My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She's Sorry

by Fredrik Backman

Granny never says “good-bye,” only “see you.”

There’s something special about a grandmother’s house. You never forget how it smells.

Granny never calls him “George,” just “Loser,” which infuriates Mum, but Elsa knows why Granny’s doing it. She just wants Elsa to know she’s on Elsa’s side, no matter what. Because that’s what you do when you’re a granny and your grandchild’s parents get divorced and find themselves new partners and suddenly tell your grandchild there’s a half sibling on its way. That it irritates the hell out of Mum is something Granny views purely as a bonus.

Having a grandmother is like having an army. This is a grandchild’s ultimate privilege: knowing that someone is on your side, always, whatever the details. Even when you are wrong. Especially then, in fact.

That’s why idiots are always so scared and aggressive. Because nothing scares idiots more than a smart girl.”

“Helvetica,” he manages to say, in the middle of a nervous bout of throat-clearing. “Pardon me?” says Britt-Marie and purses her mouth even harder. “Helvetica. The font, I mean,” says Dad skittishly, nodding at the sign on the wall. “It’s a good… font.”

Hahah this is so niche (#yerd)

“Never mess with someone who has more spare time than you do,”

‘We want to be loved,’ ” quotes Britt-Marie. “ ‘Failing that, admired; failing that, feared; failing that, hated and despised. At all costs we want to stir up some sort of feeling in others. The soul abhors a vacuum. At all costs it longs for contact.’ ”

“Did he laugh a lot?” “Always. Always, always, always. That was why he loved your grandmother. Because she got him to laugh with every bit of his body. Every bit of his soul.”

“You don’t need to be a perfect dad, Dad. But you have to be my dad.

“This is the last chapter of Harry Potter and the Sorceror’s Stone,” she finally manages to say. “It’s an audiobook,” Dad admits with embarrassment. Elsa stares at the stereo. Dad keeps his hands on the steering wheel, concentrating. Even Audi has been stationary for a while now. “When you were small, we always read together. I always knew which chapter you were on in every book. But you read so quickly now, and keep up with all the things you like. Harry Potter seems to mean such a lot to you, and I want to understand the things that mean a lot to you,” he says, red-faced, as he looks down at the horn.

Just about died when I read that

There’s something quite special about a granny’s house. Even if ten or twenty or thirty years go by, you never forget how it smells.