Trying to live

Chapter 17 (Edited)

Mrs. Avilla placed her hands on her hips and gave me a stern look. "You either go with your grandma, or I'll have Henry take you for a walk."

I blinked, realizing that dealing with Henry right now was not an option. I wouldn't handle him, especially not after those weird dreams about him. Plus, he wouldn't be alone. Grams was definitely the better choice.

"I thought it was the Hilton," I remarked, looking around at the scene.

I was surrounded by three elderly women (excluding my Grams), whom I had met just two hours earlier. I hadn't been enthusiastic about meeting anyone, which might explain why I looked like a disheveled mess in a hoodie, ripped jeans, and sneakers.

After a coffee break at a posh café outside Lakewood—one Grams had frequented for years—her friends briefed me on the day's plan. Specifically, how to get revenge on an ex-boyfriend who had broken one of their hearts.

The guy, apparently in his eighties, was a manager at a place that was supposed to be the Hilton. I knew the Hiltons well, and of course, I'd go along, even if I preferred the Ritz-Carlton.

Now, I regretted agreeing. I looked at the four ladies. Susan, Grams' oldest and most determined friend, had led us here. Henrietta and Betty seemed a bit nervous.

"It is the Hilton," Susan said, casting me an annoyed glance that clearly signaled I was disrupting her.

The building before us was nothing like I expected. It didn't resemble a hotel; instead, it looked more like a diner with flickering lights. The sign, barely readable, spelled 'lton.' What?

I shook my head and turned to Betty, the quieter member of the group. "No, look, I thought it was the Hilton hotel. I thought the guy was the manager there."

Suddenly, Betty burst into uncontrollable laughter, her amusement seemingly out of place.

"No, hun," Betty managed to say between laughs, "Greg isn't the manager of a Hilton hotel. He's the manager of his own diner—H-I-L-L-T-O-N," Betty said, pointing out the sign that indeed read 'Hillton,' though one of the L's was precariously crooked.

"Everyone knows the plan?" Susan asked.

No, I had no clue about the plan or why I was part of this outing when I wasn't involved in any of it. Everyone else nodded. I felt like an outsider among these older women.

Henrietta clapped her hands together. "Group hug!"

Grams looked at me and gestured me forward with a smile. Seeing her so happy with her friends, I took a deep breath. A group hug wouldn't hurt me, so I stepped forward.

Only to be unceremoniously pushed aside. Seriously?

I crossed my arms, suspecting Susan of being the culprit. Though it felt wrong to accuse her without proof, her demeanor had seemed off since Grams and I joined them.

While the others continued hugging, I contemplated confronting Susan, but I dismissed the thought. Confrontation wasn't my style, and I was trying to be polite.

After the hug, we finally went inside. I took a deep breath as I entered the Hillton diner, greeted by an unpleasant mix of coffee and sweat. The place was packed with older men and people in their mid-forties.

I slid onto a barstool and took out the menu, pretending to debate between a burger or fries—my way of appearing nonchalant and indecisive. I hadn't brought any money, as Grams would cover it.

Speaking of Grams, I had lost sight of her and her friends in the crowd. The diner was small but crowded.

A sudden shout pierced the air, making me flinch and nearly topple the paper towel holder.