“Mom,” she lowered her voice. “You know Christopher can’t watch him for seven weeks.”
“The hell he can’t,” I countered. “He’s your husband and Elijah’s father. He is perfectly capable of watching his own son.”
“Chris works every day; sometimes he has to take a long haul in his truck. And besides, if you and Dad were still together, inAustin, it wouldn’t be a problem for the two of you and Chris to shuffle Elijah around, take turns with him. But with you gone…”
Here we go with the attempted guilt trip. “Terri, stick to the subject.”
She sighed. “Elijahwantsto come with you. He’s used to spending weeks with you and Dad every summer. But, of course, you took that away from him.”
The food in my stomach rumbled with her low blow. “I haven’t takenanythingaway from Elijah,” I defended myself.
“Yes, you have. You took stability from him. From this whole family, Mom. Can you at least give him seven weeks of it back?” Terri asked-slashed-accused.
“Ma!” I heard Elijah’s voice in the background.
“Hold on, I’m talking to your grandmother.”
“Hi, Grandma!” His voice sailed straight into my heart.
I yelled back, “Hey, EJ.” The nickname was short for Elijah Joe, passed down on his father’s side of the family. He was my only grandchild, and I’d spent a great deal of time with him as an infant, with my daughter working toward her MBA and my son-in-law launching his trucking business during Elijah’s first three years of life. We had a special bond, so hearing his voice resonated deeply.
“I’m asking her if you can stay with her for a while this summer,” she said to him.
She knew full well that if my grandson asked me, “no” wasn’t in my vocabulary.
I cringed. She must be desperate for this certificate to bring Elijah into a conversation between adults. “Get him out of the room,” I demanded.
Terri clicked her cheek, but a second later she did obey me, and I heard a door close as he left her presence, presumably. “Momma,if you don’t watch him, I’ll have to wait until the next application season, and there’s no guarantee they’ll select me again.”
Now, if she had started out the conversation straightforward, told me her predicament and askednicelyif I would watch Elijah, we wouldn’t have to go around all these mountains of half-truth and valleys of guilt to come to an agreement.
But again, she was her father’s child.
“I’m sorry, but I’m just getting settled into my new place. Elijah can’t stay here the whole summer. I can watch him for some of the time, but you have a father and a whole husband who are perfectly capable of helping out.”
“Fine,” she said like she was doingmethe favor.
“You’re welcome.”
She hesitated before adding, “Thank you. He’ll be very excited to hear this news.” She was trying to clean it up now. “I’ll be sure to pack all of his electronics.”
“We’ve got plenty of fresh air and outdoor activities here,” I said. The last thing I planned to do was allow Elijah to stare at a blue screen all day.
“Well, since he turned ten, it’s like his brain switched into preteen mode.” Her voice clouded with motherly worry, which immediately sparked my maternal instinct to protect my daughter despite everything. “He’s speaking his mind more, and it’s borderline disrespectful.”
“They go through stages,” I advised. “And it’s good for him to find his voice.”
“Yes, I know. It just feels like he’s not my baby anymore. Maybe if he’s around you, he’ll slip back into kid mode again. You see how he acted when I told him I was on the phone with you.”
“Can’t promise you anything. EJ’s growing up.”
“I guess I just miss the way he used to drop everything and run to me when I picked him up from day care. You remember the video that went viral?”
A laugh bubbled up from me. Boy, did I ever. Elijah was on the Austin news and on everyone’s social media, dropping a little train set at the sight of his mother, belting out the biggest giggles, arms outstretched, running as fast as his eighteen-month-old legs would take him into her embrace.
My grandson was an adorable baby, and unlike other grandmothers, I had the views, likes, and comments to prove it, thank you very much.
Terri joined in my laughter, and I suddenly remembered some of our better moments together. Taking her to get her ears pierced. Building science fair projects. Working together at her neighborhood lemonade stand—though it was another of her unlicensed gigs. She had always been a salesperson. Persuasive. Business-minded. And it made total sense that an organization would pick my baby for special training this summer.
