Page 19 of Ella Gets the D
My six-year-old, possessed with the spirit of a linebacker, pummels into her back. The force of the blow knocks Haile out of Katharine’s arms and sends the sixty-two-year-old head first into a pile of wood chips with anoof.
I scoop up Haile, who clings to my neck, and rush to Katharine’s side. “Are you okay?” Do I shake her, check for broken bones? Both? I move to roll her over but stop when her body shakes. “Katharine?”
Jackson pulls at the sides of his hair. “I didn’t mean to kill her, Mom, I swear!”
“She’s dead?” Haile’s lip trembles, a preview of a breakdown loading.
Katharine turns over with a muffled groan, her delicate wrists shielding her steel-blue eyes from the sun. The faint wrinkles around her mouth curve against the flush creeping up her pale cheeks. “I’m fine.” She sits up and pulls wood chips from her hair. “Jackson is so strong.”
He hangs his head. “I’m sorry, Grandma.” My poor baby thought she was a goner. He’s not the only one.
Katharine waves a hand and stretches out her arms to summon him and Haile, who practically jumps from my arms. “Nonsense. We had fun, didn’t we?” The kids nod against her chest. “How about we go inside and get cleaned up? You two can have a morning snack while I talk to your mom.” She stands, brushes down her maroon blazer and skirt, and shoos the kids to move.
“It’s bad manners to stare.” There’s a playfulness in her voice.
Who is this woman, and where is the refined lady who hosts brunch for high society? The one who maintains perfect posture and never has a hair out of place?
The woman who—wait, are her shoes off?
This is the first time in sixteen years I’ve seen Katharine’s bare feet. I expected a French tip, but to my surprise, a pink pedicure is on display. Hot pink at that.
Katharine follows my gaze down and smiles. “We had a spa night. Haile chose the paint color.” She wiggles her toes. “What do you think?”
I huff out a laugh. I’m at the wrong house. Either Katharine has a concussion, or she added some rum to her Earl Grey tea. I’m grateful I never had to deal with a monster-in-law, but this carefree version of my mother-in-law is new territory.
“Should we call the family physician?” I touch her forehead with the back of my hand. No fever.
“You are as bad as the children.” She swats me away with a grin. “I’m fine. They keep me young. Come.” Her arm links with mine. “Let’s go inside.”
Minutes later, there’s coffee in front of me and a spread of yogurt, granola, fresh berries, little croissants, and homemade jams on the table. It’s the perfect sunroom experience.
“Do you need anything, love?”
“This is more than generous, thank you.”
I thought Jackson got the concept of a second breakfast fromLord of the Rings, but it looks like I have his grandmother to thank for that one. It’s a good thing she has millions in the bank so she can keep up with his appetite.
Katharine takes my hand. “I’m not talking about the food. Are you okay?”
Talk about a loaded question.No, I’m not okay because the son you tried to raise with morals was balls-deep in another woman. Not a refined conversation to have over an antique table.
My mother-in-law has been nothing but kind since the day Charles introduced us. She never judged my lack of social status or cared that I came from a town of less than four thousand people.
That’s the kind of woman she is. One who leads with her heart and doesn’t stand on her wallet.
Her husband and son are a different story.
“Things are still falling into place, but we’ll be okay.”
Her gold tea spoon swings around her hand-painted porcelain cup. It’s the same color palette as Mrs. Potts and Chip inBeauty and the Beast, but I doubt the people in her circle notice. She considers me before reaching for the milk, an addition she only enjoys when we’re alone. A slice of lemon and a sugar cube are her go-to for social gatherings. I suspect it’s more acceptable for the wife of a chairman of a board of trustees.
“Do you think you’ll move back to Ohio if you don’t find a place here?” She stares over the rim of her cup and takes a sip. I wait for her to say more, but she doesn’t. Thin lips purse, and the frown lines she tries to ward off with prayer and expensive creams deepen.
At no point did I think about Katharine’s reaction to the divorce, or what she would do if I had to uproot the kids and move beyond a fifty-mile radius. She’s a grandmother who hasnever spent more than a week apart from her grandchildren since we moved to Falls Church. A grandmother who maintains an impressive speed running barefoot and has the financial resources to bury me in court.
Charles is a pain in the ass to deal with, but I now question the woman across from me with the alert gaze. What happens to her poise once provoked?
I wouldn’t put it past her to reenactKindergarten Cop, going on the warpath to get to her grandchildren. She’s already got the suit.
