Eggplant

"This still tastes like cheese," I accused.

Nan shook her head. "It's not, though. It's eggplant. And it doesn't taste like cheese. You're insane."

I leaned my head on my hands. And frowned. "I do not like it."

Nan's skirt was slightly twisted to one side, so the bow was somewhat behind her left hip, instead of smack dab on top. She placed her hands smack dab on top of both hips and gave me that patented Nan stare. "You will eat it or you will eat nothing. This is what your mother left for me to make."

When Nan babysat, you didn't get away with any nonsense; it was completely the opposite of having Dan babysit. Nan didn't let you play GameBoy under the covers after you were supposed to be asleep, didn't read you more than two stories no matter how much you begged, and didn't let you eat only half your dinner and still have dessert.

But it was still always more fun when Nan came, because she played Scrabble Jr. (even though she knew more words) or watched a movie with me until ten minutes before my bedtime, because she knew it took me eight minutes to get ready for bed. Then she'd tuck me in tight and kiss me goodnight, and would leave the door open just enough that I could see the light from the hall.

Danny always had some sort of work to do, and when he tucked me in, he always left some part of me cold.

I picked away at my eggplant and Nan kissed me on the head.