Just Eat
On my grandfather, my apartment, and learning how to take a break
On a cloudy spring afternoon, a young man lies inside his cold, beige apartment. Wrapped in a pile of rabbit fur throws from Bloomingdales, on a polyester futon from Target.
The equation for how long he’d been stuck inside was in the amount of dandruff in his mulberry silk pillowcase.
He reaches for his phone. New text from Chloe. Loves her so much—can’t wait to see her again! You can see, in his eyes, he has a response. But it’s either too much or too little thoughts that hold him back and he sets his phone back down.
Welcome to my life. Unapologetically particular and secretly emotional. Maybe mildly materialistic. Currently mildly depressed.
Everything in my apartment is curated to be the perfect aesthetic sanctuary. So naturally, I blamed my mood on the walls I couldn’t paint. A dark beige decorated with countless holes that were concealed sloppily by previous tenants.
But creating my own Pottery Barn catalog really does help me…
And I know how to prioritize! I settled for off brand artificial candles and faux oak coffee tables from Amazon. My LED mask was bought with my FSA and sometimes perfume from TJ Maxx is fine!
But the obsession with my space, control of my time, and strategy of my appearance give me comfort everywhere except in my head.
I go to therapy every week, limited alcohol (down to 3 bottles of tequila a week!). Weed is difficult and snorting got boring. I’ll let depression bend my libido for a week or two, but I’m not handing my sex life over to antidepressants.
I saw him in the corner. Standing in front of my bookshelf like he belonged there, unbothered as always, with a smile. My grandpa.
“What would you do?” I ask.
I already knew his answer, but the way he’d say it brings me comfort.
“Just eat.”
He doesn’t sound like an annoyed parent or concerned friend. He doesn't sound like that acquaintance that swears the solution is helpful (self help books), or the doctor who’s convincing you this version of generic Ozempic doesn’t have side effects.
He actually sounds a little like I would. Neutral, maybe not affectionate. Soft eyes and a warm smile. I’ll admit he’s much less dramatic than I am.
Sometimes he’ll suggest a John Wayne Western the same way I’d suggest a Hitchcock thriller. We’d usually settle on The Brady Bunch or Dick Van Dyke.
I walk to the fridge and I can feel his eyes rolling. Organic berries, pre-seasoned sockeye, and yogurt I got because the cow on the logo is cute (and it’s organic).
“¿Que carajo es esto? Let’s get a burger! Triple with extra fries! Juice running down our chins like you’d say as a kid.”
Last week I went to Seito Sushi in Doctor Phillips. Grandpa didn’t join, but I remember giving myself 10 seconds to fantasize about the Five Guys next door. I could throw away 6 years of this organic, no red meat cuisine to get a double with cheese, cajun fries, and a milkshake. But I’d want to bring him anyway.
Sometimes he does join my Whole Foods runs. He’ll say something like, “Puñeta, just get the chips! They’re 2 for 5,” or “Mira, your wild-caught fish has just as much plastic as the other ones.” But discipline, right?
Back in my beige confinement, a window appears (metaphorically of course). A small burst of motivation to take and get to the end credits of this 2 week episode. And I take it, hoping the timeframe isn’t as short as the last few.
I tell my grandpa to get ready and we get adequately cute in what I imagine as a superhero montage.
I’m, of course, in all black. A very Topman x Abercrombie fit accessorized with golden Swarovski and YSL shades. My face is beat with Dior and body misted with vanilla santal.
My grandpa was feeling super himself, wearing his blue outfit from the 2025 summer runway collection for Walmart. I know he’s excited because he’s wearing his slides with socks on. I can see him armed with Bimbo cookies in his pockets.
I call my driver, Jean. Round trip to El Mesón. And not just any Mesón, but the last one grandpa and I went to (40 minutes away). Discipline, right?
We go through the drive thru and I got fries for all of us, coffee for grandpa and Jean.
“Y’know, I get crazy requests all the time, but this might take the cake! We probably passed by two of these… and don’t you kids use Postmates for everything?”
I laugh, “I actually came here because this was the last Mesón my grandfather and I went to. It was his favorite around here!”
Jean sips his coffee. I can tell he likes it.
“I guess I felt like doing something special today… My grandpa passed last month, but I feel like he’s been around me more. I’m not calling myself a ghost whisperer, but I think he’s just around. Maybe doesn’t want me to feel so bad for not visiting as often.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t, I’m sorry.” Jean already knew I only ever needed tissues for the times I was doing makeup in his car, but he quietly set a tissue box on the console.
“I mean—I haven’t seen him in, like, 4 years? Maybe more. But I know he understands. He always did. He was the only man in my life that wouldn’t tell me life was about getting bitches and fighting. When he’d talk about my mom, his wife, any mention of crazy would be pure lighthearted funny that I guess no other father or husband in my family was good at. Even with my grandma, who continues to talk shit, he’d just tease and say she’s gonna go crazy when they end up in the same nursing home.”
I could see Jean’s expression in the rearview. Confused because he knows I adore my grandma too, and have mentioned her often the past couple months.
“And I’m not mad or resentful—all of these other people have their great traits too. My grandma can be kind, but the thing is I understand her. I’ve learned how to be around her. I’ve learned to love and care without getting hurt. I understand there’s so many point of views and so many battles in just one person’s head. I really do think my grandpa and I were similar in that way. We don’t judge.”
Jean made a face. “Well Darius...”
“Okay, yes, maybe not exactly the same. I’m a shady bitch, but if someone thinks I’m judgmental, it’s on them.”
He laughed.
“I just hope if I have kids in my life, they can remember me the way I remember my grandpa. He’s the only—truly, the only adult in my life that didn’t try to change, train, or adjust me. It was like, I was good enough. No expectations, no goals, no darkness. He didn’t want me to be like him, but he knew I’d watch John Wayne with him because Scooby Doo mentioned John Wayne a lot.
And he knew I loved eating. I’m the ‘comelón’ in the family.
I’ve been dep—working a lot. And I know if he was here, he’d just tell me to take a break and just eat. He understands, he gets it.”
“Is that why you haven’t touched your fries? Are you waiting to get home to eat them?”
“Yeah.”
Jean smiled, a sort of longing was present on his face. “He understands that too.”
