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I nod, and she glances at one of the staff. They rush off to do her bidding. I don’t take comfort in her knowing my favorite thing to eat for breakfast. Estella learns things about people, so she has control over them.
“Sit. There’s coffee right there.”
I stifle a sigh because she would get irritated. She finds sighing unseemly.
I take the seat next to her.
“So, I understand you met Avery?”
I pour myself some coffee from a silver carafe, of course. My grandmother still acts like she’s landed aristocracy. “Yeah, you could say that.”
Growing up, I didn’t spend much time with my grandmother, but my mother insisted I come to Juniper for two weeks each summer and a few days after Christmas. I know Estella’s differing moods of irritation. I sense her anger with my tone. Irritation is one of her few emotions.
“You must understand that Avery has been through a bad time lately. She lives here because her sister and two young children moved here to work for your cousin.”
“So, what you’re telling me is that I can blame Nancy for all of this?”
She shakes her head. “Why would you blame Nancy?”
“It was a joke.”
“Not a very good one.”
Like she would know a good joke.
“Why are you letting her stay at my house?”
There’s a long pause. “Oh, it’s your house, is it?”
I want to scream out of frustration. This wouldn’t bother an average person, but these conversations have always felt like interrogations. She might be in her seventies, but Estella Howard is sharp as a tack. They could probably hire her to work at CIA black sites, and they wouldn’t even have to attempt any kind of torture. She would just stare at the offending person, and they would give up all their secrets. She’d always been like this.
“You know I stay there when I come into town.”
She nods as Bessie, her cook, slips into the room and places a massive plate of blueberry pancakes in front of me. I glance up and smile. Bessie has been with my grandmother for over a decade, and she always knows exactly what I want.
“Thanks. How’s your granddaughter?”
She smiles, her green eyes dancing. “Just fine. She’s into dance now. And Jessica has another one on the way.”
Jesus, Jessica is a year younger than I am. I can barely handle my own life, let alone two kids.
“Congrats.”
She leaves us alone.
“Jessica was a year behind you, right?”
I frown as I pour maple syrup over my pancakes. “Yeah.”
“And already has two children.”
I glance up at my grandmother. There’s something in her tone that makes me wary. It’s not one I’ve heard before now. That’s always suspicious. I don’t feel at the top of my game, and that’s the only way to deal with my grandmother.
“Yes. Do you have a point?”
“When was the last time you had a serious relationship?”
That question throws me for a loop. Seriously, my grandmother has only asked me about work. She might be an older boomer, but she definitely gets computers. I know she helped finance some of my education, not my father. I know she understands me when I talk about coding. Or at least, she pretends like she does.
