Strawberry Date

(Camilla’s POV) The aroma of sweet hot choco filled the air as I sat beside Becky on the plush living room sofa. The afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow on the room, adding more coziness in the time capsule home. Looking at the pictures on the wall, I can already tell that her husband had passed away a long time ago. She’s loving alone in this beautiful home. No wonder why Kalel was so eager to go to his grandmother’s house. She needed company here. "So, tell me, dear," Becky began, her voice a gentle murmur, "how did you and Kalel meet?" My heart skipped a beat. I have already anticipated this moment to come where she’d question me about our relationship. The question, innocent as it seemed, was a minefield for me. You guys know that our engagement was a carefully crafted facade, a strategic alliance born out of necessity, not love. There's no way that I could answer that question without my eyes betraying me. I’m not really good at lying, especially to the people who don't deserve it. "We met at a... a charity event," I said, my voice a little too high-pitched, "a fundraiser for the local animal shelter." Becky's eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled. "Oh, how lovely! Kalel always had a soft spot for animals. He used to bring home stray kittens and puppies when he was a boy." That was a good one. I had no idea that he enjoys such activities, too. I wasn't lying about the charity events. I’m not always present in my company because I have people to maintain it for me, but I take advantage of my time by attending such events. Helping has always been a part of me. It was just harder to help people, that's why I resorted to helping animals instead. I nodded, forcing a smile. "He told me. He's a good man, your grandson." "He is," Becky agreed, her gaze softening. "A good man, with a good heart." Just by listening to the old woman’s confidence as she talks about her grandson, you can really tell that he was raised right. He wasn't the haughty trillionaire I met the first time in the restaurant. It was just a facade. The reality is he’s a good grandson to his grandma. “Should I take out the baskets, Nana?” Kalel asked from outside. I checked him from the living room window. He had changed his clothes into more comfortable ones. A simple shirt and shorts. It wasn't that special but he made it look expensive because of his physical physique. I didn't know someone could look expensive just by wearing simple clothing. “Yes, dear! Put out three baskets!” Becky answered. Our conversation drifted to other topics. We talked about Kalel’s childhood since Becky was very excited to talk about her grandson a lot. I also took the opportunity to learn more about Kalel. From his grandma’s story, he’s a good boy, lost his mother at a very young age, and has a complicated relationship with his father. Becky mentioned about the pressures Kalel received from his father, which is why he grew up not close with him. I came to confirm that he was raised by grandparents like me. It must have been the reason why I feel a sense of similarity with him. However, the weight of my lies lingered in my mind as we went on in our conversation. I don't even know how many times I lied already. Becky seemed so genuine, so kind, so eager to learn about me. It made me feel like a fraud, a charlatan, a pretender to the role of Kalel's fiancée. I taught myself to be a liar ever since I made up my mind to get my revenge on Lester and Cindy. I guess it was just harder to do now because I know that Becky is a genuine person, and she doesn't deserve to get lied to by people like me. "Do you know how to farm, dear?" Becky asked, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "We have a small strawberry patch in the backyard, and the berries are ripe for picking." Farm? I lived lavishly as an heiress when I was young, and even though I was almost a maid under Lester’s care, I was living a typical urban life. I shook my head, a wave of guilt washing over me. "I'm afraid I don't. I grew up in the city." "Well, then this is the perfect opportunity to learn!" Becky exclaimed, her voice filled with enthusiasm. "Come, let's go pick some strawberries." My eyes widened when Becky suddenly pulled me up from the sofa, taking me to the backyard where Kalel was waiting for us. I found myself standing there, the warm sun on my face, the sweet scent of strawberries filling my senses. It was a beautiful backyard with a bunch of different berries on site. I wanted to try every single one of them. They seemed fresh and delicious. Becky, her hands nimble and sure, showed me the art of picking ripe berries, the delicate touch required to avoid bruising them. I always prepared yogurt for breakfast that I pair with berries, and it never crossed my mind how delicate their skin is. It must have been difficult to transfer and import them, but they always seem to arrive in the markers in perfect shapes. As we worked, Becky shared stories of her life, of her family, of the joys and sorrows of farming. I listened intently, my heart warming to the old woman's wisdom and warmth. She taught me lessons, especially ones that would be helpful for the betterment of Kalel and I’s future if we ever get married. Speaking of that guy, Kalel is watching from the porch with a smile playing on his lips. He seemed pleased. This is what he wanted. He wanted to make his Nana happy by showing that he’s in a healthy relationship with someone. I know that he has been worried about my initial awkwardness. After all, I clarified to him that I’m not good at pretending, but seeing us laughing and chatting together, sharing a simple, genuine moment, he must have felt a sense of relief. I am relieved, too. It wasn't that hard to get close to a genuine person like Becky, and I love her garden. Soon after, the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the garden. It was our signal to go inside because it was getting colder. My hands were stained with the juice of ripe strawberries. I used to hate getting stained with red liquid because it reminds me of my miscarriage, but looking at Becky, my heart is filled with a newfound appreciation. Despite the lie, the façade, the carefully constructed illusion, I’ve found a genuine connection with Becky. I wished this wasn't a lie. I would really love to have someone like Becky in my life. She’s a good grandma. And would you believe it? She told me she’s eighty five years old. “I hope you’ve got more energy because we’ll turn these fresh strawberries into some good sweet strawberry jam!” she chirped. I glanced at Kalel, a smile lingering on my lips. Oh, this is going to be a long night.