“I won’t.”
I should’ve said, or I’ll try not to.
Dark clouds loom overhead and I’m hoping it isn’t an omen for how the night is going to go. I’ve never been so nervous to knock at my daughter’s home. I brace myself for JJ to open the door but I’m glad when Harper answers. “Hi, come in. Dinner’s nearly ready.”
I step over the threshold, clutching the bag of paints and coloring books for Gunner.
His laughter floats through the house and I’m taken back to when Harper was his age. She was always laughing and full of joy. She was too young to have let my fuck-up of a life affect her. My mom’s presence living with us saved her till she was four years old.
I follow Harper through to the living room and tears fill my eyes. She’s built a home. Her and her son don’t just live in a house with a few of their possessions. Only keeping the necessities because she doesn’t know when she’ll have to make a quick escape. There are family photos hanging on the walls. There are paintings Gunner’s painted tacked around the mantle. Cushions scattered around the two sofas. Candles dotted around the place, some half melted, some nearly out, and some unlit. The spell is broken when my eyes land on the small boy being tossed into the air by the man I legally call my son-in-law.
“Gunner, come to mama. I want you to meet someone.”
Keeping my grandson in his arms, JJ mutters, “Are we sure we want him giving his time to this charity case?”
“Jay. Stop!” Harper snaps and he puts Gunner down on the floor.
He walks over and all I see is Harper in him staring up at me.
“Sweetheart, this is your Grandma Lily. Mama’s Mom.”
He shyly glances at me and then runs back to his daddy.
“My boy has good taste,” JJ smarts.
“Seriously, babe, shut your mouth.”
JJ stands, scooping his son up with him, and pins me with his best glare.
“Just to make it clear, I don’t want you here, and I don’t want you anywhere near my kid. Harp’s wants you here so don’t go thinking you can just walk in here and play happy families. You’ve gotta fuckin’ earn it.”
“I get it, JJ.”
I can’t help the bite in my tone. I get that I deserve it but facing it in reality goes against everything in me.
“I don’t think you do, but I guess time will tell.”
Harper takes Gunner from him and tells him, “Go finish dinner.”
I watch on in fascination. My daughter, ordering around a man, and that man actually listening to her. He disappears into the kitchen.
“I know you’re gonna wanna talk, but can you just meet your grandson and have dinner first?”
I nod. It certainly takes the weight of pressure off. Remembering the bag of paints, I open it up and show Gunner.
“These are for you, sweetheart. A little birdie told me you like to paint.”
He shyly peeks up at me from under his mom’s hair and then into the bag.
“What do you say, Gunner?” Harper says.
It takes a beat, but he murmurs ever so quietly, “Thank you.”
I smile brightly, hoping I don’t come across manic. Across the room, I start picking out the goodies and put them down on the coffee table.
“Wow, look how much grandma got for you!” Harper exclaims, putting him down on his feet.
His earlier shyness evaporates, and he comes to stand where I’m kneeling, bringing us eye to eye. He picks through the brushes and tubes of different colored paints.
