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which is to blame. Maybe all three.
You’re not serious, he says. You
can’t take her. I won’t let you.
I want to go over. Give him a hug.
I want to go over. Slap him. Hard.
That’s the indecisive part of me—
well-known. A strange, new take-
charge part jumps in, “Yes, he can.
If I don’t go now, it may never happen.”
Grandfather crumbles. You’re going
to leave me alone on Christmas?
I could thaw if I let myself. But no.
“Austin isn’t so far. Call Aunt Cora.”
My heart flip-flops in my chest. I might
meet my mother. It may very well turn
out all bad, but how else will I know
that? “I’ll go pack some clothes.”
BY THE TIME
My suitcase sits, barely half-full,
by the door, my anger has mostly
subsided. Grandfather slumps,
wounded, in his ratty recliner.
“Did you call Aunt Cora?” I ask
him. When he doesn’t reply,
Trey says, He wouldn’t, so I did.
She said she’s on her way.
Which means we’d better go
before she gets here and tries
to make me change my mind.
She could probably do it.
