We sat on the back steps with the present between us, and instead of tearing it open, Avery traced the tape carefully with one finger. I asked, “You okay, kiddo?” and she nodded too quickly before saying yes in a voice that did not match her eyes.
Then she said those words again, and I felt something shift inside me.
“Grandpa, can you ask Mom to stop putting things in my juice?”
I kept my smile steady and asked gently what she meant, and Avery explained that the juice she drank before bed tasted strange sometimes and made her sleep very long, and sometimes she did not remember the morning at all.
I felt my throat tighten, and I asked how long this had been happening, and she guessed it started sometime in the summer or early school year, and she whispered that it made her head feel foggy.
Through the glass door, Melissa appeared briefly, watching us in a way that felt measured, and then she disappeared again without saying anything.
I told Avery everything would be fine, even though my heart was pounding hard, and I encouraged her to open her present, which she did slowly, smiling in the right places while I laughed in the right moments.