Annabelle
Want to come look at a house with me during lunch today?
Me
Sure. Pick you up at the usual time?
Annabelle
That’d be great. The house isn’t farfrom my work.
Me
I’ll pick up sandwiches beforehand, and we can eat on the way.
Annabelle
You’re the best!
18
Annabelle
Now
The past weeks have been a blur of activity. Between mothering Grace and Claire, working full-time, grabbing lunch with Hayes, holiday shopping, packing, and staging the house, I’ve had little downtime.
Today has been another grueling day, and it’s not even over yet. I’m exhausted.
Claire is her happy-go-lucky, loving little self. The hugs she gave me when I got home from work helped recharge my drained battery a bit.
However, Grace is every bit her usual exasperating and precocious self. I keep a close eye on her because she’s always testing boundaries and pushing limits. Kyle and I used to joke we were going to plant ahuge cactus underneath her bedroom window so she wouldn’t be able to sneak out when she’s in high school.
“Remember to set an extra place at the table,” I tell Grace. “Aunt Laura is coming over for dinner.”
“Got it, Mom,” she replies, grabbing four plates from the cabinet.
We always used to set the table for four, but sometime over the past sixteen months, we’ve gotten accustomed to setting only three places.
Shaking my head, as if to clear my mind, I ask, “What green vegetable would you like with dinner? I can make green beans or broccoli. Have a preference?”
“I’ll have grapes, Mom,” Grace replies as she sets the forks atop the napkins.
I look up from the stove as I stir the simmering spaghetti sauce. “Grapes aren’t vegetables.”
Never having been a vegetable lover, Grace huffs, crossing her little arms and scowling. Then, her face brightens, and she asks, “Did you buy red or green grapes?”
“Green. Why?”
She shrugs with feigned nonchalance. “Just curious. Are they seedless?”
“Yes,” I reply, drawing out the word. I sense she’s laying a trap for me, but it’s like she’s playing chess and I’m playing checkers. My sluggish brain can’t keep up.
The doorbell rings.
A Cheshire-cat smile crosses Grace’s face. “Cool. I’ll have grapes as my vegetable then.”
“Grace!” I holler as she scampers out of the kitchen to open the door for Laura. “Come back here, young lady.”
