“Out.”
“Out where?”
“My parents' house.”
“I bet you're going there for dinner. Man, that's the pits. You're gonna leave me here with nothing to eat, and you're going to your parents' house for dinner.”
“There's some cold lamb in the refrigerator.”
“I ate that for lunch. Hold on, I'll go with you.”
“No! You will not go with me.”
“What, are you ashamed of me?”
“Yes!”
“WELL, WHO'S THIS little guy?” Grandma asked when I walked in with Briggs.
“This is my . . . friend, Randy.”
“Aren't you something,” Grandma said. “I never saw a midget up close.”
“Little person,” Briggs said. “And I never saw anyone as old as you up close, either.”
I gave him a smack on the top of his head. “Behave yourself,” I said.
“What happened to your face?” Grandma wanted to know.
“Your granddaughter beat me up.”
“No kidding?” Grandma said. “She did a pip of a job.”
My father was in front of the TV. He turned in his chair and looked at us. “Oh, cripes, now what?” he said.
“This is Randy,” I told him.
“He's kinda short, isn't he?”
“He's not a boyfriend.”
My father went back to the television. “Thank God for that.”
There were five places set at the table. “Who's the fifth person?” I asked.
“Mabel,” my mother said. “Your grandmother invited her.”
“I thought it would give us a chance to grill her. See if she's holding something out,” Grandma said.
“There will be no grilling,” my mother said to my grandmother. “You invited Mabel over for dinner, and that's what we're going to have . . . a nice dinner.”
“Sure,” Grandma said, “but it wouldn't hurt to ask her a few questions.”
A car door slammed at the front of the house and everyone migrated to the foyer.
“What's that car Mabel's driving?” Grandma asked. “That's not the station wagon.”
“Mabel bought a new car,” I said. “She thought the old one was too big.”