The implication was clear.
David had made it sound like my choice, as if I’d had better things to do than be with my family.
“I needed some time to think,” I said carefully. “Sometimes grown-ups need space to figure things out.”
“Oh.”
She paused.
“Mom says you’re being dramatic.”
Of course she did.
“Emma, do you remember what your mom called me at Thanksgiving?”
Another pause.
“The unbearable mother-in-law.”
Her voice had dropped to a whisper.
“She says stuff like that a lot when you’re not around.”
The confirmation shouldn’t have hurt, but it did.
“How did that make you feel when she said it?” I asked gently.
“Bad,” Emma admitted. “Noah cried later. He said it was mean.”
My sweet Noah.
At least someone had recognized the cruelty for what it was.
“It hurt my feelings,” I said honestly. “And when people hurt our feelings, sometimes we need time to heal.”
“Will you come see us soon? I got an A on my science project.”
“I’d love to hear all about it. Maybe we could meet for ice cream this weekend. Just you and me.”
After hanging up, I called David.
It went to voicemail as expected.
“David, Emma called me. She’d like to meet for ice cream this weekend. I’d like your permission to take her on Saturday afternoon. Please let me know.”
He texted back an hour later.
“Fine. 2 p.m. 1 hour.”
1 hour with my granddaughter.
Granted like a reluctant favor.
Still, it was something.
That Saturday, as Emma and I sat across from each other at the ice cream parlor, I was careful not to badmouth Rebecca or question Emma about home.
Instead, I listened as she excitedly explained her science project on ecosystems.
“Mom didn’t help at all,” she said proudly. “She said it was too messy.”
“Well, I think it sounds wonderful,” I replied. “I always loved science projects when I was teaching.”
Emma’s eyes widened.
“You were a teacher? Mom said you just stayed home.”
Another lie.
“I taught elementary school for 30 years. I taught third grade,” I told her. “Your dad used to come to my classroom after school. He’d help feed the class guinea pig.”
Emma giggled.
“Dad was scared of our hamster. He made mom clean the cage.”
These small glimpses into their lives, the real ones, not the polished social media versions, were precious.
As our hour together drew to a close, Emma asked, “Can we do this again, Grandma?”
“I’d like that very much,” I said, hugging her. “Goodbye.”
David was waiting in the parking lot, checking his watch.
He nodded curtly as Emma bounded up to him, talking excitedly about our time together.
“Emma, get in the car, please,” he said, his voice tight.