to try selling herself with every backhanded compliment she’s ever received.
“Well, I’ll tell ya one thing—you sure are cute as a button.” Her once-hesitant smile now stretches ear to ear. I think it’s safe to say one of us has won her over. Spoiler alert: it wasn’t me.
“I love your pink flowery dress.” My kid is lying trough her gosh-darn teeth. But I love her all the more for it.
“I’m so glad to hear it!” the clever old bat announces. “Cuz I got you one just like it for Christmas.”
Prissy’s forced smile looks positively constipated. “Th—thank you.”
“I’m joking,” Mimi cackles, pinching her cheek. “Wyatt talks about your naughty little tail all the time. I know you don’t like pink.”
“Sorry.”
“There’s nothin’ to be sorry about. Don’t ever apologize for being just who you are.”
Prissy nods. “Yes, ma’am.”
“The real question is…do you like cookies?”
My little girl bounces on her toes. “Uh-huh.”
“Good,” she answers, heading for the oven. “If youd’a said no, that one might’a been a deal breaker.”
“Shouldn’t she eat dinner first?” Wyatt says when his grandmother hands Prissy a chocolate chip cookie right off the pan.
“Wyatt Jude, I know you ain’t tryin’ to tell me how to spoil my new grandbaby.”
I swat his leg and give him a stern look. The last thing I need is the woman thinking he’s questioning her judgment on my behalf.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he responds, appropriately chastened.
Once the awkwardness of introductions has passed, the evening isn’t so bad. We have a nice sit-down meal of beef tenderloin, mashed potatoes with gravy, and green beans. Prissy keeps the grandparents entertained asking all sorts of questions about their grandson and what he was like as a child while Wyatt and I engage in an hour-long game of footsie beneath the table. I honestly don’t know how I held off on the guy’s advances for so long. I’ve become quite the addict, constantly yearning for even the slightest touch.
After dinner, he assists me in loading the dishwasher while Mimi and Pop set up a fold-out table and chairs in the living room for some top-secret activity they have planned.
“What’s up, losers?” The back door flies open, sending in a gush of icy cold air, along with my best friend and her little family. “It’s freaking freezing out there.”
“Well, hello there, Lulu-magu,” I croon, going straight for the baby, who cranes her back, gripping her mother’s shirt with tiny fists that are impossible to pry open. Per usual, the child wants nothing to do with me.
“Just take her,” Kate orders, shoving the flailing tot into my arms before kissing my cheek. “You know her spoiled butt ain’t going willingly. Merry Christmas, Morticia.”
“Merry Christmas, Cruella.”
She snorts. “Cruella, really? Sure you ain’t talkin’ bout yourself?”
I shrug. “Was the best I could come up with on the spot.” After shushing and coddling Lucy for a few minutes, I give up and set the little tyrant to the floor to do her worst.
“Auntie Kate! Uncle Beau! I didn’t know y’all was coming. Did you bring me presents?” I shoot Prissy a Mom Look but she’s undeterred.
“Does a bear make poo in the woods?” Beau answers, sounding like a total dweeb.
Kate’s got the man so scared to say a bad word in front of that baby she has him saying shit like “make poo.”
“I vow to never steal your man card like that, babe.” I eye our friends, shaking my head in disgust.
“’Preciate it, love.” He slings an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close while Beau gags on air.
“Could you two be more nauseating?”
“Is that a challenge?” Wyatt asks, before slapping his cousin behind the head. “If so, we have some stiff competition with the two of you.”
“Y’all gonna just stand around here insulting each other?” Mimi inquires, entering from the living room.
“Mimi!” Kate squeals, skittering across the kitchen in her heeled boots to give the woman a giant hug. “It’s so good to see you.” The two rock side to side, drawing the greeting out.
Nope. I’m not jealous at all.
After Mimi and Pop have made their rounds hugging and kissing on the new arrivals, they drag us all into the living room for the grand reveal: a gingerbread house building competition.
“We did this every year growing up,” Wyatt explains. “Our neighbors would come over and judge afterward.” From the look of sheer joy plastered on his face, I can tell there are some very fond memories there.
“Listen up,” Pop says, trying to grab everyone’s attention. “Y’all got one hour to build your