Grandfather looked between the three of us, clearly sensing something had happened but unable to figure out what. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I said far too quickly.
“Nothing at all,” Sandra agreed, her voice remarkably steady despite the laughter in her eyes.
Claudette made another sound behind her napkin. It sounded suspiciously like she was choking on suppressed giggles.
“You’re all very strange,” Grandfather muttered, blissfully unaware he’d just witnessed my social death.
Crisis averted. Barely.
I kept my feet firmly planted on the floor for the rest of dinner, deliberately not looking at either Claudette or Sandra. But I could feel Claudette shaking with silent laughter beside me. Every time I glanced at her, she’d bite her lip harder, her eyes watering from the effort of not losing it completely.
I caught her eye across the table after Grandfather had turned his attention to his food. She was still smiling. And despite the mortification, despite accidentally playing footsie with my grandfather’s caretaker, I felt something warm settle in my chest.
She was never going to let me live this down—and I already knew I’d let her tease me forever.
The conversation was lighter now. Stories about family dinners gone wrong. Grandfather even told a story about my father as a young man, something I’d never heard before. I listened, filing it away like treasure.
An hour later, the old man pushed back from the table. Slow. Using the edge for leverage.
Sandra was there immediately, offering her arm. He took it without protest, which told me exactly how exhausted he was. He never accepted help unless he had to.
I stood to walk them out.
“She’s sharp,” Grandfather said quietly, his hand finding my shoulder with surprising strength. “Smart. Has a spine. You need that.”
“I know.”
“Good.” He squeezed once more, and there was something in his eyes. Something that looked like approval. Like pride, even. “Take care of her, Michael. You found something rare.”
“I will.”
The words settled in my chest like a vow. Like a promise I was making not just to him but to myself.
He studied my face for a long moment. Looking for something. Whatever he found seemed to satisfy him because he nodded slowly, squeezed my shoulder one more time, and headed for the elevator with Sandra supporting more of his weight than he’d admit.
They argued while they waited. Something about tomorrow’s schedule, about him refusing to rest properly.
The doors closed.
I stood there staring at the empty space, thinking about the effort it took him to come here. The pain he’d endured on that flight. The exhaustion I’d seen in every line of his face.
All of it because I was family. I’d thought he didn’t know how to care, but apparently he did, in his own way. And for the first time in maybe ever, I felt seen by him. Acknowledged.
I went back inside and found Claudette on the couch looking tired but happy.
“Your grandfather’s something else,” she murmured.
I sat beside her, pulling her close. She curled into me immediately, head finding that spot on my shoulder like it belonged there.
“This is nice,” she said softly. “Your family.”
My family. Small. Complicated. But mine.
Claudette shifted against me, getting comfortable. The scent of her shampoo filled my senses—something floral and clean. I buried my face in her hair, breathed her in. Felt the warmth of her body pressed against mine, alive and real and here.
My hand found her waist, thumb brushing against the strip of skin where her shirt had ridden up slightly. She made a small sound at the contact.
