Poster Boy and I split a year and a half ago, and that's a good thing. It's been great for both of us.
The thing that still sucks though? I love his family.
The first time I met his grandmother, she walked into the room in her coordinated pantsuit, her smart black wig, giant glasses and dangling, colorful earrings and waved her cigarette at me while exclaiming in a voice that can only come from years of chain smoking, "What a pretty girl!"
How could I not fall in love?
I sent Poster Boy's family Christmas cards last year, the first Christmas in a half-decade that I wasn't with them. I've had drinks with some of them since going solo, gotten together once or twice. But I haven't heard from the grandparents (who adore their only grandson with a sweetly blind fervor) since the breakup.
So when I saw a missed call from their house on my phone last week, my heart started pounding. Shit, shit, shit. They're old, and not very healthy.
There was a voice mail. I called, my hands practically shaking, not at all willing to hear bad news about these people, who for the years I knew them were more kind to me than most of my own grandparents had ever been.
A message from poster boy's aunt:
"Hey, (Serial). I was just calling because my mom's cleaning some stuff out of the house, and she has this bear that wears costumes, and she wanted to send it to you. She said you had admired it once. So we need your address, if you send it now maybe we can get it to you in time for Halloween. Call us back here. We miss you sweetheart, hope you're doing good."
I called back, I'd missed grandma, so I left my address with grandpa. He told me how it had been a good relationship, and to keep in touch, and that they wanted me to know how much they had always liked me.
I can't wait to get that goddam bear.