With a cordless phone cradled to his ear Grayson listened politely to his father talking about the extended family, and how they missed him. A traitorous voice in his head said it was a lie, a nice lie, but still a lie. Then he had to get the baby count, who had babies, and which babies had turned into adults when no one was looking.
All the while Grayson could only think of his mother, because it was his mother’s voice that should have been on the phone telling him about everyone, and giving hints as subtle as a sledge hammer that she wanted grandbabies. Perhaps his father did too, Grayson couldn’t say as he was never as vocal about his wants and needs as his mother was. When he thought about it, Grayson is pretty sure he heard his father speak more since his mother’s death then in the many years before.
Maybe for that reason he should be listening more to his father, but his mind was wandering to his mother and the first Christmas he could remember. Grayson remembers being in her lap ripping open his present to see a doctor’s play kit in primary colors. He can remember checking her out with his stethoscope, and the way she smiled at him. He wished things were still that simple, but they weren’t.
So instead Grayson wiped a tear from his cheek, and quietly confessed to his father. “I miss mom.”
