Shanice stoops to get eye level with Randy.
“I bet Auntie Meghan would be so happy and proud of you for being a patient little boy and waiting for her to come all of the way from New York that she’ll give you the biggest hug and kiss.”
“And presents?” Randy’s eyes light up.
I have to stifle a laugh.
“The love from your favorite aunt should be present enough,” Shanice says, sounding eerily familiar.
“But Grandma already has enough presents to fill a room for you and Charlotte,” I add.
“Really?”
“Mom,” Shanice scolds.
“I’m his grandma,” I defend. “It’s my job to spoil him rotten. But he only gets them if he’s patient and waits for Aunt Meghan to arrive.”
“Okay,” he agrees, sounding slightly less cheerful.
“How about some hot chocolate?” While Randy cheers, I look over at Shanice. “I should’ve asked if that was okay before dinner.”
“It’s fine. I’ll make it.”
I go to tell her that I can do it but am interrupted by her phone ringing. She looks at it and frowns before hitting ‘ignore’ and placing it face down on the coffee table. I don’t need to ask who it is from her reaction.
That’s been happening off and on all day.
“I’m not ready to talk to him yet,” she told me earlier after mentioning that she’d already sent Jake a text just to let him know that she and the kids were safe.
“I’ll make the hot chocolate,” she tells me. “You’ve done so much for us already.”
I watch her head to the kitchen before turning on Randy’s favorite educational YouTube channel. He instantly starts clapping and singing along with Ms. Rachel and her friends.
Even Charlotte begins to stir from her late afternoon nap in her playpen.
I start to go over to take her out but my phone rings. My stomach drops, thinking it might be my son-in-law trying to get in contact with me since Shanice won’t answer his calls.
It’s not.
“Rick?”
“What did you do?” he demands, making me jerk my head back.
It doesn’t take me long to recognize that this is not a conversation I want to have with my ex-husband in front of Shanice or my grandkids.
I look over my shoulder to assure myself that no one is paying me any attention, before I ease out of the doorway onto the porch.
“I beg your pardon?” I counter just as tersely.
“Beg all you’d like but that won’t change the fact that this is your fault,” he insists.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
There’s a beat of silence.
And I know for sure he’s been taken aback not only by my tone but from the four-letter word I’ve just thrown at him. I glance over to the neighboring house to my left, knowing where I got such language from.
“What’s gotten into you?” Rick asks as if speaking to a complete stranger.
