She gestured toward the hatch. “The cooler. Towels. The bags. The float.”

I looked at the inflatable crocodile. “You’re telling me that thing gets space in the van, but my son doesn’t?”

“Stop twisting what I’m saying.”

“Then put the luggage in the back.”

“The trunk is full.”

It wasn’t. There was easily enough space left for several backpacks and probably another cooler.

Before I could argue further, Evan lightly touched my arm.

“It’s okay, Mom.”

Those four words hurt more than anything Lauren said.

He wasn’t okay. He was trying to make himself smaller so the adults around him wouldn’t have to feel uncomfortable about hurting him.

Mom walked out wearing sunglasses and a large straw hat. “What’s all this noise?”

“Lauren says there isn’t room for Evan.”

Mom looked inside the van. I watched her eyes move across one empty seat, then another, then the third.

She knew.

But instead of defending her grandson, she placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Oh, sweetheart. Maybe next time.”

My throat tightened. “Mom, Lauren invited him.”

“Well, plans change, Natalie.”

Lauren shut the hatch. Chloe leaned toward the open sliding door.

“Mom, Evan can sit next to me!”

“No, honey. Buckle your seat belt.”

“But—”

“Chloe. Now.”

The sliding door shut. Mom got into the passenger seat, Lauren started the engine, and my nine-year-old son stood in his grandmother’s driveway clutching the backpack he had packed so carefully.

As they drove away, Mom rolled down her window.

“Next time!”

Evan gave her a tiny, polite wave.

Then he walked back toward the house.