The smell was sort of unbearable.

Why do all old people smell that way? Can they smell it, too?

I wasn’t sure if that would be worse or better. Probably worse. At least live in ignorant bliss.

No wonder they’re called old farts.

The woman at the front desk didn’t seem bothered by it. She seemed more bothered by me than by anything else at the moment. She kept giving me the same quick, darting glances as she tapped away at her keyboard. Probably didn’t even have anything to do — just keeping an eye on me.

So I don’t ... what? What would I even do? Go stab some old people? Is that seriously what she thinks?

Everybody in this godforsaken town somewhere east of Bumfuck had given me that same kind of look since I got off the plane. It must’ve been the piercings. Ears would’ve been okay, probably. But brows, nose, and lips were likely a little too far for these people.

And I’m sure the pink hair doesn’t help.

Or the worn, baggy clothes.

I didn’t let it bother me. I’d come too far for some bitchy stares to give me cold feet.

Jangling the zippers on my army green cargo pants, my leg bounced to a rhythm that would have shattered any of the hips in the lounge area next to the lobby.

No, the stares weren’t what was bothering me.

What if I’m too late?

It was starting to set in that this cross-country trip might’ve been for nothing if the woman who told me to wait here came back and said I couldn’t visit. She’d been gone for a few minutes now.

I’d gotten here as quickly as I could, and that’d been hard enough.

I’m here. On June 29th. I fucking made it. I can’t ... I can’t be turned away because I got here in the late afternoon instead of morning. That’s not going to happen.

The sweat leaking from my palms told me that wasn’t as certain as I hoped.

Sighing, I opened the folder filled with the old carbon copies and freshly printed emails. I knew everything was in there. I’d checked a million times. Two photocopies of everything, just in case.

But one more time wouldn’t hurt.

June 29, 1967

Dear Beautiful, Perfect Grace,

Happy birthday! I told you that you’d hear from me on your birthday until the day you die, and a promise is a promise. You’re stuck with me!

It’s only been a month since graduation, but it feels like a year, doesn’t it? Funny how time is. I know we’re headed in different directions, but you can’t get away from me that easily!

I do miss our talks. And that smile of yours. How your nose gets all crinkled up when you’re annoyed at me for not doing the dishes. The adorable way you drool when you’re asleep. And ... other things. I can’t imagine who I’d be now if I hadn’t met you. I just wish who I am wasn’t so far apart from where you are.

OK, enough of that. Hope we can see each other again soon.

Yours always,
Kat

June 29, 1968

Dear Aptly Named Grace,

Happy Birthday! And even though you won’t be home when this letter arrives, this still counts!

I look at the pencil portraits you drew of us every morning, by the way. It’s like I’m still waking up next to you. I know that will embarrass you ... which is why I’m telling you! I can practically see those rosy cheeks right now!

Hope you’re having a fantastic time overseas. Maybe we can get together and you can show me pictures sometime?

Yours always,
Kat

June 29, 1969

Dear Fabulously Gorgeous Grace,

Happy Birthday!

It was so great to talk to you on my birthday a few months ago! You didn’t have to do that. It was the best surprise I could’ve asked for. Well, close anyway. We should talk more often. You’ll have to do the calling, though, since I know you’re busy. Plus, I’d just call you every day, otherwise. And neither of us needs that long-distance bill!

I’m hitching to Woodstock in August, by the way. I know you’d hate it, so I won’t even ask. But I’d take a detour if you wanted to get coffee or something. Hard to believe we haven’t seen each other since graduation. Let me know.

Yours always,
Kat

My phone buzzed. Multiple texts from Mom had stacked up, along with the phone calls I’d ignored.

I’d been ignoring my parents’ frantic texts all day, but if they hadn’t already, they were probably going to call the police soon. Which was definitely not how I needed this to end.

The phone buzzed again, this time with a phone call, but there was no chance I was taking that. It was 50/50 if I ever spoke to her again. The only reason I thought I might someday was because if I didn’t, I’d be too much like her.

June 29, 1975

Dear Aged Beauty Grace,

Happy 30th Birthday!

What an old spinster you are! Well, I guess I am too then, eh?

Seems like just yesterday we were roommates, doesn’t it? It does to me, anyway. I might need some updated pencil portraits. Is your hair still the same? Or did you finally cut it?

In answer to your last letter, please, don’t feel like you need to respond just because I write you on every one of your birthdays. Hearing from you is always the best part of any day, or week, or month, or year, but I just want you to know I’m thinking about you. But if I sent you a letter every time that happened, I’d run the post office right out of stamps! I hope I can still make you laugh. I can still see your smile when I close my eyes.

I do hope we can celebrate one of your birthdays in person soon (maybe like how we celebrated your 21st? OK OK I’ll leave it there!). It’s been too long since I’ve seen your smile with my eyes open.

I miss you.

Yours always,
Kat

June 29, 1977

Dear Princess Grace,

Here’s your annual reminder that it’s your birthday!

Have you had a chance in your busy schedule to see that Star Wars film? Princess Leia reminds me of you. Only, not as beautiful. Anyway, if you haven’t, you should go. I went alone, but I wish you had been there. Of course, then we might not have actually seen much of the movie!

Hope you’re taking care of yourself. Your new job sounds very exciting! I hope you still find time for your art. Do you draw anymore at all? I won’t ask who your subjects are these days if you do. Not that I’d be jealous! ... OK maybe a little.

Enough of that though. Happy Birthday, Grace. I hope you’re finding what you’re looking for out there in that galaxy far, far away. Miss you.

Yours always,
Kat

June 29, 1979

Dear Mrs. Linder,

Hope you have a happy birthday. I’m sorry I missed your wedding. Thank you for sending the photo of you two. What a whirlwind romance it must have been. I just couldn’t get away.

You know how it is.

I hope you have a wonderful, fulfilling life with Tom. He’s a lucky man. I’m sure he’ll give you everything you desire. I’m sure he’ll love you like you deserve. I’m sure you two were meant for each other.

I’m sure you love him like no one else.

Surely yours always,
Kat

“June?”

My eyes jerked up with a start and my hammering heart kicked into a higher gear.

Finally returned, the attendant invited me to follow. “She’s a little tired, but you can come on back, dear.”

The receptionist at the front desk still wasn’t as inviting, warily watching me heft up my backpack and follow the woman into the hallway.

I was trying hard to keep a grin from breaking out on my face, but I figured a smile would still be appropriate. Maybe even helpful.

Holy shit, this is actually gonna work! It’s happening!

It probably wasn’t a good sign for my plan as a whole that I found myself surprised it had worked, but that didn’t matter so much now. This was the home stretch. The easy part.

The air in here was warm and saturated with that musty smell that seemed to emanate from every corner — or maybe just every occupant. A few other attendants helped bent, doddering shapes into and out of their rooms, holding incomprehensible conversations at a shout as we passed through the sparsely populated hall.

My guide eyed the backpack slung over one of my square shoulders like she was trying to learn something from it. But it was plain, just the off-brand manufacturer’s logo and zippers — no pins or stickers screaming of personality. I figured the rest of me probably screamed plenty on its own.

The backpack was filled with a few more sets of clothes, some toiletries, some snacks, an iPad. Plus a tin box, rattling a muffled, soft clang on each footfall, that held the scarce remains of my cash and a few other things I couldn’t afford to lose.

I’d been worried about overpacking, but hoped I would have enough of the essentials to at least get me through until I found a way home. Truthfully, though, there was only one reason for me to have packed up some of the more sentimental items in my room, even if I wasn’t quite ready to make a final decision yet: I wasn’t sure I was going to go back home. Not much “home” was left there now, as far as I was concerned.

But the backpack had other advantages, too.

“So, you said this was for a summer school project?”

I nodded. “Mhm. Yeah. Gotta talk to somebody in my family about, you know, umm ... olden times.”

She snorted, apparently satisfied. “What school do you go to?”

Shit.

“Umm ... Linc ... oln.” I cleared my throat. “Lincoln. It’s, um, private. Not a lot of advertising. You know, if you haven’t heard of it. Or whatever.”

Fuck. Totally convincing. Great job, idiot.

“Uh huh ... You weren’t invited to the party this afternoon?”

I felt the color drain from my face.

How could I be so fucking stupid. Of course they had a fucking party! What if there’s still someone in there? What if they’re having a fucking party right now??

Maybe this wasn’t the easy part after all.

“Umm, yeeeahhh,” I said, as if she’d asked an impossibly stupid question. “I had school.”

The woman pushed open a pair of swinging doors and we stepped through, but her expression only seemed to grow more skeptical. Her pace slowed. My heartbeat definitely didn’t.

In the middle of the empty hallway, she finally stopped entirely, her hands on her hips and her eyebrow cocked at me.

“She’s your grandmother?” It was barely a question, more like an accusation.

“Yeah.” I tried to sound as much like a snotty teenager as I could, which really wasn’t much of a casting stretch. “I’m Talia’s kid. June? I thought I said that at the desk already.”

The attendant stared at me for a beat, and I was worried the namedrop wasn’t going to work. But I tried to keep my gaze as steady as I could — alongside a healthy hint of annoyance — and she shrugged again, raising her palms in either surrender or apology before leading us back on our way.

Almost at the end of another hallway, we must’ve been close, because she slowed down again and turned to me. It wasn’t skepticism on her face this time.

“She has good days and bad days,” the woman warned me quietly. “Today’s a pretty good day, though.”

I breathed another sigh of relief. It hadn’t even occurred to me that maybe...

Maybe I’d get here and she wouldn’t remember anything at all.

June 29, 1980

Dear Grace,

Happy birthday! Thank you for the letter and the photo. You look radiant, and your son already has your eyes. Lucky him. I’m very glad you seem so happy. Give my best to Tom and little Aaron.

Yours always,
Kat

June 29, 1983

Dear Grace,

Happy Birthday!

I hope Aaron likes the little bear. They’re called “Ewoks.” I’m starting to think they make these movies just to sell toys! But I guess they’re a hit with kids like Aaron for a reason, eh? I don’t know if you saw the latest, but Princess Leia reminded me even more of you this time. Except she doesn’t look as good in a bikini! OK, OK, I’ll leave it there.

Can’t wait to see baby Talia when she’s born. Send pictures.

I miss you.

Yours always,
Kat

June 29, 1984

Dear Grace,

You probably don’t want to hear from me. Maybe you won’t even open this. I should’ve written you earlier, but I didn’t know what to say. I still don’t. You know me better than anyone, even now. I always felt like I didn’t even need to speak, you could just look into my eyes and see everything I meant to say but couldn’t find the words for. But you can’t see my eyes from here. So I have to try to tell you in words instead.

When I turned the corner and saw everyone waiting there, Talia in your arms ... I wanted to be so angry at you. Not because I didn’t want to see Aaron and Talia. And even Tom. But because I just wasn’t expecting them to be there. For a split second, I thought maybe it had just been wishful thinking, that I’d misinterpreted what you’d told me. That wasn’t far fetched. We haven’t seen each other in, what, over 15 years? I was more than ready to kick myself all the way home for only hearing what I wanted to hear.

But I know you better than anyone too, Grace. Plenty well enough to know I wasn’t imagining the look you gave me in that split second. But ... it’s your birthday. So...

I’m sorry. I did misinterpret what you told me. Of course I did. I only heard what I wanted, and I shouldn’t have reacted how I did. It was my mistake. It’s always been my mistake. And mine alone.

I really do wish I’d stayed and spent the day with you and your family. I wish I’d done a lot of things differently. Maybe we can talk sometime when you’re not so busy? I know you have a lot going on.

Have a happy birthday, Grace. I do mean that.

Yours always,
Kat

I wasn’t sure what to expect when the door opened. The lady held it open with a smile, maybe sensing my hesitation. I probably wasn’t the first 16-year-old whose breath caught in their throat and clutched themselves a little tighter at meeting their ancient grandmother face-to-face.

Of course, she wasn’t my grandmother, but the attendant didn’t know that.

I hadn’t lied my ass off, come thousands of miles, and spent all my inheritance and then some just to stand in the doorway, though.

“Grace? You’ve got a young lady here to visit you for your birthday,” the woman who’d led me here said.

“Ohhh, you came!”

The voice was weak, creaky, coming from the old woman I’d barely noticed sitting in a chair at the far window. Her hair was white with some darker streaks of gray, and she covered her mouth with a wrinkled, spotted hand like she was shocked when she saw me.

Or maybe ... maybe deeply touched?

When she moved her hand away, her lined face creased even further into a grin.

Holy shit. It’s her.

I didn’t know if she met my expectations or not. I didn’t really know what I’d been expecting. She was ... an old woman.

Why does that feel like some kind of letdown?

Still, there was something about the smile starting at the corners of her lips that made me want to smile, too.

“Yep, I sure did.” I let the smile show and shrugged as impishly as I could — as if I totally knew what she was talking about.

Grace rose a little more easily than I’d anticipated she’d be able to, and I could see from here her bluish-gray eyes were watering.

Maybe she’s just old and they’re always like that?

The old woman closed in, taking my cheeks in her soft, leathery hands. I had to try hard not to recoil as she stared at me, her thin lips struggling to keep their shape.

“You’re really here,” she whispered.

I was torn, unsure if her apparent confusion was a good thing or not.

Who does she think I am? What if she’s too confused for this to have been worth anything at all?

The attendant spoke up again before my thoughts could spiral.

“Grace, do you want me to get you and your granddaughter some tea?”

Grace snorted, and the look on her face invited me to share in her disbelief.

“This isn’t my granddaughter,” she said, as if that were obvious.

The thumping in my chest careened into overdrive. This couldn’t fall apart now. Not after I’d come so far, done so much to get here...

My eyes — too charged with adrenaline to water in despair like they wanted to — darted as far as they could without jolting me out of the old woman’s grip, and I started to voice a nonsensical protest.

But then Grace broke into a bigger grin, finally taking her eyes off me to tell the attendant who I was.

“This is Kat!”

June 29, 1985

Dear Grace,

Surprise, I’m a mom! I know, at my age! It only just happened, actually, or I would’ve said something earlier. Enclosed is a photo of three-year-old Carrie June. Obviously I was never going to pop one out on my own. The adoption process was hell, but worth it in the end. She’s beautiful and perfect. We’ll have to set up a cross-country playdate sometime for her and Talia.

Hope you treat yourself to a happy birthday!

Yours always,
Kat

June 29, 1987

Dear Grace,

Happy Birthday!

How has it been 20 years since we graduated? Do you ever think about that time anymore?

Our pencil portraits still sit right beside my bed. What happened to those two kids?! That was the most wonderful time of my life. I miss our talks. I know you don’t like it when I bring it up, so I’ll leave it there. I hope we can talk again soon.

Yours always,
Kat

June 29, 1992

Dear Grace,

I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. It hurts me so much to know that one of the best nights of my life was apparently your worst. I know you think it was my plan all along, that I tried to get you to come to the class reunion just so I could ... what, exactly? Did I trick you? Did I get you drunk? You know as well as I do that neither of us had a drop to drink. And we both knew exactly what we were doing.

I want to be so angry with you. I’m the one who should be hurt, who should be devastated, who should feel like she’s been tricked. But I’m none of those things. I guess I knew what I was getting into, and hoped you did too. You were happy. Even in the morning you were happy. I know you were, Grace. I was there. And so were you.

But if I had known it would mean never seeing you again, never hearing your voice again, never even reading a trite letter of yours that at least has my name in your handwriting at the top of it...

You won’t read this. I know you won’t. So I don’t feel guilty telling you I’ve cried every morning and night since. Cried to that teenager on the nightstand who used to care when I was crying. The tears aren’t because I regret any of it. They’re because I know you do.

Fine. I admit it, OK? Maybe you’re right. Maybe it would’ve been better for both of us if we’d never met. That was my fault too.

But we did. And we happened. And then we happened again. And we BOTH meant what we said. I can’t stop you from pretending you didn’t, but don’t you fucking dare try to take that away from me too.

Happy Birthday.

Yours always,
Kat

I didn’t really know how to pour tea. Was there something I was supposed to do? Dangle some teabags somewhere? Or was it already ... teabagged or whatever?

She’s got dementia, just tell her you already did all the stuff with the tea and it’s totally good to go.

Apparently clued in to my dilemma, Grace started to laugh a little from the chair across from me, leaning over to pour from the teapot into both cups.

“Haven’t changed a bit, have you,” she said with a wink, then poured some milk in the one in front of her, and a little more in what was apparently mine. I had no intention of drinking it, anyway.

She sat back, smiling a contented smile at me, sipping. She’d been doing nothing but smiling at me since I’d come in.

I was having trouble smiling, myself. This had all seemed like a good idea thousands of miles ago. Now that I was here ... what was I really even doing here? I could’ve just sent it in the mail.

“So ... umm,” I said, clearing my throat, and Grace seemed to perk up, like she couldn’t wait to hear how the sentence would end, “you, uh, you knew Gran—err, Kat, then?”

Her smile disappeared and her drawn-on brow furrowed. “Of course I know you.”

I sighed. Not this again. “No, Grace, I told you, I’m June. Kat’s granddaughter. Remem—”

Grace reacted even more angrily than she had the first time, cutting me off.

“You all keep trying to tell me you’re different people! First you’re my granddaughter, then you’re Kat’s granddaughter. You can’t be both!” Fury flashed in her eyes, and she slammed the arm rest with her fist, making me jump. “Stop it! Stop lying! You’re not anybody’s granddaughter! You’re Kat!”

The teacup in her lap clattered to the carpet, spilling over the table, and Grace gasped — tears starting to stream from her eyes.

I knew people in her condition could have emotional swings in an eyeblink. I’d heard about it, anyway. But seeing it happen ... The switch had flipped like that.

Like ... like she was possessed by a whole different person.

The entire trip here should have been harrowing. None of it had fazed me. Not finding Grace’s address, not secretly collecting everything I’d needed, not the lying, or the connecting flights, or the creepy Uber driver who took me to the assisted living facility.

But watching this old woman I’d come so far to meet, crying into her trembling hands over spilled tea — I’d never felt more like a 16-year-old girl too far out of her depth.

Uncertainly, I forced myself up and went over to Grace, perching myself awkwardly on the arm rest next to her. Nothing seemed to have spilled on her, or even the chair, miraculously.

I’d never seen such an old person cry before. She almost seemed like an upset child. There was something deeply unsettling about it I couldn’t put my finger on. I just wanted it to stop.

It wasn’t a natural gesture for me, but I rubbed her back gently, hoping it would calm her down. Her body felt small against my hand — shrunken and fragile.

“It’s okay, Grace,” I said as soothingly as I knew how. “You’re right. I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m ... I’m Kat. Okay? Of course I’m Kat. It ... it was just a bad joke.”

Lowering her hands, she glanced up to me, sniffing back tears.

“You’re Kat.”

I couldn’t tell if she was asking or telling me, but I nodded my head with an encouraging smile — another unfamiliar shape.

“Yeah. I’m Kat. And you’re Grace.”

A smile started to form through the sagging lines of Grace’s face, the tiniest bit of color showing in her cheeks.

“We sure are,” she said, and I started to laugh. I wasn’t sure what exactly the joke was, but we both found it funny. Or maybe just a relief.

Once she was calm, I grabbed a towel from the bathroom and wiped off the table as best I could.

Grace watched me work, wearing a subtly embarrassed smile while I dabbed at the spot on the carpet with a fresh towel.

“People wouldn’t ever believe what a sweetheart you are, you know.”

I snorted at that, satisfied I’d at least made a reasonable attempt at looking like I’d tried to clean up the tea. I really didn’t have much experience with that kind of thing. Mom always cleaned up any spills at home.

“Oh yeah?” I said, a genuine smirk showing while I went to dispose of the towel.

She chuckled to herself in the chair. When I returned to my seat across from her, she leaned over and beckoned me to meet her halfway.

“You always like to pretend you’re so...” Grace scrunched up her wizened features into a silly looking frown and a squint, forcing another laugh out of me. She seemed to like that, releasing her expression into an even wider smile. When she reached for me, I held in my reflex to pull back. “But you’re always so gentle and kind to me. Thank you, Kat.”

Grace’s fingers were cool against my cheek, and I let her hand linger there as she relived whatever memories she was seeing with my grandmother in front of her, instead of me.

“I like all your new additions, you know,” she said, gesturing a crooked finger at my piercings.

I felt myself blush. “Yeah?”

She nodded, still lost in her alternate reality, and her hand slid up, fingering a lock of my deep pink hair.

“You were right,” she said, a delighted grin on her face now. “It looks pretty hot.”

I couldn’t stop myself from bursting into a laugh again, and she did, too. This one seemed to break the ice a little — at least for me — and I felt myself relax.

“Huh? I was right?”

Grace nodded. “Mhm. Remember? You always wanted to dye it pink. Turns out you were right. Looks good.”

Wow. Grandma wanted pink hair?

Then Grace’s smile faltered a little, but the warm look in her eyes didn’t.

“You were right about a lot of things.”

June 29, 1993

Dear Grace,

A promise is a promise. Happy Birthday.

Yours always,
Kat

June 29, 1994

Dear Grace,

I hope you’re having a wonderful birthday, I really do. I still think of you, of course. And think of who I would have been without you. Carrie is happy and has a mother, and I have her. So some good came out of it. If that gives you any solace.

Yours always,
Kat

June 29, 1998

Dear Silent Grace,

Happy birthday!

You’re going to have to move if you don’t want these letters anymore, you know. Of course, for all I know, maybe you have, and some new family is reading these at their dinner table every June 29. In which case, I suggest they try eating in front of the TV instead like a real American family. Much more entertaining!

As silly as it is, I do still get nervous whenever June 29 approaches. For no reason. Would you even care if a letter didn’t arrive around this time, much less what was in it? I can’t imagine you would. But imagine is all I can do.

And I still do.

I miss you.

Yours always,
Kat

June 29, 1999

Dear Queen Grace of Naboo,

Happy Birthday! Carrie and I went to see the new Star Wars. She liked it. I’ll leave it there.

I know you know this already because you have a couple of your own, but dear God having a teenager is exhausting! I’m sure Tom is a great help. He always seemed like he would make a great dad. I hope all of you are happy and well. Aaron and Talia must be fine young adults now.

I won’t ask if they got any of my presents over the years...? I do wonder sometimes if they ever did, but who would you tell them the presents were from?

Am I Santa?

If I was, I wouldn’t have to keep asking him for the same thing every year. But I’d be about as reliable, I bet.

Yours always,
Kat

Scanning the room, I wasn’t quite sure what to say next. I’d just sort of figured I’d... wing it once I actually got here.

Then my eyes landed on the nightstand.