One of them was actually in mid-laugh with his head thrown back and a chicken drumstick in his hand.
I snorted.
I know Grandma must have said something crazy to have you laughing like that. Had life been different for her back in the day, she might have been a comedienne.
Another man was giving the camera a thumbs up while holding a forkful of mac and cheese like it was a trophy.
Another photo came through.
Grandma stood at the head of the table, one hand on her hip, the other holding up a serving spoon like a scepter. She was beaming. Wearing her favorite apron—the one that said,"Grandma's Kitchen: Enter Hungry, Leave Happy."
She looked like the proudest woman in South Carolina.
The next photo showed her standing with all of them in her living room.
Who took this picture?
I zoomed in on the faces of the men.
They lookedhappy.Not just polite-guest happy. Soul-deep, home-cooked-meal happy.
Another text came through.
Grandma:They got SECONDS, baby. Every single one of them. That big one in the corner? That’s Kyoya. He had THREE plates! I had to make more cornbread because it looked like one was about to cry if he didn’t get another piece.
I pressed my hand to my mouth, still laughing.
Grandma:They're definitely raised right. They cleaned up the whole kitchen, washed the dishes, took out the trash, and even did a walk around the house to make sure nobody was around to bother me. Asked if they could do that every day.
Well. . .they are there to protect you, so I’m glad they did a check of the perimeter and got you to agree to daily ones. Smart.
Grandma:And I sent them home with plates! Wrapped up real nice in the good Tupperware. Told them to bring it back when they're done.
I could picture it perfectly. Grandma standing at the door, handing over carefully wrapped containers to trained killers, telling them to eat it while it's hot and bring back her containers or else.
Another photo came through.
This one made my heart squeeze so hard I had to sit down on the edge of the bed.
It was Grandma in her living room, standing next to her old record player—the one that still worked, the one she refused to replace with "any of that digital nonsense."
And she wasdancing.
With one of the yakuza.
Oh Grandma. . .
My heart warmed.
The man had his hand carefully placed on her waist, and he was doing his absolute best to follow her lead. His face was concentrated but smiling—the expression of someone learning something new and loving every second of it.
Behind them, the other men were watching. Some were clapping.
One had his phone out, clearly recording.
Another was attempting the same moves on his own, his footwork not quite right but his effort undeniable.
Grandma:Taught them how to do the Stroll and the Hand Jive this afternoon! Played Smokey Robinson and Marvin Gaye. That sweet boy Taka—the one with the scar on his chin—he picked it up FAST. Got some natural rhythm in him somewhere. He’s definitely Black. Maybe a great-great grandmother. I told him that you two will have to meet. The others need work but they're trying bless their hearts.
