“Yes, I’m alive.”
“Yes, I’m comfortable.”
“No, I don’t need another pillow.”
My mother kept hovering over her.
Grandma finally snapped, “If I need something, I’ll ask.”
Mom stepped away with the defeated expression of someone who had heard that sentence for most of her life.
For a while, things felt almost normal.
Children ran between the kitchen and the living room.
Someone spilled juice near the hallway.
Bryce’s sister took too many pictures.
Sophie kept trying to pull the ribbon off one of her gifts.
But Grandma wasn’t acting normal.
During the party, she barely looked at the decorations.
Or the cake.
She just watched my daughter, Sophie.
At first, I thought it was sweet.
Grandma had only seen Sophie a handful of times.
Maybe she was simply trying to memorize her face.
But the longer I watched Grandma, the less sentimental it seemed.
Her eyes followed Sophie everywhere.
When Bryce carried Sophie across the room, Grandma watched.
When my mother bounced Sophie on her knee, Grandma watched.
When I set Sophie down on the rug beside her toys, Grandma leaned forward slightly.
She looked like she was waiting for something.
I walked over and crouched beside her.
“You okay?”
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