Jenny had replied first.
“Honestly she should leave the kid home. It ruins the vibe in pictures.”
Then my father:
“As long as she keeps paying the bills, smile and survive dinner.”
The room stopped breathing.
Jenny lunged first.
“Give me that phone.”
I picked it up before she could touch it.
My mother’s face had gone white.
My father stood slowly from the recliner, suddenly looking much older than he had ten seconds earlier.
And then—
from the hallway near the kitchen—
a voice said:
“Wait… you said WHAT about the baby?”
Everyone turned.
My grandmother stood there frozen beside the cookie trays.
Eighty-two years old.
Tiny.
Perfectly dressed.
And staring at my mother like she didn’t recognize her anymore.
No one had realized she’d heard.
My mother immediately switched tones.
“Mom, it’s not what it sounds like—”
“The baby ruins photographs?” Grandma repeated.
Jenny opened her mouth.
Wrong move.
Grandma looked directly at her.
