Grandma Petunia's Misadventures

Grandma Petunia had spent most of her retirement baking, going shopping, and doing an adequate job at quilting. At least she thought she did a good job at quilting. She entered a few in state fairs and things similar to it, but she didn’t pull out any of the blue ribbons or things like that.

But by far, Grandma Petunia baked the best chocolate chip cookies known to womankind. It was passed down by her mother and her mother before her. Most of it was a guesstimate on what ingredients go where and what kind of measurements went where, but Grandma Petunia figured out the perfect combination of everything. She wrote it down, ensuring that she could pass it on, since she wasn’t that good at explaining that kind of stuff.

The only problem was Grandma Petunia didn’t have a person to pass on the recipe to. She never married—never a man too good enough for her and no one her mother really liked—so she stuck to herself mostly. She had friends of course, but then again, retirement brings more than just relaxation. A couple funerals here and there, a couple ceremonies of life. She was sad at first, but after all, death was just a gift that is given to all. Eventually, she would find them again. She hoped. 

She did meet a peculiar man by the name of Jonathan. He was the mailman on her street. She lived on Alsbrook Ave, just by a few grocery stores she still walked to and a small cafe that sold such wonderful lavender lemonade, perfect for hot summer days.

 Grandma Petunia met Jonathan while she was sitting on her porch, sipping her pomegranate tea and reading a cheesy romance novel, when he stumbled up her porch and delivered a letter. They chatted for a while, and Petunia invited him to the table to come and eat lunch with her. Again, most of her friends had already received their parting gifts. He declined, but eventually, after seeing her again and again on that porch, delivering mail for her and chatting for a bit, he came back again and again. 

At first, it was those mornings, he would sit down where she had prepared an extra seat with a steaming cup of Earl Gray. Then it was in the evenings, where they would complain about work and Grandma Petunia would make a few comments to Jonathan that made them laugh harder than any of Grandma’s romance novels could.

He was good company, a young man, maybe in his later thirties. Dark hair, deep blue eyes. She never saw a ring on his hand, and she couldn’t blame him. She didn’t have one either. And no, she wasn’t going to hit on him. She could be as old as her son, if she ever had one. Although, Jonathan was the closest Grandma Petunia could ever claim to be a son. 

But not good enough for her recipe. Oh hell no, she wasn’t giving it up that easy. Even when she had served him some of her famous cookies and he nearly drooled over the whole plate.

No, it had to be a woman. She wasn’t trying to act misandrist. It was just passed down from her mother, and then from her mother’s mother, so it only seemed fitting. 

Jonathan stopped by that day on his way to work, delivering a package written in her name. “This is yours Petunia,” he said, his voice calming and smooth.

She smiled, taking the package from his hands. 

He raised an eyebrow, taking a seat next to her. He took the cup off of her platter, and took a sip of it. He made a sour face before putting it back. “What were you expecting?” he asked.

Grandma chuckled, something between treason and giggly. “Oh, you’ll see,” she remarked.

Jonathan shook his head, watching the cars drive by. “Do you need any groceries while I’m out today?”

She waved him off. “I can walk. All I need is some milk for later.”

“Petunia,” he began, but she dismissed him again.

“Don’t coddle me boy, I can pick up a half gallon of milk. My arms aren’t that weak yet.” She held up an arm and flexed it, even when her skin sagged a little bit. She made a proud face, glancing at her arm. “They are muscle—pretend they look like it too.”

She dug at the box with her nails, trying to tear it open when she finally gave up and stabbed it with the butterknife she used to stir her tea with. Jonathan flinched, but chuckled as she finally ripped into the box.

With wriggling fingers, she pulled out an XboxOne game--Skyrim to be specific. “You said you had one of these things. Be a dear and teach me how to play it,” Grandma Petunia said with a wry grin.

Jonathan sighed, taking the game from her hands. He flipped it and read the back, looking over everything. “You sure you want this one?” He pointed at the description on the back. “I’ve played it before, it gets pretty gorey.”

She tsked. “Of course. I read the box thing on the line. It sounded interesting!”

“It is,” he chuckled. “Well. . . if you really want I can bring over the console tonight and set it up to your tv.”

Grandma Petunia clasped her hands together. “Wonderful. I’ll see you at dinner then.” She had this proud, almost bubbly look on her face, like she had done a good thing.

Jonathan got up and gave her a hug, skipping down the steps to her porch. He waved a hand in farewell and said, “At dinner then!”

***

After a delightful dinner with Jonathan, baked potatoes and chicken, a blackberry cobbler soon on the way, he set up the console beside her television and clicked through the HDMIs. Grandma Petunia got two bowls filled with steaming fresh cobbler in them, whip cream piling on top of hers while Jonathan preferred it without, and sat down on her velvet tan couch. 

“Alright,” Jonathan said, stepping back to observe his work. “I think it’s all good.”

She set his bowl of cobbler on the coffee table, which Jonathan carefully avoided as he sat next to her with a blue controller in his hands. Grandma Petunia took a bite of her cobbler, smiling at the sour sweet flavor.

“You think so?” Grandma Petunia teased him. 

He chuckled, handing her the controller. “Okay,” he started. “The games in, all you have to do is press start.”

She squinted at the screen, then down at the controller. “I need my other glasses.”

“They are on the coffee table.”

“Oh,” she said, grabbing them and exchanging them out. She looked back at the controller. “Which do I press again?”

“The A button.”

She searched the complex controller, different from the one she used to have, a Nintendo. It was very different from a Nintendo. “Where is that?”

He pointed it out, on the bottom of the square of letters. “You’re going to use this for the majority of selecting things.”

She hummed, slowly moving the joystick until it rested on the Play Disc. She pressed the A hesitantly, like Jonathan instructed, and Skyrim began to load. Intense, foreboding music subtly began to play through the televisions speakers, building up into the climax of the orchestra. She bobbed her head to the rhythm, really feeling the tunes. 

“Okay,” Jonathan said. “Now press the thing to start a new game.”

“Which?”

“Press any one.”

“And then,” she said, pressing a random button and another screen loaded up. 

“A button again,” Jonathan repeated.

She searched the controller again before pressing down on it with her pointer finger. The game faded from its black title screen to the classic setting of a wagon. 

Jonathan turned towards her, trying to explain things, but almost everything flew over her head. It must have been fairly obvious from the expression on her face, because he smiled, and said, “Most of the things you’ll learn as you play. But key basics are, right trigger to attack, B to open inventory, that little three bar thing to open your quest bar, Y to jump, and X to. . . I don’t remember that one, and—”

Grandma Petunia held up a hand, stopping him. “Let’s just, get there when we get there.”

Jonathan chuckled, glancing away. “Yeah sorry, that’s probably for the best.”

It took Grandma a long time to understand the basic mechanics and get through making a character. She was especially upset by the fact that she couldn’t make a very old character with a walker, but she did decide on a tabby cat person whom she named, Kibbles.

She did not, at all, understand why she was being sent to the butchering block, but when she escaped, which was a trouble all on its own, she went with the “guy in the blue because he looks nicer.”

Jonathan left around midnight, making it to Dragonsreach and starting the journey to the dungeon that the Earl wanted her to go investigate. She was still complaining about the controls, saying it would make more sense for the A button to be jump, but Jonathan just said, “That’s how it works.”

When Jonathan returned the next day however, he discovered Grandma Petunia had not only stayed up almost all night, but she was well on her way to Level Fifty.