Brandon carefully moved them aside.
Underneath was a handmade picture frame.
Bright blue cardboard.
Gold glitter.
Cheap plastic jewels glued unevenly around the edges.
Inside was a photograph of Brandon and Lisa together at one of her soccer games.
Across the top, in crooked craft letters, she had written:
MY NEW DAD & ME.
I covered my mouth.
Lisa spoke quietly.
“It was supposed to be your wedding present.”
Brandon carefully lifted the frame.
“It’s perfect.”
Then he looked back into the suitcase.
“But where’s the drawing?”
Lisa froze.
“Dad Brandon, no.”
He had already picked up a folded sheet of construction paper.
Her reaction stopped him.
Lisa looked down.
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Gran-Barbara told me to throw it away.”
Brandon’s face changed.
“You showed it to her?”
Lisa started crying.
He looked toward his mother.
Then he unfolded the drawing.
There were four stick figures standing together holding hands.
Lisa had labeled each one with purple marker.
MOM.
DAD.
ME.
GRANDMA.
Except GRANDMA had been crossed out with two thick blue lines.
Beside it, written in unmistakably adult handwriting, was one word.
NO.
Brandon stared at the page.
Then he held it up.
“Did you do this?”
Barbara lifted her chin.
“Yes.”
The room went completely silent.
“I corrected it,” she said. “I’m not her grandmother, and I never will be.”
Brandon’s jaw tightened.
He looked back at Lisa.
“Is this why you asked me about the baby?”
My stomach dropped.
Three days earlier, Lisa had asked Brandon something strange.
She wanted to know whether he would still love her if we had a baby together someday.
Neither of us had understood where the question came from.
She refused to explain.
Now she nodded.
“Barbara told me that when you have real kids, those will be her grandchildren.”
Brandon went completely still.
