Chapter 3 #3
“Chase, sweetie,” Mom adds, “what if your mother and I came along to the restaurant? Would you like that?” Mom strokes his sleeve, and I expect him to reflexively twist away. When he doesn’t, I warm inside. Can my mother see how far he has come?
I motion Chase closer to where I stand and wait until he makes eye contact. “It was kind of Nina to invite you. Obviously they enjoy your company. You don’t have to go, hon, but would you like to change out of your uniform and think about it? Like Mimi said, we can come along if you like.”
As soon as Chase disappears around the corner, Mom and I share a smile. “He’s doing so well, sweetie,” she says quietly. “You’re such a good mom.”
Chase reemerges wearing his favorite blue polo as if heading to church rather than to our town’s greasy spoon. By the look of him, he’s decided to go. “Mom, can I take an avocado?” Lately avocados are Chase’s favorite fallback. They’re spendy, for sure. But at least it’s not raspberries.
“Sure, but you like the Trading Post’s mac ’n’ cheese, remember?” Doesn’t he? Subconsciously I’ve begun deep breathing. Maybe this isn’t such a great idea. I’d hate for things to get awkward for Nina’s family in public.
“Mmm, yum,” my mother says. “I learned to eat an avocado straight out of the skin with a spoon from a girl in college. At the time, that was considered pretty strange behavior.” To me she adds, “Of course, she also listened to Blue ?yster Cult and smoked illegal herbs, so—”
I shoot her a look. “Mom!” Chase may not be neurotypical, but he isn’t deaf. Fortunately, he’s occupied with shoving his two socked feet inside his Crocs.
She raises both palms. “What? What part of ‘I came of age in the seventies’ don’t you understand? I never partook.” Since when is my mother such a loose cannon? I narrow my gaze at her. Grief is one thing, but—
Cut her some slack. Her mother just died.
A bubble of compassion expands beneath my rib cage, followed by a hot flush of shame. In learning to make room for my own pain, have I become heartless to the pain of others?
“You can come,” Chase says to no one in particular.
I drop a kiss atop his head. “Do you mean you would like us to come, or that either way is fine?”
A long moment’s consideration, and then, “Either way is fine.”
“Okay then, we may come. And if we do, we’ll sit in a different booth so you can be with your friends. Sound good? Now, what are some things to remember?”
Chase gives a quick monotone recital. “Ask questions, listen to people’s words when they talk, say please, and say thank you.”
“So good! Hey, aren’t you forgetting something?”
Already Chase has the front door wide open. He rolls his dark eyes before gripping my mother, then me, in two of the world’s fastest side-hugs.
Mom joins me at the front window. “I just love that kid,” she whispers. Moisture rims her eyes as together we watch Chase cross the parking lot below.
I slip my hand over hers. “Yeah. Me too,” I say on a sigh. Turning to the kitchen, I recall the barren state of my fridge and pantry. “Honestly, Mom, I hadn’t given much thought to dinner. It’s either the Trading Post . . . or avocado toast.”
She retrieves her leather bag. “Let’s go. My treat.”
My eyes linger on the purse. “What about the thing from Nana?”
“We can carry it in after dinner.”
Carry it in? Closing the door behind me, I sweep my tiny living space with a glance. And what exactly will I have to carry out in order to make room?
***
Old-fashioned streetlamps soften the night as I follow Chase and my mother out of the downtown café, carrying the lion’s share of my pasta primavera dinner in a to-go box. It doesn’t hold a candle to Nana’s, of course, which only makes me miss her like crazy. Maybe it will interest me later.
First, I need to gather my tumbleweed thoughts.
When Mom finally revealed what Nana bequeathed me, it was too much to process while simultaneously decoding Chase’s every mannerism from our booth across the diner.
One thing is clear, I now own nothing of more infinite value than the precious cargo currently occupying the trunk of Mom’s rental car.
I can’t wait to be alone with it. To let the full weight of Nana’s gesture sink in.
Mom halts on the sidewalk so abruptly I nearly slam into her with my leftovers.
“You do realize you just came this close to reeking of garlic and parmesan, right?” I chide.
But does she hear me? No. Her Maybelline eyes are superglued to a community bulletin board. She uncaps a pen.
“Mom, what are you—” Oh no. There’s something eerily familiar about the flyer that holds her attention rapt.
Writers group seeks members. Strong tea, gentle critique . . .
“Lu-honey, look at this! I’ll take down the number, just in case you—” At my incredulous glare, Mom freezes. Finally she blinks, and her expression turns sheepish.
“Shotgun!” Chase shouts, oblivious to the mother-daughter dustup brewing. He gyrates impatiently next to the car, and I press a button on my key fob without breaking eye contact with my mother. I’ll deal with the seating arrangement after I deal with her meddling.
“Mom. Please tell me you’re kidding me right now.”
“Sweetheart, I am so sorry.” She caps her pen. “I know, I know. I’m out of line. I just thought, well, you like tea, and—”
I can’t help breaking into a smirk. Mom means well, I tell myself. This is her love language. “Don’t worry about it,” I say. “Besides . . .” A sudden sauciness courses through me. May as well bait her. I shift into a low, wily tone. “I already know how to reach Ian. He invited me. Personally.”
“Ohhh?” Mom shimmies her eyebrows. “This Ian person is a writer, and you’re friends? Is he, ah, by any chance unattached?”
And so easily she falls, hook, line, and sinker. As if it’s that simple to just—oh, I don’t know—to just happen upon a new life partner, someone who, for starters, is worthy of Chase, someone willing to play the long game, come what may.
Someone we can trust.
“Mom.” I drag the word out, channeling my inner teenager.
She glares at me playfully. “Don’t bleat. Thou art not a sheep.”