“Fine,” Jaime said quietly. He was eight years old and already learning to minimize his feelings.
“Did you have fun playing with your cousins?”
Tyler, who was six and hadn’t yet mastered social diplomacy, shook his head.
“They were busy with different stuff.”
I looked around the room again, noticing details I’d somehow missed in previous visits. The way my children instinctively positioned themselves apart from the main family activity. The way Jessica’s kids seemed comfortable treating the house as their domain, while mine acted like cautious guests.
“What did everyone have for dinner?” I asked, already suspecting the answer.
“Mom made spaghetti,” Madison announced proudly.
“It was really good,” Connor added.
“And what did you boys have?” I asked my kids.
“Sandwiches,” Tyler said matter-of-factly. “Grandma said there wasn’t enough spaghetti for everyone.”
I looked at the kitchen counter where a large pot still sat with what appeared to be substantial leftovers. Enough spaghetti to feed several more people.
“Actually,” I said, standing up, “why don’t we make you guys some real dinner before we head home?”
“Oh, Susan, they’re fine,” Mom said quickly. “Children don’t need much. They said they weren’t that hungry anyway.”
But I knew my children.
Tyler was always hungry. And Jaime never turned down his grandmother’s cooking unless something was wrong. They both looked tired in a way that went beyond physical exhaustion. They looked emotionally drained.
“I think I’ll make them some plates anyway,” I said, moving toward the stove.
“There’s really no need to dirty more dishes,” Jessica said without looking up from her phone. “They ate. Kids don’t need full meals every time they’re here.”
Kids. Not your children. Not Jaime and Tyler. Just generic kids who apparently deserved less consideration than her own children.
I heated up generous portions of spaghetti, plated them, and watched my children’s faces light up in a way that confirmed they’d been genuinely hungry. Not just snack hungry, but truly needing a proper meal.
While they ate at the small kitchen table, I tried to piece together what had really happened during their day with their grandparents.
“So, what did everyone do today?” I asked casually.
“We watched TV mostly,” Jaime said between bites.
“Any games? Any playing outside?”
The cousins exchanged glances before Madison answered.
“We played video games upstairs.”
“That sounds fun,” I said. “Did Jaime and Tyler play too?”
Silence.
The kind of silence that speaks volumes.
“The upstairs games are for older kids,” Connor finally said, though he was only a year older than Jaime.
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