Maxxie: GranddadMature

Cayden's obsessing over whether my granddad will like him or not is unbelievably cute. Even though I know all my granddad's gonna do is lament his son in law destroying pretty much everything I owned, or anything that I'd been in any way connected to, tell a bunch of stories about his gay best friend from way back when and fall asleep, but for some reason, Cay's still fretting a bit.

"Be prepared for anecdotes and grumbling about what a dick my dad is, ‘kay?" I say as I go down the stairs to the garage. If you think I'm getting the tube to my granddad's place, you've got another thing coming. I'd rather pay the congestion charge.

"I'm as prepared as I'll ever be," he laughs and I smile, flicking on a light switch as I unlock the door, letting Cay in first. The fluorescent lights flicker into life, throwing a harsh light over the silver C-class Mercedes-Benz sat in the middle of the garage. Honestly, I'd rather have my little Fiesta, but I have a feeling Cay might appreciate a smoother ride for once.

"I miss my Ford," I whine as I climb in the driver's seat, looking for the remote control to open the garage door with. I miss my cosy apartment, too. I might have enjoyed a few of the luxuries that came with being related to people that are good at investments, but I never enjoyed the whole huge house, flashy cars thing. Yes I know. I'm an oddball.

"I don't know, I could learn to like this. An Aston Martin would be nicer but still..." he says, checking out the car. Eventually, I get the garage door open, grumbling about hating flashy cars under my breath. My muttering earns a laugh from Cay and I glance at him questioningly as we set off.

"What're you laughing at?" I ask, still whining.

"You. You've got a great car and a fucking expensive looking house and you'd rather have that pile of shit Ford. I'll never understand how your mind works." I pout, but I can't hold back a small giggle.

"Okay, so I wouldn't mind a Ford that works more than occasionally, but still. The rich lifestyle is for the rest of my family, not me."

It's his turn to pout as he asks: "So no pretty car?"

"...Remind me never to take you to a car showroom," I mutter. I dread to think just how much money the guy could spend if he was allowed.

"It's not like I can drive anyway," he says with a shrug.

"And you say you'll never understand me," I laugh, "why wouldn't you learn to drive?"

"I like walking." You strange, strange person. Walking is evil.


Eventually, we get through the London traffic to a quiet residential area in the suburbs. Since he's alone most of the time, he sold up his big family home in Westminster and moved out to the edge of the city in a little two bedroom place. This is the kinda place I prefer to the big flashy house my parents abandoned to me in Kensington, but there y'go.

I park in the road outside his house and clock him watching as Cay gets out of the car through his curtains. I see him flash me a crooked smile and let the curtain fall back as Cay glances at the place. He says nothing about it being a lot smaller than my place; instead he just looks nervous.

Trying not to laugh, I give him a reassuring smile, wondering why he's so worked up about it. Then again, I'm probably gonna be in the same kinda state when I go meet his family. I take his hand and he squeezes it as I unlock the door and let us in.

"Hey, granddad," I smile as I pull Cay into the living room where the old man himself is sat in his armchair, looking particularly granddad-ish.

"Good t'see you, Max," he gives me a grin that shows off his dental work, before looking up at Cay, "who're you?" his grin fades into a scrutinizing look as he takes in Cay's appearance, pretending to go all stern.

"I.... I'm, uh..." he stutters, still nervous and bless him, he squeezes my hand tighter.

"Sit down, you look like you're about to shit yourself," granddad waves a hand at the sofa before looking at me, "go get some coffee or something." Suppressing a laugh, I kiss Cay on the cheek quickly before disappearing into the kitchen to get the drinks. 


The End

576 comments about this exercise Feed