Page 188 of Smooth Sailing

“You doin’ okay, sweetheart?” he asked.

I nodded (nonverbally lying).

“You ready?” Hugger asked me.

I nodded again (still nonverbally lying).

“Text your grandma, baby,” he murmured.

Shit.

I went back to my room and grabbed my phone.

I texted Gram on the return trip to the kitchen.

When I got there, I got a reply from Gram, Just getting your coffees and be right up!

The chipper bent to her text said Gram was doing what Gram did a lot for Mom. Trying to smooth things over.

I wondered if Gram had calmed Mom down and talked some sense into her.

I doubted Gram calmed Mom down or talked any sense into her.

“They’re coming up,” I announced.

Pete got himself some coffee, topped Dad up, Dad watched with unhidden interest as Pete moved around my kitchen with open familiarity, and fifteen minutes later, the knock came at the door.

Hugger went to open it.

I tensed.

He walked in first, but when Mom followed him, she stopped dead so Gram, holding a bag that probably had the Danishes, and paper coffee cups in each hand (because of course Mom didn’t help her carry the stuff up—how was I so blind for so long?) ran into her as she came in after.

“Oh, so I see this is going to be an ambush,” she accused, scowling at Dad.

“Margaret, I suggest you keep quiet and listen to what our daughter has to say,” Dad advised.

“The time you get to tell me what to do is long gone, Nolan,” Mom bit back.

Dad sighed.

Gram looked about ready to cry.

Then again, she was all love and goodness, wasn’t comfortable around confrontation, and she adored me and her daughter. Thus, this open enmity that would seem very sudden to her was undoubtedly killing her. She probably thought they were showing up to take me along on their day. And I could see Mom hadn’t explained while they were having lattes that she’d been getting some peevish communications from me.

It sucked huge I couldn’t help her with that, but at that moment, I couldn’t help her with it except to suggest, “Gram, maybe you might want to go out on the balcony for a little bit?”

“I think I’ll stay here, doll,” Gram replied uncertainly.

Mom ignored this exchange and pointed to Big Petey. “Who’s this man?”

“A friend of mine,” I stated.

She regarded Pete derisively and mumbled loudly, “Why am I not surprised?”

Patience, Diana, patience, I told myself.

“I don’t know, since you don’t know me at all, so how you could be surprised about anything about me is, in itself, surprising,” I said.

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