Page 20 of The Quirky Vet

"Stay married. At least for a little while until you resolve your feelings."

I almost choke again. I manage to pull myself up, and Gramps gives my back a few firm pats until I breathe normally.

I have some tea to wash it down. "That's… No. I… I don't even know what my feelings are."

"There's only one way to find out."

That smug, shit-eating grin is back, and ew… "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"Depends." He lifts his chin. "What do you think I'm saying?"

"We arenothaving this conversation."

"Yes, we are. Come on, mate. Have you kissed him?"

"No. Of course not. Who goes around kissing their friends?"

He lifts a shoulder. "I've kissed a few blokes."

I shift so I'm facing him directly. "Who? When? Why?"

He chuckles to himself. "Geez. I thought you kids these days were more chillaxed about these things."

"Please don't use the wordchillaxedagain, and tell me, tell me, tell me."

I sit in fascinated silence as Gramps tells me about the few kisses he shared with a soldier while he was fighting in Vietnam. It was before he'd met Grandma, and his girlfriend at the time ended things before he left, so he was a single man caught in a terrifying situation with other guys in the exact same predicament. Apparently, stuff happens.

"Have you ever slept with a man?" I ask. "And a simple yes/no will suffice. No elaboration needed."

"Nah, mate. The kisses were fine and a bit of fun, but truth be told, they didn't really do anything for me." He reaches over and taps my leg. "So what I'm saying is, if you kiss Fitz, at least you'll know whether you like it or not. Whether it does anything for ya."

"You make it sound so easy."

"Life is as simple or as complicated as you want to make it, Muir."

Ha. What do old people know anyway?

The next day, after breakfast and mowing the front lawn so that Gramps doesn't sneakily do it when I start back at work tomorrow, I boot up my laptop and get to work on editing Fitz's video from yesterday.

I soon realise that spending an hour and a half on my bed staring at a screen filled with the image of him in that torturously tight shirt isn't the smartest idea when I'm confused enough about my feelings for him as it is. But I did say I'd do it.

The conversation with Gramps has been playing on my mind all morning. I'm glad I opened up to him, even if I'm not necessarily any more clear-headed about what to do next.

Fitz is exploring options to end our marriage, so what am I supposed to do now? Ask him to delay it for, like, a few years until Gramps croaks?

And while I'm at it, should I just throw in that everyone around me is under the impression that I'm in love with him, and in order to confirm or deny that, I'd like to, you know, make out with him a little?

Yeah, no.

I slide the laptop off my lap and walk over to my cupboard. I reach all the way to the very back and pull out an old photo album. The OG family one from before I was born.

It starts with Gramps and Grandma—who I never met. She died before I was born—when they were dating. And then there's Dad as an infant, a toddler, a kid, a gangly teenager, and finally a young man.

But that's not what I'm looking for. I remember that the last few pages contain a few pics Gramps brought back from Vietnam. I find them, my eyes running over the grainy black-and-white images. I can't get over how young he looks.

In one, he's standing tall in his fatigues, rifle slung over his shoulder, eyes squinting against the harsh sun. There's a distant shot of him staring out at the jungle, his expression unreadable. And then there are a couple of him seated with a few buddies, helmets off, laughing, faces smudged with dirt and exhaustion.

I wonder if any of them are the bloke he made out with a few times.