Prologue: Cordelia and Gretchen:
It seems like no matter what, Gretchen is always in a hurry. She could leave an hour early and still show up late, out-of-breath, flustered and apologizing like crazy. In fact, "sorry I'm late," has become her default greeting. She's feeling more flustered than usual today, butterflies in her stomach, as she enters Pine Hills Assisted Living to see Regina's grandmother without Regina.
Pine Hills looks more like a fancy hotel or the most luxurious apartment complex in the world than an assisted living, with a fountain at the entrance and enormous, modern-looking windows. Truth be told, her dorm at Oberlin looks much more old-fashioned. When Gretchen first heard that Regina's relatively young grandmother (at 72, Cordelia was a good two-decades younger than Grandma Olga) was moving to an assisted living after a hip injury, she was surprised, even as Regina told her it was temporary and mostly because neither Henry nor Regina's aunt Lucille wanted Cordelia anywhere near them and Cordelia, who liked her space, didn't want to be stuck with a live-in nurse. Cordelia's own house was so large and contained so many staircases that it didn't seem reasonable – plus, it was much too big for one person and Regina's grandfather had died years ago, before Regina, Ricky and Kylie had even been born. Looking at it Pine Hills now, however, Gretchen thinks that one could almost ignore the circumstances and pretend Cordelia and her housemates were guests at a posh resort.
"May I help you?" asks the perky, perfectly made-up woman behind the counter.
"Yeah," says Gretchen, "Um, I'm here to visit Cordelia George? Sorry I'm late, she adds.
The woman looks down at her watch. "They should be at lunch now," she says. "Out on the veranda."
"Aw," says Cordelia, looking up from the nurse, a large black woman named Trisha, "See, here she is now. I told you my granddaughter and her friend were coming." Trisha rolls her eyes and stalks away, perhaps to bother some other resident.
"Sorry I'm late," Gretchen says again, in what is possible and even smaller, more timid voice than she used at the front desk.
Cordelia shrugs good-naturedly. "What are a few more minutes? I'm old after all."
Gretchen can't quite tell if she's joking or not, but she smiles anyway.
"Why don't we go outside?" Cordelia suggests, although with Cordelia, suggestions are demands. "We could have some tea."
When Gretchen first met Regina in fifth grade, it was almost like meeting royalty – her cool, regal confidence radiated from her. She seemed both distant and utterly approachable at the same time. Cordelia is exactly the same way. Even at 72, she is beautiful, her silver hair pulled into a tight bun, her firm jawline with full lips giving the smallest trace of a smile – or is it a smirk? her perfectly filed nails shiny, her posture straight and head held high. Grandma Olga's skin is saggy and yellow-tinted, but Cordelia's wrinkles around her mouth and eyes are barely visible.
At first, Gretchen was just as afraid of Cordelia as she initially was of Regina. But somehow, Cordelia had taken to her almost immediately. "Any friend of Regina's is a friend of mine," she had said and Gretchen had felt warm and tingly in the pit of her stomach.
"So, where's Regina?" Cordelia asks.
"Oh," says Gretchen quickly. "She went to get Dairy Queen. She'll be here soon."
Cordelia wrinkles her nose. "Dairy Queen? It's much too cold for that. Anyway, while we're waiting, you may as well sit down. So," she asks after taking a dainty sip of tea, the way fancy ladies in movies about Victorian Era England do, "how are things going with Mike?"
Gretchen bites her lip. "Ugh," she says.
"Ugh?" Cordelia repeats. "That bad?"
One thing Gretchen really likes about Cordelia is that she really takes the time to listen when Gretchen complains. Then again, it could be that she has nothing better to do, but it's still better than Gretchen's mother, who still insists Mike is the best thing since sliced bread, or Regina who keeps insisting that Gretchen just break up with him already.
"I don't really know what to do anymore," Gretchen says. "It's just all about him and his problems all the time. I mean, I want to help him," she adds, perhaps a little too vehemently, "but I'm just so tired of feeling like he's more important than me."
Cordelia is quiet for a moment. "Do you love him?" she asks.
"I-I don't know," Gretchen replies. She's thought about this a lot. She knows she used to before Mike started calling her in the middle of class, angry that she couldn't drop everything to hang out with him, before he lost his temper at her for not wanting to share a poem she wrote in eighth grade and a writer's workshop, before he was diagnosed with an illness of the brain that made it impossible to blame him for any of his erratic behavior. "I mean, we've only been dating for two years and we're only 20…but it just feels like everything is so hard with him. Is it supposed to be this hard?"
Cordelia ponders this for a second. "They certainly can be, especially when one of the partners is sick. You should be kind to him. He's going through something very difficult."
Aw, Gretchen thinks, here it is again. The same old "you-have-to-be-nice-and-patient-with-him-and-be-the-bigger-person" bullshit she's used to hearing from practically everyone ever, aside from Regina who has never liked Mike in the slightest.
"At the same time, though," Cordelia says, "you're going through something difficult, too. And at some point, you have to put yourself first. You should be kind to yourself, too."
"Was it like that for you and Regina's grandpa?' Gretchen asks. "Was it hard, I mean?"
"Yes," says Cordelia, looking straight ahead, her eyes sad and far away. "Very hard."
"How did you meet him anyway?"
"Actually," says Cordelia. "I was just about your age. A little younger, even. I had just finished my first year of college at Wellesley and I don't think I had ever been so miserable…"