I took an 18-hour trip with my grandmother right after losing my grandfather. Now we hang out every single weekend.

Weeks before moving home from college, my mom told me my grandfather was sick.

Although I saw my grandparents as often as I could, it was challenging to see them regularly because they split their time between Florida — where I lived — and New Jersey. Plus, I got used to the idea that they would always be there, no matter how many times I saw them throughout the year.

Once I learned the news of my grandfather’s illness, I began seeing them much more frequently whenever they were in Florida. Whether we were drinking milkshakes, watching TV, or talking for hours, each evening with them was a memory I’ll never forget.

After he passed, just nine months after his diagnosis, I spent many nights sitting at his desk in their New Jersey home, looking at old notes that would eventually be thrown away.

I memorized the photos and the New York Yankees memorabilia plastered around the office, including the picture of my sister and me, which was directly in sight of his desk.

Weeks after his passing, my 85-year-old grandmother packed up her belongings in New Jersey, as she decided to permanently move back to Florida. Since I also needed to return the car I had borrowed for the summer, she and I made a last-minute decision to take an 18-hour road trip down the coast together.

This journey marked the start of a new reality for my grandma and, surprisingly, for me, too.

Swapping stories while on the road sprouted an unexpected friendship

The first hours of the trip didn’t include much, except my grandmother talking about the joy of briefly returning to New Jersey.

I listened, realizing this might have been the first occasion in a while where she felt a sense of normality after my grandfather’s passing, and the first time in a while I felt it too.

I heard stories from when my grandmother was younger, including one about the gorgeous dress she had splurged on for a date — an anecdote I’d never heard before.

The majority of our conversations prior to this road trip consisted of overdone small talk through the occasional visit and phone call.

Previously, we would just discuss the things I repeat like a broken record to most of my family members — like why I dyed my hair red and what I was studying in college — but this time, it felt different.

“I don’t know about these, Nicole,” I remember hearing while she was holding a large bag of plain pretzels. The debate over whether Dots or Snyder pretzels were better is when I started to think about how I had never had such a silly conversation with my grandmother before.

I went into Wawa and returned with a bag of honey-mustard pretzels, and as I walked back to the car, I saw her big smile through the windshield. I realized something this silly was starting to bridge a gap between us.

Later in our journey, we came across a Southern diner right off I-95 in Georgia, across from our hotel. Sitting on the checkered polyester inside, I couldn’t help laugh at my grandmother’s mere confusion over the song playing over the speakers. We laughed loudly, more like old friends than family.

Throughout dinner, we exchanged funny stories, including ones from college I’d never shared with her. We left with achy cheeks and the piece of Key-lime pie she insisted I buy.

We ended the night watching “Legally Blonde” like two girls at their first sleepover.

The road trip is over, but our friendship is just beginning

The next morning, we continued the trek home, discussing future plans, including our next sleepover.

Over time, something had changed — my grandmother had slowly transformed from a family member into one of my closest friends.

Now, a year later, I sleep over her place each weekend. Trips for lunch, to Trader Joe’s, and to the movies happen every Saturday. And during our movie nights, we always discuss where our next road trip should be.

I never knew I could develop such a fulfilling relationship with a family member, especially given our age difference. I hope that I never stop asking questions and that she never stops giving me the long versions of her life stories.

And one day, when I’m 86, I hope I can take a transformative road trip with my youngest granddaughter.