By the time the twins were in middle school, the business had grown into something I never expected. We had a warehouse, employees, and contracts with coffeehouses across the state.
But the boys never cared about any of that.
To them, I was just Grandma.
People loved the blends.
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Jeffrey grew into a quiet thinker, always reading thick books, while George was the opposite. He was loud, warm, and always laughing.
At night, they would sit at the kitchen table while I packed tea orders.
“Grandma,” George would ask, “did Dad like baseball?”
“He loved it,” I’d say. “Couldn’t throw straight to save his life, though.”
Jeffrey would smile softly.
“Did Mom like it?”
That question came less often, but when it did, I answered carefully.
“Did Dad like baseball?”
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“She liked different things.”
Neither boy remembered much about her, and honestly, I hoped it would stay that way.
