Chapter 2 - The Sunday Ambush
The drive to Barbara and Ray’s house on Sunday took twenty-five minutes. Ellie fell asleep in the back, her head tilted against the padded wing of her car seat. Tyler drove with both hands on the wheel, unusually silent, glancing into the rearview mirror every few minutes.
“She cooked a pot roast,” he said as we turned onto Barbara’s street. “She bought the baby-safe carrots from the organic store.”
“Good,” I said.
“Hannah, please don’t go in with your guard up. She’s trying.”
“I’m going in with my eyes open, Tyler. There’s a difference.”
When we pulled into the wide asphalt driveway, there were two unfamiliar cars parked near the detached garage: a silver Subaru and a faded Honda Civic.
“Whose cars are those?” I asked, unbuckling my seatbelt.
Tyler hesitated, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. “Kendra might be here. And Aunt Sylvia.”
I turned my head slowly to look at him. “You knew they were going to be here?”
“Mom mentioned Sylvia was in town from Colorado Springs. She just wanted a family lunch.”
“She wanted an audience,” I said.
“Don’t do this before we even walk through the door.”
“You let her set up an intervention, Tyler.”
“It’s not an intervention! It’s dinner!”
I got out of the car, opened the rear door, and carefully unclipped Ellie. She woke with a soft whimper, rubbing her eyes against my sweater. I adjusted her cardigan, took her diaper bag over my shoulder, and walked up the front steps before Tyler could come around to take her.
The moment the front door opened, the aroma of rosemary and braised beef rolled out, thick and heavy.
“There’s my angel!” Barbara sang out from the foyer. She was wearing a turquoise sweater and small pearl earrings, her hair freshly styled. She didn't look at me; she reached straight for Ellie with outstretched arms.
Ellie shrank back into the crook of my neck, hiding her face.
Barbara’s hands dropped slightly, a flicker of irritation passing across her eyes before she smoothed it into a theatrical pout. “Oh, shy today? Mommy didn’t tell you Grandma was waiting?”
“She just woke up from a car nap,” I said, stepping past her into the living room.
Sitting on the floral sofa were Kendra—Tyler’s older sister, who managed an auto-body shop and possessed Barbara’s exact sharp chin—and Sylvia, their mother’s older sister, whose glasses hung from a beaded chain around her neck. Ray was seated in his recliner in the corner, holding a mug of coffee, looking thoroughly uncomfortable.
“Hannah,” Kendra said, raising her glass of iced tea. “Hear you’ve been keeping the pediatric advice hotline in business.”
Tyler came in behind me, closing the door a fraction too hard. “Hey, Kendra. Sylvia.”
Sylvia shook her head, smiling with that condescending, weathered pity reserved for first-time parents. “You know, Hannah, when Kendra and Tyler were little, we let them play in the mud behind the shed. They ate dirt. They ate dog biscuits once. Built their immune systems. Tyler turned out six-foot-two and never had an allergy in his life.”
“Dirt doesn’t carry pathogenic Salmonella from cracked eggshells, Sylvia,” I said, setting Ellie down on the rug near Ray’s chair. She immediately crawled toward Ray’s boots, patting the leather. Ray smiled faintly, leaning down to tap her nose.
Barbara bustled in from the kitchen with a bowl of dinner rolls. “Let’s not start this again. It’s Sunday. I already told Tyler I won’t give her the spoon anymore. It was an old habit, that’s all.”
“It wasn't an old habit,” I said, remaining standing. “It was a clear violation of what we agreed to on paper before you took over her care.”
Kendra snorted. “A contract? You gave your mother-in-law a contract to watch her own grandbaby?”
“It was a feeding guideline from our doctor,” Tyler intervened, though his tone was defensive, trying to placate both sides. “It wasn’t a contract, Kendra. Come on.”
“Well, it sounds like one,” Kendra said, leaning forward. “Mom watches Ellie for free two days a week. Do you have any idea what that saves you? And the first time she gives her a crumb of chocolate, Hannah threatens to pull her out like Mom is some kind of unlicensed criminal.”
“I didn't threaten anything,” I said, looking directly at Barbara. “I implemented a pause while we figured out whether our boundaries would be respected. And then Barbara told our entire extended family on Facebook that young mothers worry themselves sick, while laughing at my concern.”
The room went still for a second. Ray took a slow sip of his coffee.
Barbara set the rolls down on the dining table with a sharp clatter. “I was making a lighthearted observation. Everyone knows mothers are more stressed these days. It wasn't an insult, Hannah, unless you chose to take it as one.”
“Delete the post, Barbara.”
“What?” Barbara blinked.
“Delete the post. Take Ellie’s picture down, and delete the comment mocking my rules.”
Barbara’s jaw tightened. She folded her arms across her chest. “That picture is of my granddaughter in my home. I am proud of her. I don’t take orders on what I can post on my personal page.”
I looked at Tyler. He was staring at the floor between his boots, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He said nothing. The silence stretched until it felt like thin ice ready to crack beneath our weight.
“Come on, Ellie,” I said softly.
May you like
I bent down, scooped our daughter off the rug, picked up the diaper bag from the hall bench, and walked out the front door into the freezing mountain air.
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