Page 48 of My Cruel Billionaire

Damon squealed and ran away to hide behind a pillar, like we’d planned before. It was a little late to surprise her, but that didn’t stop Damon from jumping out from behind the pillar and shouting, at the top of his lungs…

“Surprise!”

“Little late, kiddo,” I said, tousling his hair.

“Oh my, I didn’t even see this before, when I came in,” Mom said, gaping at the banner hanging over the living room. “This is so nice. What a wonderful thing to come home to.”

“I picked out the colors, Gramma,” Damon said. “Me, I did it. All by myself.”

“Here, Mom, sit down,” I guided her over to her easy chair and pretty much forced her to sit in it. “I got you some of that sparkling grape juice you like from the bodega down the street.”

“And I got you some yogurt-covered raisins,” Damon said.

“Oh, I love these,” Mom said with a sigh, taking them from Damon. “They taste great, and they’re great for keeping regular.”

Damon’s face scrunched up. “What’s keeping regular mean, Gramma?”

“Um, why don’t you help me pour the grape juice, honey,” I said from the kitchen.

We celebrated in the living room for a time. It felt good to have my mom home back where she belonged. And yet, I knew that this wasn’t a return to the good old days. Not really. This was the last hurrah. My mother was going to be spending a lot less time with Damon soon, and that would affect both of their lives.

It was for the best, really. My mother was no longer able to keep up with Damon, and the last thing I wanted was for her to have more medical issues because she was pushing herself too hard for mine and Damon’s sake.

“Hey, Gramma,” Damon said. “Guess what? Do you wanna see my drawings?”

“You can’t say guess what and then ask another question, buddy,” I said as I sipped my sparkling grape juice on the sofa.

“Of course I want to see your drawings,” Mom said. “Bring them over here. Oh, and bring Gramma’s glasses from the end table too, while you’re at it.”

Damon dutifully raced across the living room floor, timbers creaking under his socked feet. He grabbed a stack of his drawings, raced most of the way back to Mom, then stopped. He shuffled back and grabbed her glasses. They were contained inside of a hard, button-down case with a floral pattern on it.

He kind of flopped the glasses onto her lap.

“Damon, be more careful with Gramma’s glasses,” I said.

“They’re bifocals, dear, they’ll probably outlast the next ice age.”

“Not the point, Mom. He needs to learn to respect other people’s things.”

Mom gave me a look and then shrugged. “All right, honey, if that’s the way you want it. I seem to recall someone who used to like to wear their mother’s glasses and pretend like they were Cyclops from the X men…”

My face burned with embarrassment.

“And I was wrong to do it back then, too.”

Mom clucked her tongue as she put her glasses on her face. The paper crinkled in her hands as she held it up in front of her.

“These are really good, Damon.” Of course, she was Grandma, so she was required to say that. Still, I thought that my son’s pictures were pretty good for his age, and I’m sure my mom thought so as well. “Is this me?”

“No, that’s Mom.” Damon pointed with his little finger at another figure on the page. “This is you, Grandma. See how you have glasses on?”

Glasses? So that’s what they were. I thought he was drawing people with robber masks for some reason.

“And who is this?” she asked, pointing at a tall figure in a blue and purple tie. My blood froze in my veins, because I recognized that tie. The pattern wasn’t the same, but the colors were a dead match.

A dead match for one of Michael’s favorite ties.

“That’s Michael,” he said.

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