Something like Grace

By: Marie Pascual

“Gracey—can you come help NaiNai with the gro-ser-ree?”

Forty years in this country and I still cannot say grocery the proper way. Always gro-ser-ree.

With David living abroad now, off with his new wife and family, Grace is the only one still in the province to help me. I don’t like asking too much from her—especially since her mother passed during COVID. It’s been hard. For both of us.

Grace goes to U of T Scarborough. Twenty minutes by car, but one and a half hours by bus. She’s strong and spry, just like her mother. But stubborn, too. Always complaining. I think maybe it’s just this generation—all of them complain so much.

Back in the old country, we would already have four kids and a house paid off by the time we were her age! She talks about rent, inflation, cost of living—everything is so expensive now. But to me, we have more luxuries now than we ever did before. Phone, internet, separate rooms, plumbing. I always tell her how lucky we are. 

I just want Gracey to be happy. To be grateful. We have so much.

“Nai, I have a study date with Tyrone today. Final exams are next week—we need to do well. Is it urgent? Can I help you tomorrow?”

“You study, Gracey. Always study. You smart girl, but also lazy! Why are you still with that Jordan, huh? Don’t you see the news, how we got treated during SARS? COVID? It’s better we stay with our own huh?”

“Nai,” she sighs. “Not everyone’s like that. You know how the news likes to pin us against each other. We’re smarter. I’m smarter. Remember?  ”

“Aiyah, yes yes. I know. Just be careful, la. I love you. I will borrow Popo’s car, then.”

“Are you sure? I can just order you an Uber. Or if you give me a list, I can do the online grocery delivery thing I told you about—”

“Everything online! Always online! We stayed inside four years already—now nobody wants to go out? It’s asha—”

“Okay, Nai, whatever you want! Just be safe, okay? Drive slow! I’ll come visit you guys tomorrow.”

She cut me off. But maybe I do go on too long sometimes. That’s what Jade always said.
“Ma, two ears, one mouth. Listen more.”
I wish I never taught her that.
I miss her.

Truth is, I could’ve waited. Gracey would’ve helped tomorrow. But I can’t stand being in the house anymore. All my life, people talk about retirement like it’s paradise. But what is life without something to do?

The weather is finally warming up. I can start on the garden again! The back tomatoes need turning.

It’s just too hard sitting in that room with Popo and his condition.
I love the man.

But every time I look at him, I think about the day it finally happens. How lonely it’ll be. How I don’t want to go out like that. Quiet and closed in.

That’s why I need to go out.
To get exercise.
To feel alive.
To remind myself that age is just a mindset.

_________________________________

I lined up at the checkout with tomato plants in one arm, and a bag of longan, lychee, and mangosteen in the other—fruit for tomorrow. I couldn’t wait to give some to Gracey. It reminded me of when she started kindergarten. I used to peel fruit for her every morning before school. She had the same smile her mother did.

I remember once sending Gracey to school with longan, packed neatly in a little Tupperware.

I told her, “Sweeter and better than candy ah! The wrapper’s natural, ah!” I was so proud. Thought the other kids would be impressed.

But when she came home, she hadn’t eaten a single one.

“Mama,” Jade had said, her face tight, holding back something.

“The teacher pulled me aside. Said we shouldn’t send ‘unfamiliar foods’ that have a strong smell. Said it might make the other kids uncomfortable… or sick.”

She didn’t look at me when she said it.

“But Gracey loves it!” I said. “Aiyah, then what I give her?”

“I don’t know, Ma. Grapes? Strawberries? A Pop-Tart? Something normal—just so she doesn’t stand out.”

“Why?”

I never understood.

These fruits—longan, lychee, mangosteen—they were treasures where we came from. Golden and sweet, saved for special days. The kind of thing that would make a whole village smile.

How could something like that be wrong?

Jade didn’t answer. Just looked tired. Angry in a quiet way.

She understood what the teacher really meant.

I didn’t—at least, not then.

_______________________________________

I shuffled forward, placing the plants and fruit on the belt. Just as I reached out, one of the tomato plants tipped over and burst. A small explosion of soil covered my shoes and scattered across the linoleum.

“Tā mā de…” I muttered under my breath, shaking my head. I bent down to clean it up—only to feel a sharp pain shoot through my knees. I winced and froze halfway, stuck between pride and pain. Mimi always told me to go to tai chi. Should’ve listened.

“Can I help you with these?”

A deep but gentle voice boomed from above. I looked up at a tall, dark figure—maybe around Gracey’s age. He crouched easily and began gathering the spilled plants.

I said nothing. Just watched.

He didn’t seem to mind. He began scanning the rest of my groceries like he worked there.
“You know, my gramma used to love gardening too,” he said, smiling. “Any time we’d buy food, she’d say, ‘Why? Your grocery store’s in the backyard!’”

He chuckled.
“I miss her sometimes. You garden a lot?”

I just stared.

“Are these…longan?”

“OH!” I gasped. “You know longan?”

“Yes!” he laughed. “My best friend’s mom used to pack them for her school lunches. They were my favourite growing up. Always reminded me of the summer.”

I couldn’t help but smile. He reminded me of my grandson.

“These plants are looking a little rough, though,” he said, eyeing the seedlings.

“Tell you what—let me get someone to cover the register. I’ll run back and grab you some better ones.”

I watched as he jogged off, awkward but fast. While I waited, I thought about my brother and the things he used to say after he moved to America.

“Don’t trust them,” he’d warned.

But it’s hard to hold onto that voice when Gracey seems so happy with Tyrone. When this young man—this stranger—has shown me nothing but kindness.

He came back breathless, arms full of fresh tomato plants, dirt still clinging to the roots like they’d just been plucked from the earth.

He rang me through and bagged everything carefully.
Then he paused.

“Looks like you’ve got a lot here. Anyone with you to help carry this out?”

“Ah… no. Gracey is studying at home,” I said, quietly.

“Would you like me to help you bring these to your car?”

I looked up at him, nodded slowly. My face must’ve lit up like a child being asked if they wanted ice cream.
“Yes, thank you,” I said, softer than I meant to.

---

As he loaded the groceries into the trunk, I stood watching, hands folded in front of me like I used to do at the temple.

I thought about Jade again.

How she burned so bright in a world that didn’t always make room for her.

How she carried all the weight I never wanted Gracey to have to carry.

And Gracey—still young, still figuring things out, but already walking that same path. Same sharp tongue, same soft heart.

Sometimes I worry I gave them too much of my fear, not enough of my joy.

That I taught them how to survive, but not how to trust.

But today, a stranger—someone who looked nothing like us—bent down to lift what I couldn’t.

And he smiled like it was nothing.

Maybe that’s what I’ll carry home today:

Not just the groceries, not just the plants.

But the hope that Gracey’s world might be softer than the one we came from.

More open. More kind.

As I got into the car, the young man waved at me, still standing by the cart.

“Take care now, Grandma!” he called out.

I smiled wide, heart full, and waved back.

“You too, la. And water the garden!”

He laughed, and I drove off slow, the trunk full of fresh tomatoes and something else—something warmer.

Something like Grace.