“Probably.”
“She’s going to be his only grandmother, Levi.”
Outside the restaurant on the day, he stopped me at the door.
“If you want out, we leave. No debate. No explanation.”
“I’ll be fine.” I squeezed his hand. “It’s one afternoon.”
The room was packed with strangers. Do you know that feeling, walking into your own party and not recognizing anybody?
“It’s one afternoon.”
Everywhere I looked hung framed photos of Diane holding baby Levi.
Diane in a hospital gown. Diane at his first birthday. And behind the dessert table, taller than me, was a banner.
GRANDMA’S LITTLE BLESSING.
I’ll be honest. I didn’t get angry. I got sad.
My mom would never have photos like these with my son. She’d never get to be anybody’s Grandma.
GRANDMA’S LITTLE BLESSING.
So when Diane swept through the room, glowing, soaking up congratulations, I told myself: let her have it.
But little things kept chipping at that.
Diane introduced me like a side dish.
