Chapter One

April 28, 2017

My grandma always tells me: "Keep your eyes open, Carson. Life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent". I've never quite understood what she means by that. Okay, rephrase. I get it, but I don't know why she always says that to me. It's not like she's a huge Sherlock Holmes fan or anything, but she says it like clockwork every time I leave the assisted living home. Just like how she cups my face with both hands and kisses me on the forehead exactly three times when I walk into her room. This has been our little ritual ever since I turned 16 and we've been at it for 15 years, which feels like my entire life and also just yesterday. Funny how time works.

I love it though. The truth is, I've always been a grandma's girl. Growing up, I knew I was different. I didn't want to play with dolls or dresses, or stuff my bra with tissues to make my boobs look bigger. Most days, I was found slicing the air with my plastic samurai swords with greater precision than the red Power Ranger ever could. I spent the majority of my childhood outside until the lights came on, which worked out well for me because I didn't have to hear my parents arguing all of the time. And they did…argue all the time, that is. They ended up divorcing right before I started middle school, so my mom and I moved in with Grams. That's where I learned my love for America's favorite pastime. When Grams was my age, she left home to join the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League. I grew up on stories of all of the shenanigans that she and the other women would get into, dreaming that maybe one day I would have an adventure of my own.

My mother wasn't the most nurturing of mothers, and it didn't help that the divorce pushed her to go out as often as she could. So…I spent most of my time with Grams. We spent most of our time outside playing ball. Not only could she still play, but she was a hell of a coach. Don't get me wrong; she was a total hardass, but it only made me better. I made it onto the fast pitch softball team and became the starting catcher in high school as a freshman. You can only imagine how pissed some of the seniors were, but I didn't care. All is fair in love and baseball. .

Like any softball playing lesbian, it was in the midst of playing sports with a bunch of girls that I really started realizing that I wasn't like most of them. I didn't want to impress some boy on the baseball team and hope that they would ask me to prom. Nope. Instead, I crushed on my best friend for most of senior year, not knowing that friendships weren't supposed to feel that intense. I just thought that everybody loved their friends like that, but it turns out I just really loved my friend. Who would have thought that Sophia Bush and Brittany Snow's kiss in John Tucker Must Die would be my official sexual awakening? Be honest, I'm not the only one. Anyway.

Grams, on the other hand, knew about my affinity to the ladies before anyone else. Maybe it was all of those years in the baseball league, but she seemed to pick up on my homo-spicious behavior faster than anyone. I remember the night that I came out to her. It was during one of our usual evening strolls when she turned toward me.

"Carson. You know we're all God's creatures."

"I know, Grams."

"And not all of God's creatures are straight." She put her hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "Way I see it…if He can love them as they are, I can too." I didn't think it would be possible to love another person quite as much as I loved her at that moment. My grandma just had a way of seeing me…really seeing me.

I think she has that gift with everyone. People always gravitate towards Grams. Her bubbly personality and quick wit always makes her the life of the party. While I was blessed with her athletic ability on the field, I cannot say the same about her charm. I'm the awkward wallflower in the corner usually stumbling over her words while my grandma is the popular social butterfly surrounded by friends all of the time.

Therefore, it is no surprise to me that she had visitors when I arrived at her apartment that Friday afternoon after work. Her living room consisted of three other women sitting around her when I pushed open the door. Before the door could close behind me, she was pushing herself up and heading over to me with her arms out.

"There's my baby! I was just talking about you," she exclaimed in her typical overdramatic fashion, her hands cupping my cheeks as she kissed my temple three times with a mwah! sound louder with each kiss. I laughed and gave her wrists a small squeeze before looking toward the women seated in the living room talking amongst each other.

I recognized Alma, Gram's current next door neighbor, and then there's Shirley who I practically grew up knowing as if she were an aunt. Shirley Cohen was an interesting woman; she'd been friends with Gram ever since I was born and made her decisions based on probabilities. I remember the time she babysat me when I was 7, and she spent two hours explaining to me how chances of dying of lead poisoning would increase by 23 % if I drank out of the water hose. At least I know the root of my anxiety disorder, right? That's how she got her nickname from me: Silver Lining Shirley.

The third woman, however, was a stranger to me. With how social Grams was, I'm certain that she had to be new to the building. Otherwise, I'd have been well acquainted at this point.

"All good things, I hope," I teased with a warm smile.

"Pfft. Where's the fun in that?"

"Ha ha. Who's the newcomer? Volunteer to be the welcome wagon again, hm?" Grams squeezed my hand and tugs me toward the living room.

"Well, yes and no! One of my friends from the league just moved in this week, so we decided to celebrate the team getting back together so to speak. Let me introduce you. Greta, this is my granddaughter, Carson. Carson, this is my good friend, Greta Gill." I walked into the living room, bending down to give a quick hug to Alma, then a wave to Shirley. She never was much of a hugger. Imagine that. I turned to the new woman seated on the couch, dressed in a red floral dress with matching heels and lipstick. Her hair was mostly white with streaks of faded red, pulled back in a clip out of her face.

"Hello, Greta,," I said, extending my hand out to her and meeting her gaze. Light brown eyes stare back at me in disbelief, lips parted in utter surprise. Maybe the light was playing tricks on me, but her eyes appeared to be welling up with tears that threatened to fall. Greta didn't move from her seat, but instead sat frozen, and so I stood there with my hand out toward her…waiting. My eyebrows raise just a little, almost afraid to look away or make any sudden movements. Was there a bee or something? Did I resemble a serial killer from one of those Netflix documentaries that everybody here seems to be engrossed in?

"Carson…" she whispered, and I swear, her stare could have burned a hole right into my face. The silence in the room was deafening, and it was kind of freaking me out. Correction. It was definitely freaking me out, but this was a friend of Grams', so I would have to force myself to be polite.

"It's…uhh…nice to meet you," I said, clearing my throat. My hand slowly started to close since she still had not moved and I wasn't about to stand there with my hand out like an idiot. The movement seemed to bring her back into herself and she looked away with a laugh that was surprisingly…warm.

"I am…so sorry. You just reminded me of someone. Maybelle, you didn't tell me your granddaughter had such a likeness to…," Greta replied quickly before her words trail off, but she just shakes her head with a smile. Pushing herself up to stand, she takes my hand before I have the chance to pull away. It's surprising how tall she was compared to me. Compared to anybody, really. Her hand is warm and gentle around mine, lingering for a moment before her grip loosens. Okay, that was awkward, right? Downside to being naturally awkward is that you can't actually tell what's really awkward and what's just your brain playing tricks on you. I look over at Grams for a moment, and the look on her face isn't making this any better. She looked like she was watching one of her soap operas, ready for the dramatic reveal. What the hell was going on here?

"Oh. Yeah, no. It's okay. I get that a lot, actually." I shrugged with a nervous laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Do you?" Her eyebrow arched as her lips curled into a smile. It seemed as though Greta was slowly easing back into the realm of the normal. Thank God. I was going to have to find some reason to leave early otherwise, which I hate doing things like that.

"Yeah. I'm that person people wave to in the grocery store and then they realize I'm not who they think I am, so they run in the opposite direction to leave me waving back."

"That's surprisingly true. It's happened more often than you think," Grams adds, completely unphased by the odd introduction. If it weren't for Shirley and Alma watching with eyes wide, I would convince myself that I must have made the entire awkward situation up in my head. Greta laughed, her smile widening across her face as she regarded me for another second.

"Why do you wave back if you don't know them?"

"Well, you know. No one is so rich as to throw away a friend." I did my best Chi-Chi Rodriguez accent, hoping to lighten the mood. As always, Grams is the only one to laugh. Greta's eyes narrow slightly, curious and confused. Shirley and Alma aren't responding any better. What is it with people not having seen Too Wong Foo?

"Is that a politician?" asked Alma.

"No, they throw friends away all of the time, Alma," Shirley replied with a wave of her hand.

"What kind of accent were you just trying to do?" Greta asked with a twinkle in her brown eyes. She seems amused, and her eyes are so intense that I can actually feel my heart rate speed up as I try to answer.

"A Spanish one…"

"I can't say I've heard any Spanish people with that accent before."

"Well, it's…a southern Spanish dialect. You've probably just not met anyone from southern…Spain."

"Oh, I see. That must be it, then.." She grinned, relenting. I felt a sense of relief wash over me when she finally looked away from me. Do you know how intense maintaining eye contact can be for that long of time? Jesus, I'm feeling sweaty everywhere. Before I could respond, Grams slapped her hand onto the top of the couch.

"All right. I'm going to get a bottle of wine from the fridge for us to share. Alma, Shirley. Will you help me, please?" Grams slowly pushed herself up from her seat. I moved to help her up and she waved me off with a tsk, standing up and turning to walk.

"Oh stop, Carson. I'm not an invalid," she said as she made her way toward the kitchen with the other two ladies. "Keep Greta company."

"Actually," Greta started to stand as well, gripping the couch for support. "I believe I'm going to take a rain check. I'm quite tired."

"What? Are you sure?" Grams looked at her concerned, but Greta only smiled and nodded reassuringly.

"I'm sure." When she moved to stand, I did the same. I wasn't sure whether to help her or not, but rather than overthink it as per usual, I offered my hand out to her to help her up. Her fingers slid into mine and I swore that when she looked at me, there was a warmth that felt so familiar. Don't get me wrong, I'm not looking for women almost three times my age to take out for a night on the town, but I could tell that Greta easily had to have been one of the most beautiful women when she played in the league. She was still beautiful now, of course. You know what I'm trying to say.

"Carson, walk Greta to her room please." This wasn't an unusual request from Grams. I typically would walk Alma as well, but for some reason, I felt nervous to do this. Maybe it was just the odd encounter, but I found myself having to force a smile.

"Yes ma'am. Be right back."

"Oh, that's not necessary. I can make it back on my own." Greta held up a hand to stop, but I shook my head..

"No, it's all right. Really. I'm happy to do it. I insist," I replied, moving to the door and opening it for her. Greta stopped to say her good-byes before we stepped out into the hallway. My grandma's gaze lingered on us as I moved to close the door behind us. What on earth was that about? I frowned in confusion but the frown faded away as soon as I turned to see Greta smiling at me and waiting. I returned her smile and offered my arm to her, as I do for Alma every night as well. She took it with such ease that it caught me by surprise. It's as though she's taken my arm so many times, and yet this is the first time. All right, Carson. Knock it off and walk this poor lady home. You're being weird, dude.

"So, Carson. Tell me. Do you have a lady waiting for you at home?" She turned her head to me to give me her full attention. My eyebrows furrow.

"How…did you know I was gay?" Greta looked surprised by my question, but she only pushed out a small laugh.

"Your grandmother talks about you all the time," she replied, giving my arm a small squeeze. "Besides, we also recognize our own, right?" The comment caught me off guard and I can't help but to gape at her. Holy shit. I can honestly say I wasn't expecting that. Although, if I'm really honest with myself, Grams is friends with a bunch of ball players. I should have expected that at some point. By the look on my face, however, I'm clearly surprised and that brings another laugh from her. Her laugh is rich and filled with warmth.

"Or maybe some of us don't," she teased. I laugh sheepishly, my free hand coming up to push through my hair. That's a nervous tic of mine, something I often do when I'm unsure of what to do with myself.

"I don't really make it a habit of inquiring about the sex lives of my grandma's friends."

"Well, that's a shame." My head snapped up so quickly that I actually felt a pop in my neck. Greta's hand came up to stop my response and she laughed, giving a small nudge to my shoulder.

"I'm kidding, Carson." I visibly relaxed, laughing along with her. Yeah, she got me on that one. I wasn't used to older women being so casual with me, but the way she said my name so often put me at ease. I felt like I was actually talking to a friend. Someone who actually saw me.

"So, tell me. Are you happy? Do you have someone who makes you happy?" Her eyes searched mine, trusting me to guide her down the hall. I don't know what it is about Greta, but I just feel compelled to be honest with her. Maybe it's because I don't know her so well that I don't worry as much about judgment. Or maybe it's because I don't have an older gay person in my life who might be able to bestow that sort of wisdom? Or maybe she's just one of those people that makes you want to tell them your life story. God, that has to be such a shitty quality to have. People just info dumping on you because you seem like the type of person who wants to listen.

"Sure, I'm happy, I guess. But no, not really. I don't have anyone in my life romantically per se. I've gone on some dates here and there, but nobody has stuck, you know? There was one girl that lasted for a while, but honestly, I just don't think it's going to work out with her."

"How come?" The question caused me to release a long sigh and I shrug.

"I don't know. I guess I just feel like nobody sees me. Like really sees me. Everyone has this expectation of what they'd want me to be, but they always end up disappointed. Who knows? Maybe I'm just meant to be alone, and that's okay too. Independence is nice, right?" Greta stopped and turned toward me. There's that intensity again, and I wonder if maybe my initial assessment of her was wrong. Her eyes were locked on me, holding me in place and freezing the time around us. She held so many secrets in her gaze and I could see the sadness behind the strength she portrayed. It was jarring, but I couldn't look away from her.

"Carson, you're not meant to be alone. There is someone out there for you who sees you, and will love you until their last breath. I can promise you that." Her words practically pushed the breath out of my lungs and I realized that we've been staring at each other for longer than we should have. I give a small smile and rest a hand on top of the one still gripping my arm.

"That's kind, Miss Gill."

"Mrs. Gill." My eyebrows raised in surprise.

"You're married? What happened?" I asked, and the sadness in her eyes came to the surface beyond the strength she seemed to lead with, and that pulled a bout of guilt from my core. Duh, Carson. Read the fucking room and use your common sense.

"I…lost her. A while ago."

"I'm so sorry."

"Thank you, but it's all right. To have the love I did makes me one of the lucky ones. I know we'll be together again. What's lost always has a way of being found again," she squeezed my arm before pulling away and nodding to the door on her right. "This is my apartment. Thank you for walking me, Carson. I hope you find the one you're looking for." Greta gave me one last smile before turning away to walk inside of her apartment. A wave of melancholy gnaws at me as I turned away when I hear my name.

"Carson?" It's Greta. I turn to look over my shoulder at her.

"Yes?"

"...Just…know that not all battles are worth fighting. It's okay to walk away sometimes." Her eyes stay trained on me for one last moment before she closes the door.

Uhhh, okay. Last minute elderly wisdom for the road? I stood in the hallway for one last moment, trying to make sense of what she meant. Maybe I wasn't supposed to. It's not like I could knock on the door and ask for her to elaborate, but again, I could always ask her about it the next time I saw her if it still took up residence in my brain. No. It's best I let it go and file it away for a useful reminder later in life.

I turned and walked back to Grams' apartment, my smile widening as I could already hear the three women cackling to one another. Clearly, they started the wine without me. Those bitches.

"There'd better still be a glass for me," I called out as I walked back in. Grams is already at least a wine glass in and pouring a second next to the glass she poured to be ready for me upon arrival. By the size of the glass, I already know that I'm sleeping on her couch tonight.

It's early the next morning when I hear the fervent knocking on the door. How is it that a knock on the door literally feels like someone is beating you with a mallet? I guess drinking excessive alcohol does that to you when you succumb to geriatric peer pressure. My head popped up, faster than it should have. Holy shit, why did I have that third glass of wine? I groaned, putting a hand to my face to rub it as I sat up from the couch.

"Hang on. I'm coming," I murmured sleepily, shuffling toward the door. At this point, Grams has already wrapped her robe around her and is walking behind me to the door. As I pulled the door open, there's Shirley standing there with her face as pale as a ghost. The panicked look on her face sobered me quickly and I blink.

"What's going on?"

"It's Greta. I went in to check on her this morning since she said she wasn't feeling well earlier and she's not responding. Please hurry. I'm worried about her," Sheryl was already heading toward her room, assuming we would follow. If she wasn't imitating the Hulk every time she knocked on the door, I wouldn't take this seriously, but I knew that Greta had to have heard her knocking on the door. We hurried to her door and Sheryl immediately started knocking once more.

"Greta? Greta, answer the door please," Sheryl yells into the door, as if asking politely was all she needed to do to begin with. My gut tightened as a feeling of dread seeped in. This was never a good sign and I had a feeling that opening that door was going to bring a painful reality to Grams and her friends. At the same time, what if she was hurt or needed assistance? The thought alone sprung me into action. I moved up to the door and lowered my shoulder, bracing myself for the impact as she sucked in a breath and charged the door.

It took two tries, but on that third try, the door flew open, a few bits of wood from the frame falling on the ground from forcing the door open. As the door flung open, I caught sight of Greta's body, still and unmoving on the bed in the back of the apartment. Oh shit.

"Sheryl, go get help. Now!" I tugged on Gram's robe sleeve for her to follow and then hurried into the bedroom. She's still in her dress from the previous evening, lying on her back on the right side of the bed. I hovered over her, hand moving to her shoulder to shake her.

"Mrs. Gill! Mrs. Gill! Greta! Wake up!" I forcibly shake her shoulder, but it's no use. I can tell by the stiffness of her body that she's gone. I heard Grams choke back a small sob behind me and start to turn toward her. As I turn, something catches my eye. In Greta's hands, she's holding a small picture frame with a yellow post-it note on it. I reached out and took the frame from her hands, tugging firmly as I squint to read the note.

Carson - You found me twice now. I know you can do it again. I love you forever and for always. I believe in us.

I pulled the post-it note off of the picture frame and held it in my hand, re-reading the words she wrote. What the fuck is this? As I turned to look at the picture in the frame, my entire world shifted on its axis as time seemed to stop. I'm staring down at the picture, unable to comprehend what it is that I'm seeing. I can physically feel my brain trying to make sense of what I'm looking at. It has to be the alcohol still in my system because this cannot be real. This is it. I'm finally having a nervous breakdown. I found a dead body and now thirty years of anxiety is crashing into amygdala full force, threatening to give me a one way ticket into a straitjacket for the rest of my life.

What is it that I'm staring at? Well, I'm glad you asked. The picture I'm looking at is one of Greta when she was younger. Early thirties, I'm guessing. As I'd suspected, she was easily the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen in my entire life. Her smile extended across her face and even in the black and white photo, I can tell that her eyes are sparkling as she looks down at the woman in her arms. The love between the two women radiated off of the old photo and there was no question that this was the love of her life. Greta's eyes were trained on the woman who smiled directly at the camera. The woman looking at me was a face I'd recognized instantly.

"What the…." I murmured, shock rippling through me as I stood over Greta's body staring at a photo that couldn't possibly exist. How was this even possible?

The woman I was staring at in the photo wrapped in the arms of a beautiful, tall redheaded woman was…me.

How was this even fucking possible?