Alex attempted to hop away with what remaining dignity he had left, but my mother followed him with a single finger extended, not touching, just hovering an inch above his round head as she tracked his movement with unsettling precision.
“Oh no,” she said gently. “Don’t scuttle off. I’ve barely had a chance to reacquaint myself.”
The toad froze, and Celeste leaned closer to me, whispering, “I don’t remember Grandma being scary.”
“She wasn’t,” I whispered back. “But she’searnedit.”
My mother tilted her head, studying Alex the way one might examine a questionable item at a yard sale.
“You know,” she went on conversationally, “I always said you’d end up small if you kept thinking so little of others.”
Alex ribbited weakly.
She smiled wider. “Oh, you remember that?”
She tapped the floor beside him once with her fingernail.
Tap.
Alex jumped straight up, landing awkwardly and spinning around in a panic.
“Oh honestly,” my mother sighed. “You used to be much braver when you thought you were the smartest person in every room.”
I covered my mouth to hide my laughter.
My mother rose to her feet and stepped around Alex, forcing him to turn to keep her in view. She moved slowly, deliberately, her steps whisper-quiet on the stone.
“Let’s review,” she said pleasantly. “You insulted my daughter. You betrayed her trust. You belittled her sparkle. You spoke inappropriately to your own child. You don’t respect women of any age. And now—” She gestured broadly at his current state. “—here we are.”
Alex croaked loudly, indignant.
“Yes,” she said, nodding. “I hear you. Accountability is uncomfortable.”
She stopped directly in front of him and leaned down until her face was level with his. It almost looked as if she were lying down, readying for a belly flop.
“If you’re hoping for sympathy, I’m afraid I used it all up years ago.”
“I’m so proud,” I said, wiping my eyes.
Alex attempted one last escape, hopping toward the far end of the hall.
My mother snapped her fingers, and Alex skidded to a stop as if the sound itself had grabbed him by the spine.
“Ah-ah,” she said. “We’re not done.”
She turned to me then, expression softening instantly. “You alright, sweetheart?”
“Yes,” I said honestly. “Better than I’ve been in a long time.”
She nodded, satisfied, and turned back to Alex. “Good, because I rather enjoy this.”
At that moment, Stella took in the scene at a glance: my mother standing serenely over a toad, my dad sprawled happily at my feet, Celeste laughing, the kitchen sprites peeking from behind counters with undisguised delight.
“Well,” she said dryly, folding her arms, “if this isn’t the healthiest family bonding I’ve seen in decades.”
Twobble trotted in beside Stella, hands stuffed into his pockets, gaze flicking from Alex to my mother and back again, and shrugged.
“I hate to state the obvious,” he said, “but aren’t we supposed to be finding a way to turn him back?”
