“You baked cookies,” I acknowledged, a budding smile on my face. She remembered my birthday. “Yes, I did.” Gracie set the hot tray in her hand on the kitchen counter, dusting the flour off her hands. I looked at them—warm chocolate chip. A little of my excitement fizzled. I wasn’t a big fan of chocolate—not since I was a little girl. Gracie knew this. The next thing Gracie said let me know who those cookies were really for. She said, “Marcel’s favorite.” My smile faded.
bitch really…but you can’t even remember your own granddaughter’s birthday
