I thought the worst part was being treated like free childcare. Then my grandson found something on his mother’s tablet that made my son ask a question none of us were ready for.
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At 6:30 Friday evening, my doorbell rang.
My three grandchildren, eight, six, and four, were standing on my porch with backpacks and a suitcase.
Brooks, the oldest, had one hand wrapped around the suitcase handle.
Owen stood beside him with his school backpack hanging from one shoulder, and little Jenny was hugging a stuffed rabbit to her chest.
Behind them, Vanessa was already backing out of my driveway.
I hurried outside and called her immediately.
“Where are you going?”
“Weekend trip. Eric knows.”
Eric was my son.
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“Nobody asked me to babysit.”
She sighed loudly enough for me to hear it through the phone.
“You’ll manage.”
Then she hung up.
For a few seconds, I stood there staring at the taillights disappearing down the street.
I was furious.
Vanessa and I had never been especially close, but I had always tried to respect her as Eric’s wife and the mother of my grandchildren.
I helped whenever I could. School pickups, sick days, occasional sleepovers. But helping was one thing.
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Finding three children deposited on my porch without warning was another.
Still, none of that was Brooks’, Owen’s, or Jenny’s fault.
I carried the bags inside.
“Did Mom say when she’s coming back?” I asked Brooks.
“Sunday, I think.”
That was apparently more information than she’d bothered giving me.
An hour later, Eric finally called.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” he said immediately. “Vanessa told me you’d agreed.”
“I most certainly did not.”
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There was a pause.
“She said you offered.”
“Where are you?”
“Working until Sunday. We have a deadline.”
Something about his answer bothered me.
Not because Eric worked weekends. Unfortunately, that wasn’t unusual. What bothered me was that Vanessa had lied to both of us.
She’d told me Eric knew.
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She’d told Eric I’d agreed.
Why?
“Mom?”
“I’m here.”
“I’ll call her.”
“Good.”
But Vanessa didn’t answer him either.
That night, the children settled in easily enough. They had stayed with me before, although never like this.
Saturday morning, I made pancakes.
Jenny was coloring at the table. Owen was carefully drowning his pancakes in syrup while Brooks barely touched his.
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Then Brooks looked at me.
“Grandma, are we going to live with you now?”
