A Mother Would Know (15)

“Yeah, we’ve been hanging out a little,” he says, answering her unspoken question.

Kendra lets out a harsh, grating laugh. “So that’s what you’ve been doing since you’ve been back. Partying with your old friends?”

My spine straightens like a dog with its hackles up. “Kendra, he just told you he got a job. And he’s been doing a lot around here. He’s really been helping.”

“Good,” Kendra says, and to her credit, it sounds like she means it. Snapping her fingers, she pushes off the counter. “Oh, I almost forgot. I have your vitamins.” She hurries into the hallway. “I also brought you some probiotics.” When she returns, she holds two large pill bottles. “I’ve done a ton of research lately on the correlation between memory and gut health.”

“Her memory actually seems pretty sharp.” Hudson pops in another grape.

Kendra’s head snaps in his direction, her eyes flashing. “Oh, yes, well, you would know. You’ve been back—what—a week?” She presses her palm to her chest. “I couldn’t possibly know what I’m talking about. I’ve only been here every day for the past few years while you’ve been off doing god knows what.”

Hudson huffs. “Here we go.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Okay. That’s enough,” I cut in. “Hudson’s right. I’ve been fine this week.” Smiling, I snatch the bottles out of Kendra’s hands. “But I’ll take the vitamins. Maybe that’s what’s been helping.” I’m not sure this is true. For a while, I’d been taking them religiously, but I’d still felt off-kilter, my mind fuzzy. I’ve been more sporadic in taking them lately. Kendra’s lips curl upward slightly, so I know I’ve appeased her. “I’m just glad you’re both here. It’s been so long since we’ve all been together.”

They look at each other and smile, clearly a truce for me, but I’ll take it.

“Hudson, why don’t you put the chicken on the grill,” I say, pointing to the dish on the counter.

Nodding, he moves around us. The scent of the grill mixed with clean air and grass wafts in when he opens the back door and heads out with the chicken.

“You don’t always have to be so hard on him, you know.” Going into the fridge, I slide open the middle drawer and grab a bag of salad.

“I just worry about you, Mom,” she says. “He’s here to take care of you, and I was making sure he’s doing that.”

I shake my head, laughing. “You act like I’m a hundred years old.”

“Trust me, no one thinks you’re a hundred.”

“Okay. Eighty.” I wink.

“When you’re eighty, you’ll probably still look better than me.” Kendra’s palm slides down her belly.

She often says self-deprecating things, but this feels different. Charged. She’s always been built more like her dad. Got his metabolism, too. She’s curvier than I am, with olive skin, large bright eyes, full lips, curly dark hair. I open my mouth to tell her how beautiful she is when a baby’s cry pierces the air. Kendra’s eyebrows rise, her body tensing.

“I can go grab him if you want.”

She waves away my suggestion with a flick of her wrist. “Nah. That’s okay. I got it.” But as she leaves the room, there is a heaviness in her walk, a tightness in her muscles.

Kendra has never known when to accept help. Martyring herself is what she’s good at.

While she’s gone, I busy myself tossing the salad. Smoke from the grill caresses the back window, thick and gray. Once the salad is tossed, I fill a pitcher with iced water and set it down on the counter near the sink.

Babbling over my shoulder cuts into my thoughts, and I spin around.

Kendra walks in, Mason facing forward in her arms. His legs dangle under his onesie. His eyes are bright, his cheeks pink, and a pacifier plugs his mouth.

“There’s my little man,” I coo. Thrusting out my arms, I say, “C’mere. Come see Grandma.” I never thought I’d be okay with being “Grandma.” When Kendra was pregnant with Mason, she’d asked if I wanted to be Mimi, Gigi or even Glamma. But at the end of the day, I like being just plain old Grandma.

Wonders never cease.

I can’t help but notice the way Kendra’s expression changes into one of relief as I draw him into my arms. He smells like diaper wipes and faintly of baby powder. The top of his head is soft and silky as I run my nose over his peach fuzz.

The back door swings open. Hudson walks in, carrying a platter of chicken. Smoke rises up behind him like an exhaust pipe. Light gray tendrils float in before he can close the door with his free hand.

“It’s aliiive,” Hudson croons about the baby like an actor in a horror movie.

Bouncing Mason up and down, I say, “Silly Uncle.”

After Hudson places the platter down on the counter, he saunters over to his nephew and tickles under his chin. Mason squirms in delight.

“He’s cute. Clearly he takes after his uncle,” Hudson says with a wink.

Kendra smirks, one eyebrow raised. “Is that so?”

I’d forgotten how much I missed this. The bantering. Teasing.

Knocking at the front door interrupts us, and I feel a little annoyed. I know it’s Theo, and I have nothing against him, but now that he’s here, the dynamic will change. He’s more like Kendra. Intellectual, bordering on arrogant. Pensive and a little quiet. Not that I expected Kendra to marry someone fun-loving like Hudson, but it would’ve been nice. Maybe even loosen her up a bit.