Heels clashed over the tile, and Rei sang, “I’m reaaadddy.”
I turned to take in her long black dress and strappy silver sandals. “Uh, Jude, I’ll have to call you back.”
8.Jada
Even with mymemory foam insoles, my feet were killing me by the time I made it back to Glamma’s house—the place I’d called home for the last several years. In an effort to save money, I’d sold my car and was using the public transit system, but it sure left a lot to be desired.
I was tempted to take out a car loan from anyone stupid enough to give me one as I limped up the sidewalk to the front steps. This was the cutest little red house in Arlington, Texas. Glamma grew flowers all along the front while Grandpa crafted trinkets for the yard, like a reclaimed wood wishing well and a birdbath made entirely of rocks I’d picked up and brought to him as a kid, pasted together with mortar.
Each adornment held a memory that made my heart squeeze from missing him.
Before I could reach the door, it swung open. Glamma had her “Betsy” wig on—the curly black one that fell to her chin. She paired it with a red silk blouse and matching wide-legged pants. A black sequined apron covered her front since she was in the middle of making supper. “Ooh, baby girl, it’s good to see you.” She didn’t waste a minute pulling me into a hug.
She wasn’t tall, especially in recent years, so I bent over to hug her back.
God it felt good.
Good enough to make my eyes sting.
I had to get it together and stop letting long days like this make me so emotional. I blinked quickly before pulling back. “Do I smell biscuits?”
She swatted my arm with her hand, pulling me inside. “‘Do I smell biscuits?’ What kind of question is that? Like I’d make country fried steak without biscuits.” She shook her head at me. “Silly girl.”
I didn’t retort that I was nearly thirty and felt incredibly far off from the “girl” category. “I’ll make lemonade,” I said. She liked to have it fresh, but her hands were cracking and sensitive here lately. Her arthritis made it hard to squeeze the fruit as well.
“What a treat,” she replied with a shimmy of her shoulders. That’s when I noticed her new necklace. Internally I winced while I followed her to the kitchen.
“Where’d you get your new necklace?” I asked casually.
“BennyBlue, where else?” she said, putting her fingers over the statement necklace. “I saw it online andhadto get it.”
I forced a smile. “Looks good.”
“Tell me about the daycare," she said. “Any more drama with that Charlie and Renee?”
I tossed my head back laughing, because Grandma was just as invested in the four-year-old-room drama as I was. While we finished preparing the food and drink, I filled her in on the latest news circulating through the daycare—how Renee had torn up the heart Charlie drew for her, so Charlie started drawing her broccoli and giving it to her instead because it was her least favorite food.
We were both crying laughing by the time the food was ready.
“How do kids come up with these things?” she asked, sliding into her chair at the table. There was a perfect place setting in front of her—a white placemat with her strawberry-printed plates, a glass full of lemonade, and silverware lined up on either side.
I sat across from her with a matching place setting and started serving up our meal. When our plates were full, she clapped her hands together for a prayer, bracelets jingling. I closed my eyes and listened.
“Dear God, bless this food, bless my husband and children in heaven, and bless my granddaughter and her soon-to-be husband. Amen.”
My eyes popped open. “Soon-to-be husband? Am I missing something?”
Glamma winked. “God provides to those who believe, dear.”
I shook my head at her, and maybe at myself, because my mind instantly went to Bryce at the mention of a husband. She’d bethrilledto know a literal billionaire had asked me out. “Actually, somethingdidhappen at the coffee shop earlier.” I told her about getting Bryce to pause the construction during naptime and then his surprise ask in the café.
Her mouth fell open. “What are you doing here?!”
“I’m allergic to shellfish!” I said. “Or did you miss that part of the story?”
“Child!” Grandma shook her napkin at me. “A billionaire asks me out, I’m grabbing that EpiPen, putting two bottles of Robitussin in my purse, and popping Benadryl like they’re candy!” She let out a frustrated sigh. “How are we even related?”
I stifled an eyeroll. “Maybe we should get DNA tested.”
