Loid's grandmother had met Charlotte before, of course — in passing, mostly, the occasional wave from the porch when Charlotte walked him partway home, or the one time Charlotte had come by briefly to return a book Loid had lent her. But there was a difference, Loid understood, between meeting someone as his friend and meeting someone as whatever Charlotte was to him now, and he found himself unusually nervous about formally introducing her in this new context.
"She's going to love you," he told Charlotte, on the walk over. "I'm not worried about that part."
"Then why do you look like you're about to be sick?"
"I don't know. I think I just want this to go well."
"It's your grandmother, Loid. Not a job interview."
"Somehow that's not making me less nervous."
His grandmother, as it turned out, had already made up her mind about Charlotte long before this particular visit, and she made that clear within the first five minutes, ushering them both into the kitchen with the brisk efficiency of someone who'd been anticipating this exact moment for a while.
"I was wondering when you'd finally bring her around properly," she said, setting a plate of something warm and fragrant in front of them before either of them had even fully sat down. "I've heard about you for months, you know. Loid talks about you constantly."
"Grandma," Loid said, mortified.
"It's true. I'm not going to pretend it isn't." She turned to Charlotte, her expression softening into something warmer. "He'd come home and tell me about his day, and somehow you'd end up in half the stories. The girl who doodles birds in her notebook. The one who remembered he ate his sandwich crusts last. I knew before he did, probably."
Charlotte laughed, delighted and a little flushed, glancing at Loid with an expression that suggested she was filing this information away for later teasing. "He never told me you knew all that."
"I didn't think she'd actually repeat it," Loid muttered, resigned.
They spent the rest of the afternoon at the kitchen table, his grandmother asking Charlotte easy, genuine questions — about her family, her interests, what she wanted to do after school — and Charlotte answering with an openness that surprised Loid a little, given how careful she usually was about sharing things with people she didn't know well. Something about his grandmother's manner, warm and unhurried, seemed to put people at ease almost immediately.
"Your grandmother is wonderful," Charlotte said later, as Loid walked her home, the afternoon light already starting to fade into evening.
"She liked you. A lot, actually. She doesn't usually talk that much to people she's just met."
"I liked her too. She reminds me a little of my own grandmother, actually. The way she just — knows things about people, without being told directly."
Loid thought about that for a moment, the comparison settling something warm in his chest. He'd always considered his grandmother one of the most important people in his life, one of the few constants he could rely on absolutely, and there was something quietly significant about watching her take so easily to Charlotte, about the two most important relationships in his life fitting together so naturally.
"She asked me, before you got there, whether I was serious about this," he admitted. "About us."
"What did you say?"
"I said yes. Obviously."
Charlotte smiled, slipping her hand into his as they walked. "Good answer."
"She said something else too. That the people worth keeping rarely announce themselves loudly. They just show up, again and again, until one day you realize they've become essential."
"That's a good way to put it."
"I've been thinking about it a lot, actually. Since before we even said anything to each other."
They walked the rest of the way to her street in comfortable silence, the kind that had become so familiar between them over the past months, and Loid thought, watching the last of the daylight fade behind the rooftops, that whatever came next for the two of them, it felt, for the first time in a long while, solid enough to trust completely.
Later that week, his grandmother brought Charlotte up again over dinner, unprompted, in the easy, offhand way she'd started doing since the visit.
"You should invite her again soon," she said, setting a bowl down in front of him. "I liked her energy. Reminded me a little of your grandfather, actually — the way she asks questions like she actually wants to know the answer, not just to fill silence."
"I'll ask her," Loid said, pleased by the comparison, knowing exactly how much his grandmother had loved his grandfather and how rarely she offered that particular kind of praise to anyone.
"Good. And Loid—" She paused, setting her own bowl down, her expression growing a touch more serious. "I meant what I said to her. About the people worth keeping showing up again and again. I've watched you two, these past months, do exactly that for each other, through some genuinely difficult things, from what you've told me. That's not nothing. That's worth taking seriously."
"I do take it seriously."
"I know you do. I just wanted to say it plainly, in case you needed to hear it from someone besides yourself."
Loid sat with that for a moment, something warm and a little emotional settling in his chest. It meant more than he could easily put into words, having his grandmother's clear, genuine approval — not just of Charlotte as a person, but of the relationship itself, of the careful, deliberate way they'd built it together. It felt like one more piece of solid ground beneath something that had, for a long while, felt uncertain and precarious.
"Thanks, Grandma," he said finally, quiet.
"Don't mention it," she said, already turning back to her dinner, though the small, satisfied smile on her face lingered for the rest of the evening. She glanced up once more before Loid left the table. "Bring her back soon, though. I've got a recipe I want to try on someone who'll actually appreciate it, and you've never been much of a food critic."
"I appreciate your cooking."
"You eat it. That's different from appreciating it. Charlotte, at least, asked what spice I used in the broth. You've never asked me that in your life."
Loid laughed, unable to argue with the accuracy of it, and promised he'd bring Charlotte by again soon — a promise he had every intention of keeping, given how easily the two most important people in his life seemed to have taken to each other.