Page 212 of We Shouldn't Be Together
“Yeah,” Dad chimes in. “Aren’t you glad your grandparents are here?”
I relent with a sigh. It’s hard not to admit how good it is to have them here again. As we leave the parking lot, we find my grandparents’ coach has already arrived, and the driver is pulling luggage from the underside compartment.
Dad moves ahead, waving and hollering to his parents.
Dad hugs both Grandma and Grandpa, and Mom and I move in behind him.
“Hey, sport,” Grandpa says, tussling my hair.
“Hi, Grandpa.”
Mom moves in and kisses Grandpa’s cheek. “Arthur, hi. How was the trip?”
“Not too bad,” Grandpa replies. “Good driver this time.”
Grandma exhales loudly. “Not like last time. I hope the driver had his license revoked.” She then lights up at the sight of me. “And here’s our new driver. Come here and give me a hug, sweetheart.”
I hug her and Grandpa asks, “Are you driving us home, Kai?”
“Yeah, of course,” I cheer.
“No,” Dad says firmly. “It’s late and Grandma and Grandpa have had a long trip.”
I scoff. “So?”
“So, they don’t need their hearts jumpstarted by your driving skills.”
I throw my arms up at him. “I’m a good driver.”
Mom closes her fingers against her thumb, miming a closing mouth. “Hush.”
I only do because we’re in front of Grandma and Grandpa.
Grandma wraps her arms around me. “I’m sure at some point during our trip we’ll check out your driving skills.” She pulls out of the hug and scans our immediate area. “Where’s my little genius?”
“He’s tutoring Jamie,” Mom replies. “He’ll be home soon.”
I scoff. “What am I, chopped liver?”
Grandma cups her soft hand below my chin. “Oh, Kai, sweetie. No one can ignore your presence.”
Grandpa pats me on the back. “And how’s the soccer season going, champ?”
My grin is effortless. “Haven’t lost a match.”
“Well, the first game ended in a draw,” Dad interjects.
I glare at him. Did we have to bring that up?
Dad notices my irritability and smirks. “And he’s facing that team this weekend.”
Grandpa chuckles. “So there’ll be bloodshed this Saturday.”
Grandma whacks him. “Arthur, please. That’s grotesque.”
Grandpa shrugs it off. “Figure of speech.”
Dad and I carry the luggage to the car, and as he plays Jenga with them in the trunk, I remember there’s a text from Jamie I never checked.
