Instead, he added, “The surprise was real. But that’s not all of it.”
I sat up straighter.
“What does that mean?”
For illustration purposes only
He took a shaky breath. “I keep trying to make everything look smooth. Perfect house. Perfect timing. Perfect family. Like if I keep it all organized, nobody notices what I’ve let slide.”
Then I said the thing that had been sitting in me for years.
I said nothing.
“And what I’ve let slide,” he said, voice rough now, “is you.”
“Every time I called you, I was driving or working or doing three things at once. Every time I said we’d plan a visit, I pushed it off because I thought you’d understand. You always do. And yesterday I treated you the same way. Like you’d wait. Like you’d make it easy for me.”
Then I said the thing that had been sitting in me for years.
“I didn’t come here to be managed, Nick. I came here to be wanted.”
Then there was rustling, and suddenly a tiny voice came on the line.
He made a sound like I had hit him.
“I know,” he whispered. “And I hate that I made you feel otherwise.”
Nick covered the phone for a second, but I still heard him say, “I hope not.”
Then there was rustling, and suddenly a tiny voice came on the line.
“Grandma?”
My eyes filled immediately.
A laugh came out of me before I could stop it.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
“Are you the grandma from my picture?”
I swallowed. “I hope so.”
“I made your hair yellow by accident,” she said. “But Mommy said crayons are hard.”
A laugh came out of me before I could stop it.
Then she asked, in a small voice, “Are you still coming?”
“And nobody leaves me outside that door again.”
I said, “Put your daddy back on.”
“You can come get me,” I said. “But listen carefully. I am not coming back for one nice evening and then another year of rushed calls and vague promises.”
“You’re right.”
“I want real effort. Real visits. Real phone calls. Not when you can squeeze me in.”
“I know.”
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