“Oh, I know what your problem is. You’re worried Po Po will assume you’ve stolen my virtue since I’ve been at your house.”

She gasps and turns her head so quickly that it causes her to choke on her own spit. She swats my arm away when I try to pat her back, which only makes me laugh harder. “I hate you. And I will gladly tell Po Po that your virtue is still intact.”

“Unfortunately.” That earns me a shot to the ribs and a chuckle. I’ll take it.

When we get into my apartment, it’s entirely too quiet so I call out. “Po Po, I’m home.”

Relief slams into my chest when I hear her shuffling around in her room. “Ahh, my little wolf is home.” I wince at the nickname. I used to love when she’d call me that as a kid. Now it just hurts. Olivia rests her hand on my shoulder with her eyebrows raised in question, and I silently tell her everything is fine.

Po Po walks around the corner and stalls when she sees Olivia. “My little tulip,” she shrieks. “I heard you were home but I can’t believe my eyes.” She struggles to get those words out but no one bats an eye. She walks up to Olivia and wraps her up in a tight hug. For someone whose strength has significantly declined over the years, it looks like she’s squeezing the life out of Olivia, but the harder she squeezes the more Olivia visibly relaxes and sinks into the hug.

“It’s so good to see you, G.” G for grandma. Since Olivia didn’t have grandparents growing up—her dad’s parents passed away before she was born and her mom’s parents weren’t involved in her life—she adopted Po Po as hers as much as Po Po had adopted her. I realize at that moment that I haven’t told Olivia what I know about Po Po for the same reason I haven’t told Kylie—I don’t want them to lose her like I did.

Po Po releases Olivia from her hold and lightly taps her cheek, her eyes shining with appreciation. “I’m so glad you’ve come home to us.”

Olivia ducks her head bashfully. “It’s just for the year while I’m going through physical therapy.”

She receives a bright smile in response. “We’ll see.” Turning on her feet, she heads for the kitchen, still speaking to us as she goes, our cue to follow. “Sorry if this one dragged you with him to…to umm…” Her voice strains in frustration but I’ve learned to give her a minute to find the word she wants. “Babysit. To babysit me. He and the rest of the family think I’m incapable of staying by myself.”

“Po Po, it’s not that we think you’re incapable.”