celiabreslin

Just a Fika: Coffee, Connection, and a Matchmaking Ghost Grandmother

Excerpt:

“Show yourself, you meddling woman,” I say, probably
too stern for a granddaughter. She did this to herself.

“Oh, relax. You had fun, didn’t you?” Mormor’s voice
projects from the living room.

“You had no business showing up tonight. My social
life is mine.” I kick off my shoes in the entry and cut across to the warmth of
the lit fireplace. She’s kept herself busy.

“Oh, sit down,” she scolds me from the purple wingback
chair, like the child she believes I still am.

Hard to say no to your grandmother, even if you don’t
really know her. For civility’s sake, I take my place in the leather chair on
the other side of the fireplace, garnering an unobstructed view of her. The
heat and flames of the fireplace illuminate the bridge etched into the back of
the black stone, only visible when the temperature hits high enough. She’s been
waiting.

“Did you have fun?” The chair creaks as she adjusts
her legs. “You two were adorable together.”

“So you said at the restaurant. Directly to him.” The
energy it takes to argue isn’t worth the effort right now. Opting for a tone of
juvenile annoyance takes less energy. “Can you please stay out of my personal
life? Can this be something we agree to?”

“Absolutely not. You’ll blow it. Look at your track
record. You need me.” She waves off my request. “Besides, it was one date, and
of course that boy ended up there too.”
Ah, so she didn’t send him. Sweet. “Thatboy?“ I ask.

“Yes, the one with the instrument and the curls in his
hair. The one who’s been fixing things here.” Mormorisn’t holding back
niceties.

“Kurt?” I grin. “What do you have against Kurt?”
Reveling in this is wrong, but so right.

“You need someone with their feet on the ground.
Someone like Yale.” She sits high like a queen in her court.

“What do you know about him?” I’m not arguing. Who
knows how long she’s been popping in and out of my life?

“I know what I need to.” She lengthens her neck. “Why
even bother with him?”

“Ah, so you know nothing.” Makes two of us, really.
Other than being kind, talented, and someone to joke around with, he’s a
mystery. A mystery who’s comfortable to be around, but sometimes makes
butterflies flutter in my chest. Yale makes me awkward and nervous. Ugh,I’m
overanalyzing again. Inside me there’s a constant nag when I’m around Yale that
he’s not a good idea. Not that Kurt’s a good idea.

“Let’s clarify something. I’m not going back until I
know you are okay.” Mormor stares off at the fire. A gentle breeze whistles
through the windows and flutters the edges of her hair.

“Is this a promise or a threat?” Please stay, for at
least a while longer. I like getting to know her when she’s not meddling. Half
the reason I agreed to move out here was to learn more about my family.

I suppose I should thank her. Dinner ended when the
menu she was holding too close to the wall sconce caught fire and we had to run
outside. Serves her right for spying and not paying attention. There’s nothing
quite like the smell of melting plastic to inflict headaches and end a date
quickly.

He was kind enough to walk me home after I made the
first turn in the wrong direction. I’d have made it eventually. His gentlemanly
self was fantastic. It was the long periods of not talking and staring at the
candle that made me want to bolt.

“You know I love you.” I open my arms for a hug.

She turns non-corporeal and laughs as my arms slice
through her.

Mormor! “What are the rules here? When are you—you?
And when are you a ghost?” I stamp my voice like a toddler mid-tantrum, adding
extra emphasis at the beginning of each sentence.

“You were going to squeeze me too hard.” She’s right.
“When I’m tired, I fade a bit. I don’t like where I go when I fade.”

A tiny over-the-top squeeze to make her feel as
uncomfortable as I felt with Yale is deserved, tight enough so she knows I’m
squeezing love and the want of a direct connection with her.

“Where you go?” Legitimate question.

“I have to go somewhere? What? You think I’m like a
fading light?”

I shrug. “Sorry, I don’t have experience with—ghosts?”

“We’ve been over this.” She rolls her eyes. “The rules
are murky.” She pulls at the low braid on the back of her head.

“Oh, is that all?” This woman is off her rocker.

“It’s complicated.” She crosses her arms and huffs.
“Haven’t you bothered doing your research?”

“This isn’t something I can research.” Hello,
librarian, I keep seeing my dead grandmother. Do you have any books on this?

My jaw drops—this was an intentional diversion.
“You’re trying to get sympathy and distract me from the fact you interrupted in
the most inappropriate way on a date.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Caught me. You still need to
think about dating a proper choice. I’m holding my ground on this.”

“Proper?” Again, with that word. “I don’t need to date
anyone. I’m here to watch the house.”

She comes over and envelopes me in a too-hard hug.

I wheeze. “Besides it wasn’t a date, it was two people
going to dinner.”

The unsuccessful wiggle of my arms proves Mormor’s
ghost form is stronger than she lets on.

“Dating doesn’t mean a relationship.” I peck her
cheek. “Having dinner once or twice is getting to know someone.”

She releases her arms and slinks back in her chair.
“Don’t end up alone, Ingrid.” A tremble crosses her tone.

“I’ve got you. How can I be alone?”

“You know very well what I mean. You’ve squandered
your twenties, and now—”

“I got an education and lived life.” There it is.
Clear disappointment I’ve caused her in my life choices. “I traveled and dated.
Not everyone finds themselves in their early twenties.”

“Will you consider dating while you are here? He’s
really a nice boy.”

“I’m here to maintain the house. Not to date.” I’m
over dating.

“Being here doesn’t mean you can’t date.”

I shake my head. She’s relentless.

Mormor waves her hand in front of the fire, and the
flames dance higher. “Yale is…” She wags her eyebrows. “Kurt is…” A hovered eye
roll punctuates the end of her sentence.

“A friend.” Sort of—he’s working here because Svea
paid him.

Mormor grumbles something inaudible from my seat. “I
have a list of projects for you. Promise me you’ll stay till you finish some?”
She pulls her arm back to the chair and rests her hands on her lap.

“I’m a fill-in. The only person available with no ties
to kids or an office.” Story of my life. The living family members call when
they remember my existence. Supposedly they love me, but…eh, baggage to think
about another day, right? “Promise me you won’t mess up Kurt’s projects on the
house?” He works hard regardless of her impression of him.

“As long as he sticks to the house as a project and
not you.” She wags her finger and heaves a sigh.

A halfhearted nod is the only option to end this
conversation. “Tea?”

I’m not a project.

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