help out with the kids; I know how busy you are.” She picked up a box of Fruit Roll-Ups and tsked. I braced myself for another lecture, but instead she said, “How’s the job going? Still enjoying being a private investigator?”
“It’s interesting,” I said, remembering Peaches’s foray into the wading pool at the Sweet Shop. I still wasn’t up to thinking about Aquaman. “Gives you a different view of human nature.”
“I’ll bet,” she said. “And how are things with Blake?”
“Fine,” I said quickly. “He’s been very busy at the office, though. Working late at home, too.”
She sighed. “It’s all work and no play for him, isn’t it? I worry about you two sometimes.” As she put back the box of Fruit Roll-Ups, my eyes fell on the Journey to Manhood brochure; it was lying in the middle of the counter, blaring like a billboard.
I made a grab for it, but my sharp-eyed mother spotted it first. “What’s that?” she asked.
“Just junk mail,” I said. “We get all kinds of brochures.” I stuffed it into the recycling bin.
“Hmm,” she said as I buried it deep under a stack of expired Box Tops.
“Would you mind going and getting Elsie up?” I asked. “It’s her first day of school, and I think she’s a little nervous. You know how she is about transitions.”
“Does she still think she’s a Pekingese?” my mother asked.
“Um . . . yes,” I said.
“Have you considered counseling?”
“We’re still talking about it,” I said. “It’s expensive, and we’re not sure if it’s just a phase.”
“Maybe I can align her chakras while I’m here,” she said, heading down the hallway to Elsie’s room. I braced myself, expecting a flurry of angry barks, but instead heard a delighted squeal. I smiled, relieved to hear my daughter sound happy for the first time in a month.
She and my mother came down the hallway hand in hand, followed closely by Blake, who was tying the belt of a blue bathrobe around his trim waist.
“I found my girl,” my mother beamed, looking twenty years younger than her age. “And who’s hiding under that blanket?” she asked, looking at where my son was curled up on the couch.
Nick sat up and held out his arms. “Grandma!”
As my mother stood with my children hugging both her legs, Blake walked into the living room. “Good morning, Constance,” he said, giving her a polite hug and turning on his client-pleasing charm. “You’re here early!”
“I wasn’t tired, so I just kept driving,” she said, her hands resting on the kids’ heads. “I got here a little early, so I stopped at Kerbey Lane for a vegan omelet. I couldn’t wait to see my grandkids.”
Elsie’s rhinestone-studded dog collar glinted in the morning light as she squeezed my mother’s leg, her face bright and smiling. It made my heart expand to see her smile again. I only hoped the first day of school would be better than I anticipated. Maybe my mother could convince her to eat with a spoon.
My daughter’s eyes lit on me, and the smile switched off. “I don’t want to go to school,” she announced.
“Let’s have breakfast first, before we think about that. Here’s your bowl,” I said, putting it on the table with a spoon optimistically wedged into it.
Elsie narrowed her eyes at me. Then she marched over to the table, pulled out the spoon, and set the bowl on the floor in the corner of the room. With one defiant glance back at me, she buried her face in the bowl. For a long moment, the only sound was slurping.
“Well, then,” my mother said brightly, even though her eyebrows were up around her hairline. The Eggos popped, and I put them on a plate and sprinkled them with dark-chocolate chips before setting them on the table for Nick. “That’s breakfast?” she asked.
“They’re whole wheat,” I said defensively. “And dark chocolate is good for you.”
“Mmm,” she said. “Have you read about the links between gluten and sugar
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