Our eyes meet, and for the first time, I don’t get the familiar sensation that she’s lying. Her expression isn’t one of sincerity, or mischievousness, or anything of the kind. She just looks like … Monty. Like she isn’t hiding anymore.
She looks more beautiful like this than she ever has. No plotting, or lies, or hidden motives.
“Anything?” I ask, showing her the blue card.
She smiles. “Anything. But first …” She plucks a white card from me. “My birthday is July first.”
“Merry Christmas, Grandpa!”Ella says, making Gray wave at the camera.
I grin. “Happy second Birthday, Gray and Asha.”
Gable is balancing Asha on his knee. She’s scowling, as always, and so is he. Gray, on the other hand, is giggling as Ella bounces him. Despite their personality differences, the twins are inseparable. That’s likely why Asha is so annoyed—she isn’t holding her brother’s hand.
“I’ll go get the presents you sent!” Ella says, hopping up from the couch.
Gable and Asha glare at me.
My son-in-law still hasn’t quite forgiven me for putting him through ten weeks of hell. Honestly, I haven’t forgiven myself. I was consumed by Ella’s request to me—to fake her death so she could be with him. I was losing my daughter to him, settling for a life where I see her maybe once a year.
I can’t tell anyone about my grandkids and the things they do. I can’t show anyone photos and brag like other grandparents. I can’t babysit on weekends or take my daughter out for Sunday brunch. She may not really be dead, but sometimes it feels like she is.
So, yes, I punished Gable. I blamed him for everything she went through, so I deserve the heated look he’s giving me.
“Merry Christmas, Gable,” I say, clearing my throat.
He grunts in response, and thankfully, Ella returns. The twins open their presents, Gray squealing in excitement, and Asha is hypnotized. Even Gable smiles when he sees how happy they are.
When Gray gets fussy, Gable takes the twins for a nap, and Ella grins at me.
“How you doing, baby?” I ask.
“Tired. It was a long morning. But they’re so happy. How are you? Are you sure you don’t want to come for New Year?”
I shake my head. “Flights will be expensive, and you should do something fun with the kids.”
“I have fun with you!”
“Maybe next year.”
We talk a little while longer, and Gable reappears with a cup of coffee for Ella. She leans into him, and he remains quiet while I catch up with my daughter.
“Dad, what is that noise? Did you get a dog?”
Fox chews on my sweats, and I lift him in view of the camera. I took him out to the yard to use the bathroom this morning, but he’s been gone since, likely upstairs with Monty.
“You copied my dog,” Gable says. “Boy or girl? How old? Where did you get it from? What did you call it?”
It’s the most we’ve spoken in three years, and it eases my guilt somewhat. I sit Fox on my lap. “Boy. No clue. He was a gift. Fox.”
“Fox!” Gable exhales, more animated than I’ve probably ever seen him. “Look at the size of his paws. He’s gonna be huge.”
“A gift? From whom?” Ella asks.
I glance at the small envelope of cards to my right. My insight into Monty Reid, a glimpse into something no one has seen.
“A friend,” I say, just as I hear Monty descending the stairs.
“Is someone there?” Gable asks, then cackles. “Gibson, your dad is getting laid.”
