G smiled, and her aggressive swipes of blush smiled with her. “Your mother is a force, isn’t she? That’s what I always say, a force. A dynamo!”

“But seriously, G. Her name is pronounced Bee, right? Beeeeatrice. We’re Greek, not Spanish.”

But G was rifling in her cream leather purse. She drew out her phone, and a party of crumpled tissues flew out after it. “Joey, I need you to explain something to me.”

“G, you’re so beautiful,” said Joey in a spontaneous flood of love. Her grandmother might have been overzealous with the blusher, but her creamy skin was in far better shape than her advanced years would suggest, setting off her kind, aqua eyes.

“Oh please, Joey.” G scrolled through her phone. “Look closer. Even my wrinkles have wrinkles.” She frowned. “This! This is what you have to explain. What the heck is this?”

Joey saw a Facebook conversation with lengthy text. At the end was embedded a poop emoji. “You’re really doing the Facebook thing? Who are you messaging?”

G jerked back her phone. “What is that thing?”

“You mean the poop emoji?”

“The poop emoji,” repeated G with a doubtful curl of her lips. “But what…what does it do?”

Joey stifled a giggle. “It’s just meant to be funny.”

“Ah.” A smile took hold of G’s face. “I see. And what about all those different hearts?”

“What do you mean? Like, heart emojis?”

In her periphery, Joey could see Bea greeting a line of her friends, no doubt reveling in their praise over the lovely shower. Joey sighed. It was in fact a lovely shower. Just, it felt like a lifetime of love for and from her mom had gone in an instant, leaving a cold, gaping hole.

“Emojis?” asked G. “The faces? But there are a bunch of them with hearts.”

“Oh,” said Joey distractedly. “Well, if it’s just a big heart, it could mean love, especially if it’s coming from a romantic partner. And if there’s a face with a little heart that’s kind of winking, it’s a kissy—”

“Okay, darling. You can stop. Who knew a face could do so many things?”

“G, who are you talking to on Face—”

There was a tap on her shoulder. Joey swiveled to see the round, probing face of Doris, her grandmother’s best friend and personal trainer and the benefactor of Joey’s Jeep. Doris’s vision had become too impaired to drive, but not to personal train, so she now walked to houses in G’s little cul-de-sac to conduct sessions with seniors that consisted mostly of deep breathing and gossiping with an occasional grunting side stretch.

Joey hugged Doris and helped her into a chair. “Tell me, dear.” Doris leaned in, and now Joey remembered this—Doris’s tendency toward close talking. “Tell me how you met your fellow.”