“Perfect!” she said cheerfully. “Now you can stay with the kids while the rest of us head to the spa. They know you much better than the babysitters do, anyway.”
I blinked at her.
I waited for the laugh. The wink. The “just kidding, Margaret.”
It did not come.
Kelly shifted her weight and looked at the floor. Tara giggled and adjusted her sunglasses.
“We booked the massage at three,” Vanessa added, checking her phone. “The kids just ate. Emma might need a nap around one. You’re a lifesaver!”
Before I could answer, all three of them picked up their luggage and walked toward the spa, their laughter echoing off the marble.
I stood there holding that baby monitor while my two grandchildren tugged at my sleeves.
After everything I had done for my family over the years, it had never crossed their minds that I might deserve a break, too.
Emma looked up at me.
“Grandma, can we swim?”
I could not speak. I only nodded because if I opened my mouth, I was going to cry right there in front of them, and I refused to do that.
So I picked up my suitcase with one hand and took Emma’s little fingers in the other. Jacob followed behind us, dragging his stuffed dinosaur across the polished floor.
The Room I Wasn’t Supposed to Enjoy
The room was gorgeous. It had a king-size bed, a private balcony, and a bathtub big enough for two — all the things I had imagined enjoying for myself.
I sat down on the edge of that bed while the kids explored the closet, and I stared at the baby monitor in my hand.
Four decades of overtime shifts. Skipping my own lunch so Donald could have new sneakers. Showing up whenever anyone called.
And this was what they thought I was worth.
A plastic monitor and a hotel room I would not get to enjoy.
I pressed my palm to my mouth and let out one shaky breath. Then I straightened my back.
That was when I understood the truth.
I had not been invited there to relax. I had been invited to babysit.
Emma climbed up beside me and rested her head against my shoulder.
“Are you sad, Grandma?”
“No, sweetheart,” I said softly. “Grandma’s just thinking.”
And I was.
I was thinking harder than I had in years.
I looked at the baby monitor in my hand, and suddenly I knew exactly what I was going to do.
Because I had spent my whole life being the woman who never complained. The woman who said yes. The woman who made everyone else’s weekend possible while she stayed home with a casserole dish and a load of laundry.
I was not going to do it this time.
For illustrative purposes only
A Plan of My Own
I stood up, smoothed my blouse, and reached for the resort directory on the nightstand.
While the kids napped, I sat on the edge of the hotel bed with the baby monitor humming softly beside me. My hurt had not gone away, but it had cooled into something steadier.
Once the kids woke, I gathered them and walked them down to the family activity center I had noticed on the way in.
The young woman at the desk smiled when I approached.
“Do you have room for two little ones this afternoon?” I asked.
“Absolutely, ma’am. We have crafts, a splash area, and a supervised movie hour.”
“Wonderful. I’d like to book them for the daytime programs all weekend, actually. Please charge it to Vanessa’s room.”
She tapped the screen and nodded.
“All set. Daytime hours only. Pickup is by five.”
“Perfect. They’ll be with me in the evenings.”
I kissed the kids goodbye and watched them run toward a table piled with markers. Then I walked out feeling lighter than I had in years.
The spa smelled of eucalyptus and lavender, exactly the way I had imagined it back home while packing my new swimsuit.
I walked to the front desk and cleared my throat.
“I’d like the same package my daughter-in-law booked. Her name is Vanessa. It’s the girls’ spa package: massage, facial, and a champagne lunch by the pool.”
The receptionist smiled.
“Of course. Same room charge?”
“Same room.”
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