I sat down. She wiped her hands on the dish towel and sat across from me with her coffee.
“Yesterday after you left,” she said, “her daddy video-called.”
My stomach dropped a little. He was supposed to take her next Saturday. I already knew.
“He told her he gotta work,” Mama said. “Maybe the weekend after.”
“She didn’t cry on the phone,” she went on. “She waited till after. Then she just fell apart on that couch. Said you been mad at her ever since we moved here. Said you took her tablet ’cause you don’t like her no more.”
I started to say something and she held up her hand.
“I told her that wasn’t true. I told her you’re tired, you’re working hard. But Renée — she was shaking. I gave her the tablet because I didn’t know what else to do. I just wanted her to stop crying like that.”
I looked at the table. The placemat under my hands was the same one from when I was a kid.
“You could’ve called me,” I said.
“And said what? ‘Come home, your baby’s crying?’ You were at work.”
“I’m her mama.”
“I know you’re her mama.” Her voice got sharp, then she caught it. “You think I don’t know that?”
We sat there a minute. The grits were starting to stick.
“I wasn’t trying to go behind your back,” she said quieter. “I panicked.”
I wanted to stay mad. It would’ve been easier. But I kept thinking about Zoe’s note, all big and mad, and how I’d been so focused on making her write it right that I didn’t ask her if she was okay.
“I’ve been hard on her lately,” I said. “I feel like everybody’s watching to see if I can handle this. Like if she’s rude at school it means I’m failing because I’m divorced and living with my mama.”
Mama snorted a little. “Ain’t nobody watching you that hard.”
“I’m watching me that hard.”
She nodded. She gets that.
“I’m not trying to run your house,” I said. “But you can’t just cancel my punishment. If you think I’m wrong, tell me. Don’t tell her.”
“You’re right,” she said. “I shouldn’t have done it like that.” She turned her coffee cup around in her hands. “It’s my house, but she’s your child. I forgot that yesterday.”
I told her I should’ve told her about her dad canceling. That I knew he was flaky about Saturdays and I didn’t want to make it a big thing.
We didn’t hug or anything. She got up and stirred the grits so they wouldn’t burn.
I went in the living room. Zoe paused the video real quick when she saw me.
“Is Grandma in trouble?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “We just talked.”
I sat on the edge of the couch. “Your dad canceling hurt your feelings, huh?”
She nodded and pulled the blanket up to her chin.
“I’m not mad at you all the time,” I said. “I was mad about what you said to Ms. Turner. The tablet’s still away till tomorrow. But I love you. You know that, right?”
“Yeah,” she said, quiet.
“Put your shoes on,” I told her. “We’re going to the park for a little bit before it gets hot.”
She left the tablet on the couch. Mama watched us from the doorway while Zoe got her sneakers. Nobody said sorry again.
This is a fictional story. The characters and events are imaginary. The text was written with the assistance of artificial intelligence.
