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“I hate the black ones.”
“That’s the kind of man you need, Abigail,” she says. “You need one that’ll eat all the black jelly beans just because he knows you don’t like them.”
“I could just do away with the need for a man and throw my own black jelly beans away,” I say flippantly.
“You know how when you pick through the party mix and you only pick out the little woven squares? You need a man that’ll eat your pretzels and the other bits you hate so much.”
“Only some of the party mix is edible,” I remind her. “Nobody likes all of the ones that come in the package.”
“But, see, if he knows you well enough, he’ll eat your unwanted bits and he’ll like it.”
“So you’re telling me that I need to test him by eating party mix around him, just to see if he’ll step up to the plate?” I grin as I pick absently at my cuticles. It has been a while since I’ve had a manicure.
“I think he already stepped up to the plate when he knocked Charles right in the kisser. That young man bought my undying gratitude with that punch.”
I roll my eyes, for my own benefit apparently since Gran couldn’t see me. “He only punched Charles because Charles kicked his duck.”
She snorts. “You can lie to yourself, Abigail, but you can’t like to a grandmother. We know things.”
“Speaking of which,” I say, “how did you find out about the punch?”
“Charles’s mother called. She was very upset. Said you’re not taking her calls, that she has left messages for you and you haven’t called her back.”
“And what did you tell her?”
“I told her you’d call back if you had anything you needed to say to her.”
“Did she say what she wants?” I can honestly say that I haven’t even listened to the voice mails she’s left.
“She wants to talk you into taking Charles back, I think.”
“Gran,” I remind her, “Charles has no desire to be taken back by me.” Not that I would have him back at this point.
“Well, his mother is adamant that he made a mistake, and that if the two of you go to counseling, you can make it through this.”
“I think we’re already through this,” I say quietly. And that statement doesn’t hurt my heart nearly as much as it would have last week. “We’re coming out the other side.”
“How did that Sandra look?” Gran makes her name sound like the ugliest of curse words.
“Pregnant,” I say. She had a small bump under her maternity top. Either she really likes being pregnant and wants everyone to know about the baby, or she was sleeping with my husband even longer than I’d thought. “And glowing,” I add at the last minute.
“His mother told me that she took her shit and moved out tonight. Apparently, Charles was all upset about it.”
“He’s probably confused about why she’s not stroking that big old ego of his.”
“Or his big old anything else,” Gran mutters.
I cover my chuckle because it never helps to encourage Gran. “It really wasn’t that big,” I admit. “I’ve had better.”
Gran cackles loud and long. “Why did you stay with him so long, Abigail?” she finally asks, as soon as she sobers up enough to get words out.
“It was…comfortable, I guess,” I admit. I had gotten so used to what we were doing that I overlooked all the things that made me unhappy. “So, Sandra really wanted his mother’s approval?” If one thing stood out to me tonight, it was that.
“Then she needs to go and get it,” Gran says.
“Do you think they’ll stay together, Gran?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “No. I think they’ll break up as soon as his needs aren’t being met, and he’ll move on to someone else. I think he’ll see that kid only on the obligatory birthdays and holidays, and that’ll be the end of it. And I think she’ll be better for it in the end.”
