An hour later, as we rested comfortably at my house, Grandpa arrived, and I properly introduced Aunt Heather to him. Noticing the lingering hint of displeasure on his face, I couldn't help but press.
"Okay, Grandpa, at least tell me why you're displeased with her?"
"I am not displeased," he snapped, his voice tight with an irritation he clearly tried to suppress.
"Really?" My eyebrow arched. Right, I thought, and milk is green.
"Fine," Grandpa conceded, his shoulders slumping slightly in resignation. "I am a little displeased, but not because of her. It's her surname."
"Rand? What's the problem with it?" A future version of 'him' hadn't cared about Danny's surname when I told him, but my grandfather's current vexation was palpable, demanding my attention now.
"You remember the financial crisis I suffered before your Grandma helped me start my business, don't you?" Grandpa asked, his gaze distant.
"Yes, I remember the story," I confirmed, nodding. The one about how you went from the family breadwinner to Grandma's subordinate.
"Well, the company I was fired from was Rand Shipping Co.!" he declared, a fresh wave of indignation coloring his tone.
"Really?!" I felt my jaw drop, genuinely surprised.
"Yeah," he confirmed. "The CEO at that time was Orson Randall."
"That's Wendell's adopted father," Aunt Heather chimed in, her voice laced with surprise.
"Well, it's a small world," I murmured, shaking my head.
"I'm so sorry about what happened to you," Aunt Heather said, her apology sincere.
"Oh, don't be." Grandpa chuckled, shaking his head, a wry smile softening his features. "My life only got better after I left that job, so I'm not mad or anything, I just feel a little annoyed at the name, that's all." And somehow, I actually believed him.
"Yes, Mr. David," Heather offered, a slight smile playing on her lips.
"Okay." I turned to Aunt Heather. "So what kind of new identity do you want?"
"Why do you want a new identity?" Grandpa interjected, looking between us.
"Well—" I launched into the convoluted tale of Harold Meachum, detailing the whole sordid story.
"I'll help you! Count me in!" Grandpa declared, a mischievous glint in his eye.
"Why are you excited?" I asked, bewildered by his sudden enthusiasm.
He paused, his expression hardening. "My layoff letter was signed by a 'Bernard Meachum'," he stated. "He ordered the whole layoff; it was entirely his idea."
"Now, you're just being petty," I said, a snort escaping me as disbelief warred with amusement. Seriously? You barely cared about the layoff back then!
"I am. And what are you going to do about it?" Grandpa challenged, a defiant glint in his eye, refusing to back down.
"Fine, do as you please." I sighed, pushing myself up from the couch. "You guys can decide on the whole identity thing. I'm going to make a few calls and book a flight to New York for myself."
"Go, go, get out!" Grandpa waved me away, a wide grin splitting his face. "Heather can stay here till her documents get ready while she and I make some plans to grind some Meachum scum!"
A snort escaped me. "You purposely tried to rhyme, didn't you?" I managed to choke out, struggling to hold back a laugh.
"GET OUT ALREADY, boy!" Grandpa roared, clearly enjoying himself.
"Tch," I muttered, shaking my head. "Fine, I'm going, you ancient, henpecked tyrant."
"YOU—"
The door slammed shut, cutting off whatever retort Grandpa was about to unleash.
I took a leisurely walk around the neighborhood, called Uncle Raghu to book a flight, and inquired about the company. Everything seemed to be in order. It seemed Grandpa and Uncle Raghu had handled everything, just as I'd expected. "Now then," I mused aloud, "let's just laze around for the day."
By the next morning, before my flight to New York, Grandpa and Aunt Heather had somehow become the best of friends. Grandpa was already 'Uncle David' to her. But I also noticed Aunt Heather casting me peculiar glances, and Grandpa steadfastly avoiding my gaze. Though the exact details remained a mystery, the sheepish way Grandpa avoided my eyes confirmed one thing: he'd definitely said something he shouldn't have.
The travel was solitary as Aunt Heather stayed behind to get her identity documents processed.
The next day, I reached my home in New York City, and the city air, thick and oppressive, immediately hit me. I pushed open the front door. It was Sunday, and I was greeted by the familiar sight of Sasha playing a boisterous game with Mom and Grandma in the living room, while Dad hummed a tune as he prepared dinner in the kitchen.
"I'm back," I announced, a genuine smile spreading across my face.
Mom and Grandma glanced up, gave me a quick once-over, and then their attention snapped back to Sasha. She, on the other hand, shrieked with delight, launching herself off the couch and tackling my leg in a fierce hug. Dad, meanwhile, continued stirring his pot, completely ignoring my presence, as if I were air.
"Brother, where did you go?" Sasha asked, her little face craning up at mine. My little angel.
"I went to beat the bad guys and save people," I explained, demonstrating with a playful punching motion.
"Like with me?" she asked, eyes wide.
"Yes."
"Ryan, go wash and have dinner. After that, we'll talk about your adventure," Mom interjected, a knowing smile playing on Grandma's lips. I definitely needed to corner Grandma about the Ancient One sometime.
"Fine," I conceded. I bent down, scooped up Sasha, and spun her around until her giggles filled the room. Gently, I set her back on her feet. At least someone was happy to see me.
The evening settled into a comfortable routine. Still fighting a lingering jetlag, we agreed to catch up properly the following day.