“A house for senior citizens?” Michael asked, seemingly confused. Kay, his parents, and the angel walked into the said house. In reply, all Kay could do was mouth, “Later,” to him, while his parents talked to the receptionist who was already acquainted with them.
“For grandma Anne's birthday?” Monett—the said receptionist who Kay had seen enough times to memorize her name—asked, looking touched as she placed a hand on her chest. “Of course, come in. I’ll sign you all into the logbook, so feel free to go inside. Do you need any help?”
“We're good,” Kay's father replied, glancing at his wife and son who were also carrying platters and casseroles of food. “Thank you, Monett,” he said, and they headed inside. Already familiar with the place and its residents, they were greeted with a bunch
