“Here’s your room. I emptied the dresser and closet for you. Towels are in the hallway closet next to the bathroom, which you’ll pretty much have to yourself. I’ve got a meeting now, so will talk to you later. I’m so glad you’re here, Sweetie.”
Freshman year of college hadn’t been the best experience for my niece. Jess was friendly, naïve, and grew up completely sheltered. Heading directly from the suburban Midwest to NYU had left her vulnerable to the influence of worldly, jaded city kids. Nothing horrible had happened, but two semesters of partying ending with a 2.0 GPA landed her in my East Bay guest room to cool off for a year.
Jess was sitting at the kitchen table staring out the window when I went to refill my coffee an hour later. “It’s so weird to see people walking around in hoodies and shorts in February,” she mused. “The old lady across the street is gardening, Aunt Rachel!”
“It’s pretty nice,” I agreed. “I’ve got one more meeting, then I’m done for the day. Why don’t you take a walk; when you get back, we can go get dinner?” She nodded and reached for her jacket.
“Oh, Jess?” I needed to warn her away from Mrs. Barnett, who was anything but a harmless little old lady tending her flowers. “The woman gardening across the street is very nice but does this weird mind-control thing. Be careful or she’ll suck you into one of her bizarre projects.” I glanced at the basket of ping-pong balls sitting next to my dryer, remnants of Barnett’s campaign to keep squirrels out of her garden.
My niece’s face expressed disappointment in my seeming lack of empathy for a little old lady.
“She’s not lonely, Jess! Her family lives around the corner and she’s got a busier social life than I do.” The girl was not convinced I wasn’t an ageist asshole. “Talk to her all you want; just remember I warned you.”
“She sounds like a nice person who maybe is lonelier than you think, Aunt Rachel. Just because I like talking to people doesn’t mean they can manipulate me!”
Uh-huh. And that’s why you are spending a year on the other side of the country, kiddo.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. We’ll go around 6p?” I waved as she shut the door behind her.
Forty-five minutes later, I heard the kitchen door bang open and a loud thud. I ran towards the sound. Jess stood staring at the overturned box of papers at her feet. “Sorry! The bottom was loose and I dropped it.”
“What on earth...?”
“Well, Mrs. Barnett was telling me about saving the monarchs and she has all these flyers educating people on the right kind of milkweed and it’s nice I don’t have a job or school ...”
“And somehow you volunteered to take all these around & put them in mailboxes?”
Jess nodded. I pondered.
“If she ever says anything about squirrels in the garden, keep walking.”