30. Baby Bond
“Have some more tea, Gran,” Delia coaxed as she got comfortable in the cushy bucketseat of the plane. Michael had gone all out, carrying boxes and boxes of unfinished and finished projects, skeins upon skeins of yarn, needles of varying sizes. It was lucky that they didn’t try to fly commercial. Some of the sizes of knitting needles would have certainly given TSA pause about letting them onto a tin can full of soft, human bodies. “Thank you, Dee.” Her grandmother’s voice was a soft coo, and the syllables stretched far longer than they should have. She was dealing with a migraine, and the medicine she took made her a little lethargic, slow-witted, and droopy-eyed. She lifted the to-go cup to her lips, smacking them when she pulled it away before Delia caught it and placed it in a cuphold
- Writer
