My grandmother always told me She loved me But I never listened. And now that she’s dead, I can never be forgiven.

I wonder how she thought of me, I wonder how she felt, I wonder was she lonely, Or content in her hell.

For she treated my mother like A child of another, Had her beaten apart by her own older brother, Made her quit her job for a stranger’s wedding, Attacked her character in every setting.

She would cause a scene at every family event, My grandpa would sit in silent discontent, For his dog was his only companion in that house, His wife a manic abusive excuse of a spouse.

My few memories of her when she would still come around, Are stained with hiccuped tears between higher decibels of sound. She yelled at me that one time when I was six, I’d had an accident in my bed, (we had a trash bag sheet fix).

That was mother’s final straw, she snapped and told her not to come back. Until she could understand why she couldn’t treat me like that. And years would pass by, and she would never return, Not a muttered apology, not an ounce of concern.

Much later we would visit on a yearly rendezvous, As she got older and had less things that she could do. But still she told me she loved me, And yet still I never listened. We were strangers then familial ties imprisoned.

And it’s funny because she was never kind, So you’ll have to forgive me when I say that I lied. Not about the stories, no those are all true, But about the part where she said “I love you.”

I’d wondered if that feeling would have been steadying, But reading it now, My grandma never told me anything.

This take on the prompt is actually just an edited version of my previous attempt. “Makeup” is about being told you’re pretty, but only believing it’s because of the, well, makeup. The ending is altered, to share that you don’t need your makeup for others to find you pretty. Also, new title, maybe? Which is a better fit, “Makeup” , “Gorgeous” , or [other]?

Anyways…

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My grandmother always told me I’d grown up so much, yet I knew a secret. I was never old enough to be included, No matter what, talking was all I’d get.

I was grown and started wearing makeup. My grandmother told me I was pretty. I looked myself in the mirror, and couldn’t help but cry tears of pity.

My grandmother always told me I was gorgeous, just like my mother. But, you see, I only look like her, same nose and even same hair color.

I was gorgeous on the outside, but even that wasn’t true. That’s what I’ve been saying, as my brain drowned in blue.

My mirror image believed in makeup, and eventually real me did too. I’d practice it over and over again until it finally looked like I grew.

One day, my grandma came to visit, My appearance wasn’t my focus, and yet… My grandmother looked me in my eyes, “You’re gorgeous,” she had so easily said.

I wasn’t wearing makeup and my hair wasn’t up, My brain searched for reasons why, why my grandmother told me I was pretty, but I could only feel it was an outright lie.

I thought it was a lie until the next afternoon, I guided myself to the mirror and stared. No mascara or eye shadow, nor lip gloss or anything. It seemed my real eyes had let down their glare.

My grandmother always told me that I was pretty, and beyond makeup, this was something I could not believe. Until that one day, when she whispered so abrupt, “You’re gorgeous.”

I’m still so proud, so proud that I can pretty, without makeup or curly hair, flawless skin and outright flair, I’m so proud that I can be me.

Maybe makeup doesn’t make me now, but it did for quite some time, please look to the mirror and be proud, because it’s not the “guaranteed beauty” that makes you divine.

My Granny always told me stop running out the door to play in this chilly weather without your jacket on; I don’t want you getting sick

But as a kid nothing phased us so I would tell her “stop being silly” and giggle before she told me again it’s not silly little girl it’s chilly so please bundle up

My Granny always told me don’t jump as high as you can on the trampoline you’ll fall and hurt yourself

But granny it doesn’t hurt see look I’m right back up and then I’d run around and do it again.

My granny always told me she wished my mother would treat me better that out of us four cousins two of us had alcoholic mothers

But granny my mom always buys me things to cheer me up and she apologizes when she yells at me and calls me names

And my granny would always tell me I wish you could live with me so I can protect you from getting hurt you always run and scream when your mom comes to get you

Then years went by and as I got older things change a bit

I tell my granny put on some shoes with grip so you don’t fall down anymore you can’t walk well on your own especially in slippers which I can’t get you out of

And my granny would smile and say yeah I know you are right and she would let me grab her hand and help her to her chair to sit

I keep telling my granny stop letting her daughter yell and drink in your house and that I wish she’d stop calling her names

Granny would look sad every time but slightly smile and say she’s your aunt and one of my two daughters that still come to see me

And I telll her I’d see her every single day if I could and she smiles knowingly and thanks me for taking care of the house for her when she isn’t able to stay on her feet long to clean and cook as long as she used to

And I always tell her you never have to thank me you are my granny and you did everything for me growing up and now I understand because I love doing everything for you now

My grandmother always told me to not wander to the backyard. “The demons they lurk back there, back there where the Gods are not watching”

My grandmother always told me to not eat apples on Sunday’s, as it would upset the Gods. My grandmother warned me to not upset the Gods.

My grandmother always told me she could NEVER tell me where the gods were.

My grandmother always told me the gods were watching no matter how hard I tried to hide

My grandmother always told me no matter how many doors I shut behind me no matter how many blankets I hid under, the Gods would find me.

My grandmother always told me, when she were to die, the Gods would protect me.

My grandmother never told me the Gods were trying to protect me from HER.

The Gods always told me not to follow my grandmother to the backyard. “Your grandmother lurks back there where we can not watch you.”

The Gods always told me not to eat the apples my grandmother gave me on Sunday’s, cause my grandmother was trying to kill me. The God’s warned me to be wary of my grandmother.

The God’s always told me that they could NEVER tell me where my grandmother went at night

The God’s always told me my grandmother was watching me no matter how hard I tried to hide

The God’s always told me no matter how many doors I shut behind me no matter how many blankets I hid under, my grandmother would find me.

The God’s always told me when my grandmother were to die, they would no longer need to protect me.

But who was there to protect me for myself?

My grandmother always told me That the world was always a nasty place No matter how you looked at it Nasty things occurred And Nasty things occurred frequently

But,

It is up to you to change that You can shape the perfect world With just a little bit of care And a lot of commitment, You can change this world Into what it was meant to be.

Grandma always told me, great stories from her past Of how she had to struggle, to make the produce last Of how she relied on her children, to take care of each other Of how one of my aunties, was like a second mother Of how she suffered prejudice, because of the browness of her skin Of how she converted Grandpa, and got the blame again Of how she suffered through it, with the help of neighbors and friends Of how she did not know, if she could do it all again Of how she raised her children, to be stalwarts of their communities Of how she did the best she could, to ensure they'd have unity Of how she fished with Grandpa, and with him farmed the land Of how she met the needs, of everyone's demand Yes, Grandma told me stories, I wish I wrote them all As it is, I have recollections, and tidbits I can recall.

My grandma always told me That my mother was ungrateful her baby sister was irresponsible Shirking her responsibilities of her zillion kids My grandma always told me My uncle could do no wrong Doesn't matter that he touched his baby sister We will sweep that under the rug My grandma always told me That my Aunt was always ready to argue That the sky was green and that she Was the most deserving of the six children My grandma always told me That we should respect our blood above all else Even when they scream and hit and caress and make you bleed My grandma always told me To never need a man She told me from the side of her 7th husband My grandma always told me That I should be seen But never heard She must have known how loud my voice Would some day grow to be My grandma always told me To sweep away my feelings Under the rug they go They'll keep good company with all the family secrets My grandma always keeps close.

My grandmother always told me to visit the city of love. She reminisced about it all - the dance, the smiles, the people she kissed - and to me, clear it was - what she missed no tower, no city, no particular place. for eyes her up lit on that indelible face and me, at this young age, i got enraptured by her tale i had to take a taste of her vigorous cocktail, that bursts out of chests and and lifts the heads up high dumb ideas, short as dayfly i was seventeen, and i didn't know that this era, for me, should've started long ago

My grandmother always told me to keep clean To not leave things out to tidy up and to stay presentable

If I ever learned one thing from her it was how to clean How to do the dishes how to look fresh how to store things away

So thank you grandma I think As I use her tricks to hide the blood and body

“Nǎi Nai?”

Bell’s grandmother ceases her rhythmic chopping of the vegetable she has on the wooden board. She still doesn’t know the name of that vegetable.

“Yes, child?” She asks, giving Bell her full attention.

It warms her soul. Nǎi Nai always makes her feel like what she says matters. It’s why she visited her home in hopes to talk to her now.

“Did you like Mom when you met her?” Bell sputters out. The time she spent so long on figuring out what she wants to ask goes out the window. This situation with her mom, Dad and her biological father makes her head freaking spin. It tends to cause words to come out before she wants them to.

Her grandmother doesn’t appear phased by the inquiry. Setting the knife down, she comes to sit next to Bell at the dining table.

“Does this involve the discussion your mother initiated?”

Wren had come clean to everyone in both her and Hai’s family three days ago. She sat down with each side and told them what she did. Some took it badly. Like Bell’s uncle, her dad’s brother, did not appreciate the manipulation. He’s not on speaking terms with Wren.

But Bell couldn’t get an immediate read off of her grandmother when she arrived at her house. She thought once she saw her that it would be obvious how she felt about her mom. She’s as diplomatic as ever.

Bell never could hide anything from her grandmother, so she decides to just be honest. “Yes.”

Taking her fidgeting hands in her own, more worn and weathered ones, she makes Bell feel at home just from that. “When Hai brought her home, I was thrilled. Wren was the picture perfect girl that every Chinese mother would want their son to bring home. She was whip smart, kind, and ambitious. But above all else, she loved my son.”

She spoke with so much assurance. Like she knew that for certain. Bell wonders how she can do that when her mother lied and manipulated them all for so long. Nǎi Nai being one of her longest running victims.

“You still believe that?” Bell questions.

She finds herself asking this all the time. How does one know what to believe? How can anyone be certain of their thoughts after finding out something like this.

Every fiber of her being wants to believe her mother. As long as Wren didn’t further warp her memories, Bell had a happy childhood which includes her mother. It would hurt her soul to just throw that all away. To think it was all a lie. Fabricated in some way.

“I do. Your mother does not have the best decision making skills, but I do not doubt her love,” her grandmother answers.

Nǎi Nai doesn’t exaggerate or circle around the truth. She says it like it is.

Sometimes being brutally honest is not the best thing, but Bell craves it. She needs it.

“Even if the universe wants her with someone else?” She says in a small voice. If Bell didn’t know it was herself speaking, she would have mistaken the tone for a child.

Squeezing her hands, her grandmother’s bony fingers tighten briefly, easing an internal struggle inside of Bell. “The universe may give people a path to go down. But it is up to the person to walk it or make their own.”

Those wise words ring in her ears. It reminds her of Cross.

They didn’t know they were soulmates before. Even with living her life soulmateless, she knows it would’ve still involved Cross. So in her Nǎi Nai’s advice, Bell was lost on her path, but she chose to get back on it. Which led to Cross.

“You think she and Dad will stay together?” She apparently can only ask questions now.

Her grandmother doesn’t appear to mind and answers every one of her inquiries with vigor. Like her curiosity/confusion isn’t an imposition. Which is refreshing. It’s like her family is dancing elaborate moves just to avoid talking about it.

That just speaking about it in a good moment would burst the bubble and then they would all be upset.

“I cannot say for sure, and I do not wish to sway you.”

“I don’t know what I want to happen anymore,” Bell confesses, laying out her conflicting and confusing feelings metaphorically on the table. Her friends are great, but they didn’t know her parents like her Nǎi Nai.

“Well, I think your parents have a lot to discuss. I believe Wren is learning from her mistakes.”

“So you don’t doubt Mom’s love for Dad, but you aren’t sure if they’ll stay together?” Bell asks yet another question. How does that make sense?

If her mom truly loves her dad, then eventually they might work it out…right?

Bell guesses it isn’t that clear cut. As much as her brain wants her to believe. Maybe that’s a coping mechanism to protect her.

Removing one of her hands where all four pairs are clasped together, she lifts it to Bell’s cheek, stroking the skin with her thumb. Leaning into her touch, she gives a half smile, relishing in her grandmother’s soothing presence. “Sometimes, my child, love is not enough. I hope it is.”

She pauses, showing a sign of hesitation, uncertainty, for the first time in the conversation and perhaps Bell’s whole life. “No matter what decision they come to, they will include you and your sister into it. That I am sure.”

Her grandmother wraps her in a giant hug, giving her comfort that she hasn’t felt from a family member since her sister offered her assistance when they found out the full truth.

“Thank you, Nǎi Nai.”

In the crook of her arm, finally, in what felt like the first time since she found everything out, she lets tears fall. They travel a smooth path down her cheeks to her chin, framing her face.

Bell felt an unexpected peace in her emotions, allowing herself to just feel all of it.

——— (In case you couldn’t tell, Nǎi Nai is a Mandarin Chinese term for someone’s paternal grandmother.

Also I am wishing everyone a good 2025!)