“I’m sorry, long day at work yesterday. But I’m here now. Where can I start?”
I got to work setting up the table, suppressing a grimace every time I had to look at the ridiculous hats.
“This one’s for you,” Zelda said and pushed one of the frilly monstrosities into my hand. Oh no, so not going to happen.
“I have a headache. I can’t wear a hat. It’s just going to make it worse,” I said, refusing to take it.
She went on to demonstrate the elasticity of said hat by pulling it ever which way. “You’ll be fine. It’s going to be lose on your head anyway since everything on you is so small.”
Was that an insult? Did she think I was too short? I thought five two was an acceptable height. I was on the slender side but not tiny. I still had curves, damn her. They were just subtler than her double-Ds and J-Lo butt and not stuffed into a dress that was at least a size too small and about three shades too bright.
I relented, too tired to continue arguing, and put on the hat. At least I didn’t have to look at myself. The set up didn’t take long, and I was soon sitting on one of the boxes, watching people walk past. There were a lot of smiles, some snickers and a few comments that I could have done without. But they had a point. Who sells hats—that have nothing to do with football—at a football game?
I had to constantly keep pushing the damn thing out of my face, the elastic band too wide—or my head too small, a fact I refused to acknowledge. Since they only came in one size, because elastic apparently solved all sizing issues, they seemed to be either too small or too big.
By the time the football game was halfway over, I had sold a total of one hat. I was also positioned right smack in the walkway, so everyone could see me. It was like sitting in a fishbowl.
I gritted my teeth and stayed where I was, even though the last thing I wanted to do on my Saturday was peddling shit. Oma and Josie took pity on me and kept me company, Josie helping rearrange all the hats and Oma chatting to everyone who came past. There wasn’t anyone she didn’t know in Butler. But not even she could convince people to spend $20 for a hat they would never wear.
The game was in the last quarter and I was playing with Josie, both of us sitting on the floor, legs crossed, heads stuck together building Lego houses.
“Where is she?” an all too familiar voice screeched. She didn’t seem to have any other frequency but loud and obnoxious. I scrambled to get up off the ground and stood in front of Josie.
“I want to see my grandchild.”
I stepped forward, hitting the table. “What are you doing here, Mom?”
“Don’t call me that,” she sneered. “I’ve told you a million times. Tell me where she is.”
“What’s going on?” I asked, weary of her sudden interest. She didn’t do kids. She hated them. Thought them a nuisance.
“I’m visiting my grandchild. You are not fit to raise a child. I’m here to save my baby.”
Her barbs shouldn’t hurt after all these years but they stung just as bad as ever.
“She’s not here,” I said, praying that Josie would continue playing with her Legos and stay hidden underneath the table.
“You can’t keep my grandchild from me.”
Oh the nerve of that woman. “Why the sudden interest, Anna?” I asked, drawing out her name. “You didn’t care when your son died and left his daughter behind. You didn’t even make it to his funeral. And not once did you ask about Josie.”
“Who the hell is Josie? Now where is my grandchild?”
Unbelievable. One thing that could be said for Anna McAllister was that she was a self-centered b word. Not even after all the shit she’d pulled could I get myself to call her names. Oma had raised me better than that.
I took a deep breath and unclenched my jaw. “Why do you want to see her?”
“She’s going to live with me. You are too young to be raising a child.”
Excuse me, what? Over my dead body. I would fight to the end before I let her destroy Josie’s life like she had Freddie’s and mine. “The hell you are,” I said, raising my voice.
“That’s no way to speak to me. You better mind your manners. I already got a lawyer. He’s sending the paperwork on Monday. He thought it would be a good idea to get to know my grandchild beforehand.” Makes sense since she didn’t even know Josie’s name. Any judge granting her custody would have to be high off his head.
“You don’t like kids,” I stated without emotion, a fact I’d learned early on.
“What does that have to do with anything? I want to take care of my only grandchild.”
“She’s two. You have to look after her all the time. You can’t just leave her alone. You need to make sure she eats. Dresses. Brushes her teeth. Has a bed to sleep in. You’d have to take care of a child.” All things she failed to do while Freddie and I were living with her.
