Make a Wish (Spark House #3)(74)
“That’s because she doesn’t enforce any rules,” Karen mutters under her breath, but not quietly enough that I don’t catch it.
“Sweetie, can you take your math books to your room for me and wash your hands? I brought home a treat.” It’s time I had that talk with Karen, and I’d prefer Peyton not be in the room when it happens.
“We’re not finished with her homework yet,” Karen informs me.
“Peyton and I will finish it later. Wash your hands and wake up your grandpa, so we can all eat together.” I pat Peyton on the head and usher her down the hall.
“The math will only take fifteen minutes to finish. I don’t think giving Peyton a treat for half-finished work is setting a good example,” Karen says primly.
“The muttered comments need to stop, Karen. And you can’t talk down about Harley in front of Peyton, and you certainly shouldn’t be doing it in front of me. This isn’t about Peyton’s math homework, which she and I will finish later, after you and Kyle head home.”
Her fingers go to her throat, and she fidgets with the heart-shaped locket she always wears. Inside is a picture of Marcie. “Well, she doesn’t seem to enforce much in the way of rules, and I was just trying to be helpful with the math homework.”
“I appreciate that you want to help out, but this is about more than the math homework. I realize that things are different than they were when we lived in Boulder, but the snide remarks and undermining my parenting decisions aren’t helpful. Peyton is my daughter and what I say goes. I didn’t say anything when we were at the restaurant because I didn’t want to cause a scene or embarrass you in front of everyone, but I can’t and won’t ignore it or leave it unaddressed.”
Karen scrunches up her face. “I used to be so involved in Peyton’s life, and now this Harley woman has reappeared, and all of a sudden I feel like you’re making me out to be the bad guy. For seven years, I made all of Peyton’s after-school snacks and dinners, she and I did all her homework together so you wouldn’t have to when you picked her up from work. And there were plenty of times when you’d have to work late and she’d sleep over, and now I’m only seeing her once a month! I feel like … like I’ve lost Marcie all over again!” She blinks rapidly and turns her head, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue that was tucked into her sleeve.
And I feel like shit all over again. There’s no way I can win this. I ease off a little, trying to see this through her eyes. “I’m not trying to take your granddaughter away from you, and I know this transition isn’t easy, but the condescension and negative commentary on my lax parenting don’t make me feel particularly good. I understand that us moving here has been difficult, but crapping on my parenting isn’t a good way to make things better.”
“I’ve had a hand in raising her!”
“And I appreciate everything you’ve done for us. You’ve been a great source of support for a lot of years, but you can’t come in and railroad all my decisions. It’s not good for me or Peyton, and all it does is cause confusion and dissention. And you need to stop belittling Harley. It’s not okay. I’m invested in her and so is Peyton. She’s a good person, and she doesn’t deserve to be treated the way you’re treating her.”
She folds her hands on the counter, looking somewhat contrite. “I just miss my granddaughter, that’s all.”
“Then we can make plans for you to see more of her. And now that we’re settled, we can come visit more frequently, and you’re always welcome here, but you need to let me be the parent. Just be her grandmother. Have fun with her. Let me be the heavy since that’s my role.”
Peyton comes bouncing down the hall. “Can I have my treat now, Dad?” She clasps her hands behind her back and rolls up on her toes. “Please?”
“You sure can.” I lift the brown paper bag from behind the island, and she shrieks her excitement.
I hope I’ve made an impact with Karen, and that this is the last time I have to have a conversation like this with her. And that the next time she sees Harley, she’s warmer with her. Harley doesn’t deserve that kind of coldness. Not from anyone.
* * *
Later in the evening, after Karen and Kyle have gone home, Peyton and I sit at the kitchen table. She’s dressed in her fairy costume, and I’m wearing a pink tutu that used to fit Peyton as a hat. We do this sometimes, play dress-up and have tea parties. Tonight she asked if we could have grilled cheese sandwiches in lieu of the leftover casserole Karen made for dinner last night. It’s not that it’s bad; it isn’t, Karen is a great cook. However, nine-year-olds aren’t always a fan of all the parts of their meal in a mash-up. And we both felt like grilled cheese. Plus sandwiches and tea parties go hand in hand. We’re drinking chocolate milk out of plastic tea cups to complete the meal. And despite having had cinnamon buns earlier, she and I made those grocery store-bought sugar cookies that I found in the freezer for dessert.
“Are we going to see Harley again now that Granny has gone home?” Peyton dips her grilled cheese in the small lake of ketchup on her plate.
“Want me to make sure she can take you to the park tomorrow after school?”
She nods, and her mouth twists to the side, a sign she’s thinking about what she wants to say. “Granny and Grandpa aren’t coming down again next weekend, are they?”