Gloria opened the front door and Aubrey and I followed her inside David’s childhood home.
The décor was tropical island chic, her favorite. Crystal palm trees from every vacation spot she’d ever been to, paintings of beaches with white sand and little dancing figurines that shook their hips when touched could be seen in every corner. It looked more like a hotel gift shop than a home. It had been many years since Mr. Keller had passed away, but Gloria had kept the massive three-story house rather than moving into a condo like David begged her to, and no wonder—half of her things would have to go into storage.
I set the diaper bag on the floor near the stairs. Aubrey put her hands in the air toward her grandmother, begging her to come get her.
“I have a treat for my little princess!” Gloria sang, as she whisked Aubrey into her arms and took her into the family room.
I followed them and heard Aubrey scream in delight. When I rounded the corner, before me was a three-foot by three-foot by three-foot plastic multicolored cube of flashing lights, whirring parts and spinning tops.
“It’s the BabyBox!” declared Gloria. “Have you heard of it?”
My mouth hung agape. Yes, I’d heard of it. It was listed on VillageofMommies as the most obnoxious toy of the year. It was twenty-seven cubic feet of migraine-inducing noise and seizure-inspiring lights, had only one volume level and was known to turn on spontaneously in the dead of night. It was designed as an interactive toy for toddlers—there were buttons to push and levers to pull all around the cube—but I’d made a mental note to never own one because it broke my number-one toy rule: never own a toy louder than your child. It was also HUGE.
“Wow, Gloria...” I struggled to find the words. “This is so neat!”
I bent down to sit on the floor next to Aubrey. She poked a bright blue button and a song erupted like an outbreak of herpes. “WE LOVE SHAPES! SHAPES LOVE US! SHAPES ARE FUN SO FUN SO FUN!”
This was the kind of music that, when played backward, said things like, “Get a knife. Kill kill kill.” There was no way this was coming home with us.
Gloria clapped her hands, “This one is for my house.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “I bought one for yours, too. You still have to put it together, though.”
She pointed to an enormous box in the corner that looked like it contained several thousand individual parts.
Why me? Why?
“Thanks, Gloria. Aubrey seems to really love it.”
“I’ll go check on lunch. I have minestrone soup in the slow cooker. Slow-cooker meals are really easy, Ashley. Even for people with not a lot of experience in the kitchen. I’ll give you the recipe,” she said, walking into the kitchen.
I gritted my teeth. Aubrey pushed another button. “SQUARE! RED SQUARE! YOU DID IT! HOORAY!”
At home Aubrey’s attention span lasts ten seconds and she floats from toy to me to another toy to me so quickly I get dizzy. But when it came to the Hell Cube, she played with it for a solid hour and a half until it was time for lunch. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. I’d just have to figure out a way to disable the sound. I could already feel a headache coming on from the incessant noise.
I rooted around my purse for an aspirin. I’d never been so happy to hear someone say, “Lunchtime!”
Gloria insisted that we eat in the formal dining room and had set three places.
“Are you expecting someone?” I said, looking at the third plate and flatware.
Gloria picked up Aubrey and placed her on the chair in front of an adult bowl, plate, fork, knife and glass. An actual glass.
“If you train children to sit at the table, it encourages good eating habits,” she said, in a kindergarten teacher tone.
I said nothing and sat down, placing the beige linen napkin on my lap. I decided to let the natural consequences play out. Of course, I’d make sure Aubrey didn’t hurt herself with the table knife or the broken glass when she inevitably threw it against the wall like she does with her sippy cup for every meal, but I wasn’t going to save the day.
Gloria fit a little white bib around Aubrey’s neck. It was the size of a dollar bill. For meals at home, I’ve resorted to stripping Aubrey naked. For a while I used those full-frontal plastic bibs intended for toddlers when fingerpainting to keep her clean, but even that didn’t stop her from mashing a handful of potatoes into her back.
“That’s a very cute bib,” I said pleasantly.
“Now say ahhh,” Gloria instructed, bringing a spoonful of room-temperature soup to Aubrey’s mouth. The spoon contained beans, pasta and green peas swimming in a red broth. The last time I tried to put a mix of foods in Aubrey’s mouth, she spat it directly in my face. This should be interesting. I looked down so that my smile would be concealed.
“Ahhh!” I heard my daughter’s voice say.
My eyes darted upward just in time to see her eat the entire bite, chew it with her gums, then open her mouth for another.
What kind of witchcraft was this? I watched in disgust and amazement as the process was repeated until Aubrey finished the entire bowl of soup.
“You were a hungry girl, weren’t you!” exclaimed Gloria, placing the bowl and spoon in the sink. “Ashley, you really must attempt this recipe.”
Attempt?
When lunch was all cleaned up, I watched while the two played with the Torture Cube for a few minutes before Gloria announced that she was putting Aubrey down for a nap. I relaxed into the couch. Finally, I’d have some time to myself. Nap time meant twenty minutes of rocking Aubrey before she finally settled down. If Gloria wanted to take that on, she was more than welcome.
I kissed Aubrey on the cheek and handed her to Grandma. “Good luck!”
When I heard Gloria walking back down the steps after two minutes, I stood with a start.
“Do you need some help?” I offered, a smug smile playing across my lips.
“No.” Gloria took a seat on the recliner. “She went right down. She always does when she’s here. It’s all about having a routine.”
“We have a routine,” I muttered, sitting back down.
Now what were we going to talk about? Being alone with Gloria isn’t something I look forward to.
“So, Ashley. How is my David?” she asked innocently.
Why did she always call him “my David”? Of course, he’d always be her son, but the phrase sounded so unnecessarily possessive.
“Your David is fine. He’s a little stressed about the business, but they’ve all but landed a huge account.”
“The DentaFresh account?”
I sat up, startled. How did she know? “Yes, actually.”
Gloria took a sip of her tea. “No, that client went to another company. David called me yesterday. He was really upset. He didn’t tell you?”