding.”
“Then you should know better than to ask.”
I met Daniel during the preparations.
Actually, we’d met several weeks earlier.
“Wedding secrets.”
He volunteered in the hospice courtyard garden.
Usually, he wore muddy sneakers and an old green jacket.
I’d seen him carrying watering cans between flower beds.
One afternoon, he’d caught me staring at wilted roses.
“Those aren’t dead,” he’d said.
He volunteered in the hospice courtyard garden.
“They look fairly committed.”
“They’re resting.”
“That’s a generous interpretation.”
He grinned.
“I’ve been accused of worse.”
“They look fairly committed.”
We’d spoken several times since.
Mostly about flowers and the weather.
He remembered that I hated lilies.
“They smell like funeral homes,” I’d explained.
He never brought them near Grandma’s room.
We’d spoken several times since.
I hadn’t thought much about that.
Then Arthur introduced him during the wedding preparations.
“My great-nephew, Daniel.”
I glanced from Daniel to Arthur.
“You’re related?”
I hadn’t thought much about that.
Daniel looked amused.
“Should I apologize?”
“Only if you inherited his crossword habits.”
“Unfortunately, yes!”
Arthur shook his head.
“Should I apologize?”
“He’s dreadful at them.”
Daniel smiled.
“Somebody has to make you feel clever.”
Grandma laughed so hard she needed a sip of water.
When she recovered, her gaze moved from Daniel to me.
“He’s dreadful at them.”
Then she hid a smile behind her water glass.
Daniel also repaired a broken garden bench.
I found him tightening its loose screw one afternoon.
“Do you ever stop working?” I asked.
He glanced at my overflowing tote bag.
She hid a smile behind her water glass.
“Interesting question coming from you.”
My bag held Grandma’s laundry and three appointment folders.
“Fair point.”
He stood and wiped his hands.
“Have you eaten lunch?”
“Interesting question coming from you.”
“Of course.”
“Coffee doesn’t count.”
My hand moved toward the tote.
“How did you know?”
“You’ve been carrying that sandwich since Tuesday.”
“Coffee doesn’t count.”
He pointed toward my bag.
A flattened sandwich wrapper stuck from the side pocket.
I laughed.
“You’re annoyingly observant.”
“So I’ve been told.”
He pointed toward my bag.
He offered me half his sandwich.
I accepted it.
We ate beside the garden.
For ten minutes, nobody needed anything from me.
I couldn’t remember my last unhurried lunch.
I accepted it.
The wedding dress arrived on Thursday.
Ivory fabric.
Soft sleeves.
Tiny buttons down the back.
Grandma touched the lace with trembling fingers.
The wedding dress arrived on Thursday.
“Oh, Emma.”
“Do you like it, Grandma?”
She nodded.
“It’s beautiful.”
I held it against her shoulders.
“Do you like it, Grandma?”
She studied herself in a small mirror.
“Think Arthur will notice?”
“He’ll probably propose again.”
“Then he’d better bring another ring.”
A nurse arrived to check her medication.
“Think Arthur will notice?”
Grandma leaned back against her pillows.
Her eyelids looked heavy.
I folded the dress carefully.
“Maybe we should keep Saturday simple.”
I folded one sleeve across the other.
Her eyelids looked heavy.
“We could invite fewer people.”
The tiny buttons clicked beneath my fingers.
“Or postpone until you’re stronger.”
Grandma’s fingers closed around the ivory sleeve.
“Sweetheart, I won’t be stronger next month.”
“We could invite fewer people.”
I stopped folding.
She reached for my hand.
“I know what my body is doing.”
Grandma smoothed her thumb across my knuckles.
“But I still get to decide how I live.”
“I know what my body is doing.”
I nodded.
She squeezed my fingers.
“Now, promise me something.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t spend the whole wedding worrying about me.”
“Now, promise me something.”
I couldn’t promise that.
She knew it.
“Try,” she said.
Friday evening, Lorraine arrived from Phoenix.
She swept into Grandma’s room carrying a hatbox.
She knew it.
“Where’s the bride?”
Grandma lifted one hand.
“Still accepting offers.”
Lorraine kissed her forehead.
“Arthur’s a brave man.”
“Where’s the bride?”
“He’s a lucky man.”
“That too.”
For an hour, they talked about childhood.
Their mother’s dreadful cooking.
A dance where Lorraine lost both shoes.
“He’s a lucky man.”
I listened from the corner.
Grandma laughed until she needed to rest.
Lorraine adjusted her blanket.
Then she looked toward me.
“Go home, Emma.”
I listened from the corner.
“I have things to finish,” I said. “I promised Grandma.”
Lorraine lowered her voice.
“She’s getting married tomorrow, not inspecting a hotel.”
Grandma opened one eye.
“I heard that.”
“I promised Grandma.”
“Then tell your granddaughter to sleep,” Lorraine said.
Grandma pointed toward the door.
“Out.”
I kissed her cheek.
She caught my wrist. “Tomorrow’s going to be special.”
“Out.”
“I know.”
She kept hold of my wrist.
“More than you think.”
Saturday arrived with pale sunlight.
I reached the hospice carrying hair rollers.
“More than you think.”
Grandma recognized them immediately.
“My old ones!”
“You used these before my graduation.”
“And you complained the whole time.”
“Because you made my hair enormous.”
“My old ones!”
“It needed ambition, dear.”
I arranged the rollers carefully.
Grandma watched me in the mirror.
“Too much lipstick?”
“Not enough.”
“It needed ambition, dear.”
She puckered while I added another touch.
For a moment, we could’ve been in her old bedroom.
Then her breathing grew shallow.
I stopped.
“Grandma?”
Her breathing grew shallow.
“Just tired, sweetheart.”
The nurse helped her settle against the pillows.
We waited while she rested.
I sat holding the veil.
“You don’t have to do all this today, Grandma.”
“Just tired, sweetheart.”
Her hand found mine.
“Yes, sweetheart. I do.”
I didn’t argue again.
By afternoon, the room was ready.
The staff had helped position their beds side by side.
I didn’t argue again.
White ribbons decorated the rails.
Someone played soft piano music through a phone speaker.
Arthur wore a blue suit jacket over his pajamas.
Grandma’s ivory dress covered her blanket.
I spread the skirt carefully.
Arthur wore a blue suit jacket over his pajamas.
She inspected the lace.
“Arthur, can you see me?”
He leaned toward her.
“Does she look beautiful or what?”
Grandma narrowed her eyes.
She inspected the lace.
“You’ve got your glasses off.”
“Don’t need them.”
Everyone laughed.
Daniel stood near the window.
Now he held a folded program.
“You’ve got your glasses off.”
When our eyes met, he smiled.
I smiled back.
Then Grandma called my name.
“Emma, the bouquet.”
I tucked the flowers into her hands.
When our eyes met, he smiled.
Arthur reached across the gap.
Grandma took his hand.
I smoothed her skirt one last time.
She caught my wrist.
“Stay close.”
I smoothed her skirt one last time.
“I’m right here, Grandma.”
The officiant opened his folder.
Grandma cleared her throat.
Loudly.
The piano music stopped.
“I’m right here, Grandma.”
Arthur lowered his eyes.
Then he gave a tiny nod.
Those earlier glances suddenly made sense.
They’d been planning something.
“Before anyone cries anymore,” Grandma announced, “I have a confession.”
Those earlier glances suddenly made sense.
Lorraine frowned.
Grandma lifted her chin.
“I lied to all of you.”
Nobody spoke.
Arthur squeezed her hand.
“I lied to all of you.”
Grandma took a careful breath.
“I told everyone this wedding was my only surprise.”
She looked at Arthur.
“That wasn’t true. I love this man. And we’re getting married.”
She turned toward me.
“I told everyone this wedding was my only surprise.”
“But I’ve been keeping something else from Emma.”
Her gaze settled on me.
“Emma. Come here.”
I stepped closer.
“Grandma, what’s wrong?”
“I’ve been keeping something else from Emma.”
“Nothing’s wrong.” She smiled. “Everything is about to be right.”
Then she reached beneath her veil.
Her fingers found a small pocket sewn inside.
She pulled out a folded photograph.
I recognized the room.
“Everything is about to be right.”
I recognized the sleeping woman in the chair.
It was me.
Someone else stood beside my chair.
My hand closed around the bed rail.
I remembered that afternoon.
Someone else stood beside my chair.
I’d fallen asleep beside Grandma’s bed.
When I woke, a blanket covered my shoulders.
I’d assumed Grandma had asked a nurse.
But Daniel was standing beside me in the photograph.
He was carefully settling the blanket around me.
When I woke, a blanket covered my shoulders.
“Arthur’s great-nephew,” Grandma said, smiling.
Daniel looked startled.
“You took that picture?”
“Of course. You thought I was sleeping.”
I glanced toward Daniel.
“You took that picture?”
“Grandma, why show everyone?”
She touched the photograph.
“You spend your life looking after me, sweetheart.”
The final word barely reached me.
“Someone ought to look after you sometimes.”
“Grandma, why show everyone?”
My answer wouldn’t come.
“Nobody can replace you, Grandma.”
“Good. I’d hate to be that easy.”
Arthur laughed softly.
Grandma squeezed my hand. “I’m not choosing a husband for you.”
“Nobody can replace you, Grandma.”
She glanced toward Daniel.
“I just wanted you to notice.”
Grandma leaned against her pillows.
“Now, somebody marry us before I need another nap.”
The officiant resumed.
“I just wanted you to notice.”
Arthur held Grandma’s trembling hand.
“I can’t promise you many years,” he said.
Someone behind me began crying quietly.
Arthur kept his eyes on Grandma.
“But I promise you every day we’re given.”
“I can’t promise you many years.”
Grandma smiled.
“And I’ll keep correcting your crosswords.”
They exchanged rings.
When Arthur kissed her, everyone applauded.
Later, Daniel found me beside the courtyard roses.
They exchanged rings.
“I didn’t know about the photograph,” he said.
“I believe you.”
He rubbed his neck.
“You looked cold that afternoon.”
“You could’ve woken me.”
“I didn’t know about the photograph.”
“You needed sleep more.”
I smiled.
“Thank you for the blanket.”
Through the window, Grandma watched Arthur unfold his newspaper.
One crossword lay between them.
“You needed sleep more.”
Daniel glanced toward the garden gate.
“Would you like coffee sometime?”
For once, I didn’t search for an excuse.
“I’d like that.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Would you like coffee sometime?”
I looked back at Grandma.
She was laughing at something Arthur had written.
“Tomorrow sounds good.”
Daniel smiled.
I still feared losing Grandma.
That hadn’t changed.
But tomorrow, I had somewhere to be.
I still feared losing Grandma.
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