I shrugged. “I’m okay with it.”

Devi giggled and collapsed onto my chest. “I am, too.”

I kept Mormor in suspense another whole day, the stubborn old woman refusing to talk to me despite repeated attempts on my part. Mom finally decided to intervene; she pulled me aside, freshly home from work, wearing a skirt suit, her bright white sneakers looking odd with her pantyhose.

“Okay, it’s time to be the bigger person,” she announced, gesturing at our dinners laid out on the table behind us. “I know this is terrible to hear, but I can no longer allow you, daughter of mine, to torture your grandmother.”

“It’s fine. I was getting ready to tell her, anyway.” For all that Mormor had been a bully and a pain, she let us live in her house rent-free and she cooked for me every night, even if she wouldn’t look at me or talk to me while I ate it. In fact, she’d pretty much set up shop in the living room in front of the TV during dinner so she didn’t risk doing either thing. There was a distinct possibility she just liked eating in front of the news—that’s how she used to eat when she was alone, before we moved in—but on the off chance I wasn’t just a handy excuse for her to go back to her old routine, it was time to do the reveal.

Mom stroked my hair and then patted my belly. It wasn’t really doing any rounding yet, though it was hardening. Belly fat is supposed to be soft, right? Except my stomach had gone from bread dough to iron skillet. My stomach felt how in-shape people’s stomachs must feel!

Too bad it was the precursor to looking like I ate a basketball.

I wandered toward the living room. Mormor was tuned into Wheel of Fortune on Channel Seven, her finger accusingly pointing at a blonde woman on TV who’d incorrectly guessed the clue.

“That one is stupid. She is stupid, Astrid. I should do this show. I’d win a car.”

Mom eyeballed me before slipping onto the couch adjacent to Mormor’s chair. “That’s cool, Ma. Hey, it’s time we stop pretending our kid is dead, yeah?”

“I’m not doing any such thing. I simply don’t want to talk to her until she respects me,” Mormor insisted. “You can tell her that.”

“I am literally standing three feet behind your chair.”

Mormor didn’t answer.

Mom looked over at me.

Be the bigger person.

“I’m keeping the baby,” I said to the back of Mormor’s head. “So, you know, that’s cool, I guess?”

Still Mormor didn’t say anything.

My mother scowled. “She told you, Ma. She’s keeping the baby.”

“Keeping the baby does not mean she is not selling it to some other family.”