Page 77 of Pretty Relentless

“Hi, Grandma,” I greet, smiling as I enter the dining room.

“Hello, handsome. How are you?” she asks, patting the table beside where she sits. “Have a seat.”

Annabelle is already playing with her cousins, so I take the opportunity to sit and spend a little time with my only remaining grandparent. “How have you been?”

“Right as rain,” she insists. “How’s my great-granddaughter?”

She’s excellent. She’ll come in and say hello shortly. She wanted to show Bethany some of the crafts she’s been making.”

Grandma waves her hand. “They’re so energetic at that age and always going somewhere. Can’t blame them for not having time for us old people.”

I scoff at her statement. “We always have time for you,” I insist, leaning over and kissing her aged cheek.

“I know you do, Gavin. You’re a great young man,” she says, offering me a grandmotherly smile. “You’re my favorite, you know.”

I chuckle at her statement. She’s been telling me that since I was younger, insisting I keep it a secret. I’m the youngest, the last grandchild, and my grandma’s always had a soft spot for me. Much like she did Paul, who is the oldest, and my sister, Ginger, who is the only girl. So, honestly, I’m certain there isn’t real favorites, but I humor her just the same.

“You’re just saying that because I come over and mow your grass.”

She laughs. “Well, I do admit, that elevates you to a higher level, but that’s not the only reason.” She sighs and takes a sip of her coffee. “How have things been with you?”

“Busy,” I reply, even though work isn’t quite as hectic as it will be when the winter snow and cold finally thaw for the year. “Work’s going good.”

“I’m sure it is, but that’s not what’s putting that smile on your face.”

The moment her statement registers, I pause. “What?”

“No man seems as happy as you appear thanks to work going well. That’s the look of a man in love.”

My throat goes Sahara dry, and it’s suddenly hard to swallow. “I’m not…I’m not in love, Grandma.”

Lies.

She just smiles widely. “Oh.”

Clearly, she doesn’t believe me.

I’m saved from having to dig deeper into this conversation by my mom entering the dining room. “I made a cherry chip pie,” Mom announces to me as she leans over and gives me a hug.

“That sounds delicious. I’ll take two slices,” I state, kissing her cheek. “Your pies are the best.”

“Kiss-ass,” Mom mutters with a chuckle. “But thank you. We’ll be ready to eat in about ten minutes.”

“Grandma!” Annabelle comes running into the dining room, throwing her arms around my mom’s waist.

“Hello, sweet girl. How is school going?” my mom asks Annabelle.

“It’s great. Oh,” she says, digging into her bag of stuff she brought to show Bethany. “I brought your shirt.” She pulls the sweater out, handing it to my mom.

Mom looks at it with curiosity on her face. “This isn’t mine,” she tells Annabelle, and I swear, if the floor had the ability to open up and swallow me, I’d let it.

Hell, I’d jump in.

Annabelle just looks up at her grandma with confusion. “But…Dad said it must be yours. It was in the laundry.”

That’s when I feel all eyes on me. My mind goes completely blank. I have no clue what to do or say, because I know whatever comes out of my mouth will either be a lie—which I don’t want to do—or will be the truth—something I’m not prepared to say.

Deflection it is…

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