Chapter 18 #2
I cough and wave Ryan away. “No, no. I’m okay. Fine.”
Except I’m not. I can’t imagine why Eddie kissed my mother’s hand.
Wait. Hold on. Maybe I imagined it. It’s true that sometimes my writer’s brain can get carried away, but not like this.
I’ve never hallucinated before. On the other hand, maybe there’s a viable explanation.
Eddie was simply checking her hand. Like, maybe she cut or bruised it accidentally and he was just making sure it was okay. With his lips.
Oh no, I think I’m going to be sick. I don’t want them to see me, and everything in me is pushing me to run out of here, but I can’t do this to Ryan.
This is a celebration and not a time for me to deal with my chaotic family.
This latest development qualifies under the heading of highly irrational.
My mother hates Eddie and he only tolerates her because of me.
“I have to powder my nose,” I say like a 1960s ingenue. “Be right back.”
The only thing to do, once I close the bathroom stall, is text Sofia. She will know what to do.
Help! I’m at Osteria and I just saw Eddie and my mother together.
Sofia:
Why do you need help?
Me:
I mean they are together TOGETHER.
Sofia:
And…? I don’t get it.
I really need to spell this out for her.
Me:
He kissed her hand!
A long pause as the bubbles form, meaning she’s composing her response.
Sofia:
Are you sure? Because that IS weird.
Me:
I know! I’m here with Ryan trying to celebrate and I have to see this. It’s ruined my appetite.
Sofia:
I suggest you go back to your celebration with Professor Hottie. There has to be some rational explanation for this. I think you should just go over there, say hi, and let them know you saw them. Their reaction is probably going to tell you a lot. It’s probably nothing. Don’t worry.
Sofia is a genius. She’s right, of course.
I can do this. I’ll handle this matter delicately and with the utmost sensitivity.
In other words, I’m going to pretend I didn’t see what I did.
It never happened. They are just eating dinner together and that is all.
That’s the end of it. And they’re allowed to eat dinner together. I’m fine with it.
I wash my hands, study my face in the mirror, reapply my lipstick, and smooth down a wave of hair. I’m ready. But when I reach my table, I find that Eddie and my mother have joined Ryan.
Eddie waves. “There she is! We found your friend, and he said we should join you.”
There’s a seat next to Ryan so now I have to sit there instead of across from him as I had been. I see they’ve skillfully moved my plate and silverware. I would bet this is a matchmaking attempt on their part. They’ve obviously got romance on the mind.
I’m looking for tell-tale reactions from either one, but I see nothing.
Neither Mami nor Eddie look the slightest bit frazzled.
No deer-in-the-headlights, “you caught me” looks.
There’s a healthy distance between them, too, which I thoroughly appreciate.
It’s possible I’ve imagined this whole thing.
Yes, I saw him bring her hand to his lips but the kiss is beginning to fade in shades of gray.
He might have wanted to look a bit closer at a freckle or something.
Maybe she’s worried about skin cancer. Eddie is a dentist, not a doctor, but he shares an office with an MD and socializes with many of them.
He knows things. I wasn’t that close to them.
It’s possible I could have seen wrong. I should probably check my eyesight.
Maybe I need glasses. What’s that they say about eyewitness statements being the least reliable of all?
“How funny seeing you here,” I say, giving my mother the stare-down. “I had no idea you two were going out.”
“Eddie wanted to go out, and I wasn’t doing anything,” my mother says. “And now I got to meet your friend, the professor.”
“He’s a writer,” I say. “And my employer.”
“We’re celebrating Luci’s book. The one she wrote as Elizabeth Brogan,” Ryan says, gently touching my hand.
My body tingles when he touches me. It’s like something out of a romance novel. I used to believe it hyperbole, but it apparently happens.
“She made the New York Times!” my mother says, hand to her bosom, and it’s possible between now and this morning she’s discovered the magnitude of this. “I’m so proud.”
“You should be,” Ryan says. “She’s amazing.”
“Have you also sold many of your books?” My mother leans in.
Hmm, she’s not calling them “little” anymore, or perhaps only my books qualify as something cute her daughter decided to do in her spare time.
“Oh, no. Not like that.”
Ryan shakes his head and I bite down on a smile.
“Someday,” my mother says encouragingly.
“It’s a goal.” Ryan nods.
“Selling a lot of books is not necessarily what makes you a good writer. Ryan writes historical fiction set mostly during World War II,” I explain. “He’s won awards.”
“I adore historical fiction!” My mother reaches to cover Ryan’s hand.
I’m surprised she reads at all unless it’s a script sent for an audition. “You do?”
“The Nightingale,” she says. “I cried for days.”
I’m surprised since I also loved the book and cried for days.
Ironically, these books about World War II authored by women are too often called “women’s fiction” even if they qualify as historical fiction.
It may be nothing more than a way to shelve books but it annoys me.
There’s no such thing as “men’s fiction. ”
The waiter interrupts, asking us if there’s room for dessert. I prepare to say no to cut this evening short, but Eddie wants crème br?lée and Ryan orders the lava chocolate cake.
“Should we share one?” Mami asks me, then speaks directly to Ryan. “Us women eat like birds but I don’t want you men to partake alone.”
“I don’t eat like a bird,” I say in defense of the sisterhood everywhere. “I’m ordering the coconut cake and I want my own.”
Mami laughs. “You always had a big appetite. Just like your father.”
I’m going to ignore that jab, because it’s true, but Eddie doesn’t let it go. “She’s healthy and that’s all that matters.”
God bless Eddie. Eddie, who complains all the time that his patients eat way too much sugar.
Even so, he’s got my back. As the desserts are served, Mami goes on to talk about all the weight she’s lost lately, dropping a dress size and weighing less than she did in her twenties.
How and why she talks about her weight like it’s an accomplishment, I’ll never understand.
I’m now determined to enjoy every bite of this cake.
“Eddie, I’m surprised at you. All that sugar,” my mother scolds. “You’re a dentist.”
“Take care of your teeth and you can eat anything you want, in moderation.” He smiles and licks his spoon.
It takes me a moment to realize my thigh is brushed up against Ryan’s. I’m suddenly so aware of him, his leg like a weight against mine. We always keep a physical distance on the job, and it’s the first time I realize how intentional we’ve both been about this.
My mother is talking about weight training now, and how more muscle means a faster burning metabolism.
Like I haven’t heard that one before. The woman is obsessed.
I swear if I hear one more word, I’ll spontaneously combust, hopefully into white granules of sugar, and rain down on my mother while she screams in holy terror.
Ryan gives me a sidelong glance and half smile in the midst of this diatribe and at that point I realize our knees are touching, too.
The feeling and warmth of a man this close is something I forgot how much I miss.
He’s even closer now and I want to imagine he did this for the emotional support.
We both understand rejection, both literary and romantic, but maybe he also understands this part of my life, too.
He thought my family was so perfect but now he’s met my mother. She is the crack in our family.
Ryan hasn’t said a word but I know he sees me and that’s enough.