Fucking prick.

"Funny, I never remember setting up any IOUs. When my parents died, you became my legal guardian. If I had any say in it, I would have gone into foster care. At least I'd be free now instead of paying back some old debt you insist upon me owing you."

Anger beseeches him. "If you went to foster care, you would never be the man you are today."

"You're right," I shoot back. "I would be a better man because I would have made a life for myself instead of living the life you want me to. You want me here in the restaurant, cooking your tasteless, generic food because you're too lazy to get behind the grill anymore. You need me and you're holding my future, corked up in a fucking bottle because you're too much of a selfish asshole to let me go on my own."

"You ungrateful little shit. I've given you everything-"

"You've given me nothing!" I shout, startling Hollyn next to me. I speak through a curtain of anger and pain. "If you were half the man you wished you were, I wouldn't be living in a drafty converted warehouse, living on one, maybe two meals a day, saving every fucking penny of mine so I can finally repay you and leave this hellhole."

"The man I wished I was? You have no idea the struggle and sacrifice I've made to get to where I am today: a proprietor, a man with a successful business."

A dark laugh escapes me. "A proprietor? You're delusional. You're serving up tasteless recipes created by a mediocre, bitter man with no heart, no compassion for a boy who was scared from losing both his parents. You did nothing to make life better for me and you continue to do the same, repressing me because you're too depressed about the turnout of your empty and lonely life."

A slight gasp escapes Hollyn but I couldn't care less. I want her to see the kind of man my uncle is. Everyone in the restaurant thinks he's a cool guy who pals around with his employees, but really he's a sadistic man with a vendetta against me because my father was his brother, the brother he despised, the brother who overdosed one fateful afternoon, leaving him with a nephew he never wanted.

Cheeks puffed in rage, mouth clamping together, his eyes blazing with disdain in my direction, he slowly says, "I suggest you get the fuck out of my sight before I double your debt. And if I hear you picking fights with anyone else in this restaurant, I will pull you from the program, make you pay the fine, and then triple the money you owe me. Don't fuck with me, boy."

Not even acknowledging his threat, I stand and storm out of his office, slamming the door shut, not caring if it flies into Hollyn. A good bitch slap from my uncle's office door might do her some good. Hell, she's the reason I lost it. She's the reason I had my future threatened once again.

Every little nuisance, inconvenience, unwelcomed interaction piles onto the already billowing and bustling indignation building inside of me, and there is only so much I can take before I crumble, breaking in half. I'm fucking teetering on the edge, my sanity in the balance.

Blocking out the rest of the world, I get back to work, searing steak after steak on the grill, thinking back to my first class at Dear Life.

Grieve.

What exactly am I supposed to grieve here? The loss of my money, of my girlfriend, or the fact that every day, my lifelong goal seems farther and farther away?

I used to think one day, I would have my own place, my own kitchen with a sous-chef and a dining room filled to taste my concoctions, but now, all I can envision is a crummy life behind this grill, porking out like my uncle, and not caring an ounce about balding.

Apart from my tattoo-decorated arms, I'd be an exact replica of my uncle.

Fuck me.

Thanks, Life. You're a real peach. Once again, note the sarcasm.

DAISY.

"Are you comfortable? Can I get you anything?"

"I'm fine, stop fussing and come sit down."

Grams pats the seat next to her on the couch beneath the window in her room. The Colorado sun beams through the soft, gauzy drapes, bringing in warmth on the chilly, wintery day. Winter in Colorado is tolerable, beautiful actually. Snowcapped mountains, brisk air awakens your senses, and the sun lights up the bright blue sky, a complete contrast to the dreary winters you see in movies.

"Are you sure there is nothing I can get you?" I ask, taking a seat next to her.

"No, I'm fine, dearie. Now," she crosses her hands on her lap and assesses me, "tell me about this marvelous vest you're wearing."

With pride, I smooth down the creation I just finished making before I came to visit Grams. "It's an ode to your favorite quilt vest," I say with pride. "I've always admired your blue, yellow, and white quilted vest with the flower fabric and decided to make myself one. It didn't take me long. Did I do a good job?" Even though I'm considered an adult, I still look for my gram's approval.

"It's lovely. The mauve and dirty-blue tones you used are quite fetching."

"I thought so as well. It matches my slacks perfectly." Before I left Amanda's townhouse, I donned one of my best outfits since I'll be attending a Dear Life meeting tonight. Wanting to impress, I put on my Alfred Dunner blue slacks, cream turtleneck, and my newly finished quilt vest. I looked in the mirror before I left and I had to admit, the colors faired very well together.

"You're stitching has really improved over the years. I'm impressed."

"Thanks, Grams." I glance around her room, taking in the subtle touches she's made to it with some of her decorations, pictures, and afghans. "The place is looking really nice. Are you liking it here?"

"I am. I wish I had a bigger room, but this will do. The women here are quite lovely. Very progressive."

"Progressive? Really? In what way?"

"I don't know if it's appropriate to talk about." Her cheeks blush ever so slightly.

"Come on, Grams, you can tell me anything. Don't hold back now."

Sighing, she leans forward, glances at her door for anyone who might come through and then says, "I've fallen to peer pressure."

A giggle escapes me. What kind of peer pressure could there be in a senior living community? Crazy puzzling? Wheelchair Olympics? Eating with no dentures? Look out!

Holding back my smile, I ask, "What kind of peer pressure?"

"Well, there is a book club here and every two weeks, we discuss the selected book."

"That seems like fun."

"That's what I thought, until they gave me my first book to read." Blushing some more, she says, "It was Fifty Shades of Grey."

Not really aware of any kind of pop-culture. I ask, "What's that? A fabric book? If it is, I would like to get my hands on it. I've had some trouble finding the perfect grey for this quilt I've been working on. The patterns I keep finding aren't mixing well with my other choices so if this book has any suggestions, that would be awesome."

Shaking her head, Grams leans forward some more and whispers, "It's erotic romance."

Eyebrows shooting straight to my hairline, my cheeks blush and I say on a squeak, "Erotic romance? Like . . . sex?"

Nodding with her eyes wide she confirms. "Yes, sex. And oh boy, there's a lot."

"Grams." I blush some more, unable to form words, my hands on my cheeks.

"I know. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I thought it was a book about a nice college girl interviewing a businessman until contracts start to be talked of and kisses happen in elevators. Then before you know it," Grams wings her hands in the air freely, "penises are flying about and tampons are being pulled out." Fanning herself, she continues, "I've been quite educated."

"Oh goodness. That seems . . . interesting. I guess it's not about fabric."

"Not unless you want to talk about the kind of silk to blindfold a submissive."

"Submissive?" My brow pulls together.

Patting my lap, she says, "Don't worry about it, dearie. But I must say, I've enjoyed the tales this E.L. James weaves. Makes me feel young again."

"Well, I guess that's a good thing."

She nods with pride. "It is. And get this, there are movies that correspond with the books."

"Movies?" I ask incredulously. "Sex movies, like," I bring my voice to a whisper, "like those porn videos you always warned me about?"

"Oh no, honey. Not like those porn videos, this has a storyline. There is a big difference."

"But, do you see-?"

"The sex?" she interrupts. "Well, you don't see male genitalia if that's what you're asking."

"Wait." I hold up my hand, completely and utterly confused by the conversation I'm having with my ultra-conservative Catholic grandma who watched nothing but musicals and old videotapes of Irish dancers, and the occasional soap opera, but she always turned it off when things got heated. "Have you watched these movies?"

"There's only one out right now and yes, I have. It was for the experience. Remember when we were reading Pride and Prejudice together for your homeschooling and I would play pieces of the Pride and Prejudice featuring the beautiful Colin Firth for you to better understand the old language?"

"Yeah," I answer skeptically, unsure where she's going with this.

"Well, it's kind of like that. We watched the movie to confirm what we envisioned in the book. But I must say, there was a lot missing from the movie. Oh Hollywood, always destroying the written word."

Nodding, very uncomfortably and starting to sweat in my cream turtleneck, I ask, "So you didn't like it?"

"Oh no," she admonishes. "I enjoyed it very much. That Christian Grey, yowee, he's a looker. And now I have this big fear looming over my head."

"What kind of fear?"

"Well, the girls in the book club and I have read all the books, but the movies are taking quite some time to come out."

"Are you afraid they won't finish them?"

She shakes her head. "No, I'm afraid I might die before I'm able to see Christian in action for all the movies."

"Grams! Don't say things like that."

"I'm serious. What if I die before I get to see all the Fifty movies? How unfair would that be?"

I can't even believe we're having this conversation. My grams, the woman who told me that showing cleavage is unladylike, that has sworn me away from anything sexual my entire life, is talking about how she's scared she might die before seeing all of her erotic romance movies. Who is this person and what did she do with my grams?

"Uh, I really don't know how to respond to that."

"Understandable." She pats my hand. "It's a hard notion to comprehend. Don't worry, I'll hold strong for Christian."

Isn't that a relief. My grams is living for this Christian fella. Here I thought she might want to keep living for me.

"So, tell me how you're fitting in with Amanda and her fiance."

"They're very nice. They've really welcomed me into their home, which I appreciate. They have a pretty big townhouse, at least big compared to our old two-bedroom apartment. I have my own room and bathroom."

"Oh, how nice."

"Yeah, and there is enough space in my bedroom for me to set up my craft table. That's why I was able to finish my vest. They also have cable. I've dabbled in a few shows but nothing has really caught my interest until Amanda introduced me to the Hallmark channel. Oh Grams, you would love the delightful movies on this channel."

"Romance?" she asks with a raised eyebrow.

I blush. She knows I'm that girl who loves love. From the early musicals I've watched, to some of the I Love Lucy episodes I've fawned over, I've always enjoyed the love storylines. Girl meets boy, they fall in love, boy loses girl and then boy gets girl back with a grand gesture. I've always wondered what it would feel like to be one of those girls, to experience a man fawning over them, doing anything possible to win their heart. Would he sing me a song like Gene Kelly in Singin' in the Rain, would he propose to me out of the blue like in Meet Me in St. Louis, or would he get stupid drunk over my love like in There's No Business like Show Business? Would it even happen for me?

Answering her question, I say, "Yes, there is romance in the movies. All innocent, nothing like the books and movies you speak of."

"I'll have to check out this Hallmark channel. We have cable here too."

"You'll love it." Pausing for a second, I bite my bottom lip and say, "I also joined this program down at the church."

"Program? Like volunteering?"

"No." I shake my head, unsure how to approach this topic.

Why do I feel nervous telling her about Dear Life? Maybe because she's one of the reasons I'm taking it. How do I tell her that I need to learn how to live in the real world without insulting her?

"Then what is it, dearie? It's not some druggie thing, is it?"

"No." I chuckle. "Believe me, I would never do anything like that. It's a program called Dear Life."

"Dear life? Sounds interesting. What's it about?"

Taking a deep breath, I say, "It's a program to help you learn how to live."

Her brow furrows. "What do you mean?"

Nervously, I twist my hands on my lap, trying to find the right words. "Well, since I've been living with Amanda, I've realized there is a lot I don't know. It's kind of a culture shock since they live so differently from the way I did. I'm sure you experienced the same shock when you moved into community living."

Her face lightens, understanding crosses her features. "Yes, it was quite startling at first, but I've adjusted."

"So you understand where I'm coming from. There is so much going on in the world I had no idea about. It's quite overwhelming. And to be honest, I'm not as outgoing as you. I would never be able to walk up to a group of women and ask to be in their book club, let alone discuss an erotic romance with others. I wish I was as brave as you."

I don't notice my face is cast down until Grams grips my chin and forces me to look her in the eyes. "You're brave, dearie. You just have to find that bravery within you. So, is this program helping you find the new you?"

Slightly relieved, I nod. "Yeah, you could put it that way. So far I've attended one meeting, and I have the second tonight. That's where I'm heading once I leave here."

"That's wonderful. Have you met anyone yet at these meetings? Made any friends?"

"Not really." My lips quirk to the side in disappointment. "I actually think I'm in a dud group."

"Why?"

Sitting back, I recollect my first meeting. "We were sectioned off into groups, based on where we were sitting. I happened to be sitting next to the guy who doesn't want to be there, his archenemy who is a girl, and a man who barely looks like he's surviving. I know we're all at the meeting for a reason but none of them really want to share. It's a little upsetting. I was hoping to be in a group who was jazzed about the program."

"So it's you, another girl, and two boys?" I confirm with a nod. "Are the boys cute?"

Instantly my face heats from her question. Are the boys cute? Well, they aren't Donald O'Connor and Danny Kaye tapping their way into my heart, but they aren't bad to look at either. Actually, they are very attractive. Jace, with his blond hair and built body has the all-American-boy look. A tortured all-American boy, but an all-American boy nonetheless. As for Carter, he is almost scary attractive. Dangerous with his jet-black hair, tattooed arms, and don't mess with me attitude. He intimidates me on every level. I wouldn't want to be on his bad side.