Private conversations.

On Christmas day, my dad called me right as we sat down for dinner at my mom’s house. He asked if I’d come pick him up since he lent me his car the day before which left him stranded at his house without a vehicle. 

With all of my mom’s side of the family beginning dinner, I left, letting them all know that I’d only be gone a few minutes. 

Then one of my aunt’s asked me if I wanted company on the ride to my dad’s. 

I told her that I was fine to go by myself. He only lives about 10 minutes away from my mom.

After some hustle and bustle about which car I’d take, she came running outside. 

“Can I please go with you? I just haven’t talked to you in so long,” she said. 

She hopped in the car and for that 10 minute ride to my dad’s house, we talked in a way that just isn’t possible with a group around. 

I’ve always preferred this kind of conversation to group conversation but I’ve never really heard anyone else acknowledge it. 

As soon as we got to my dad’s, my aunt said to my dad, “I really am turning into my mother. I couldn’t wait to get in the car so I could talk to Mack all alone.”

Apparently, my late grandma had the same affinity for private conversation as my aunt and I do.

Now I know where I get it.