Miles hadn’t visited his grandfather since the operation.
Miles excuse was that he was busy working two part-time jobs and writing his thesis, but his mother cornered him at breakfast. “Miles, you should go see him.” There was a tone in her voice that made any protest fade away. “He’s not going to be around much longer.”
And so Miles finally went to his Grandfather’s retirement home. And as he checked in at the front desk, Miles realized why he’d been putting this visit off. He hadn’t wanted to see his Gramps this way, and he felt a lump rise in his throat.
He walked down the long hallway to Gramps’ door and knocked. No answer. He knocked again; still no answer. Miles tried the door handle; it was locked. Miles was worried. He knocked again. Then, the door swung open.
“Hi, Gramps,” said Miles. A moment of confusion crossed the old man’s face, then recognition and that warm, wide smile appeared. “MILES! I’m so sorry! I was asleep! Have you been knocking long?”
“Yes,” said Miles. “Well, that’s okay,” said Gramps roguishly, opening the door for him. “You’re young. You’ve got time to kill. Come in!”
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Miles walked in as Gramps continued. “Haven’t seen you since the operation!” he said, pulling off his t-shirt. “Look, the doctor was amazing! Barely a scar!”
Gramps grinned ear-to-ear, arms open. And there, held in a gravitationally oblivious fashion by a vintage Playtex bra, were Gramps’ new breasts.
“Not bad, huh?” said Grandpa.
Miles hesitated. “Uh…”
Gramps seemed genuinely hurt. “You don’t like ‘em?”