“Definitely,” says Mom. “There’s nothing worse than a middle seat on a plane.”
“Fortunately, in the second leg, I had an aisle seat, and that was the longer of the two flights, so it all worked out. And again, I had no real complaints about the window seat. It’s just not my favorite of the options.”
“I’m a window seat person myself,” says Mom.
“I understand the allure,” says Blake, nodding. “The aisle seat has more freedom of movement. But the window seat obviously gives you a better view, and it’s easier to sleep. You don’t have to worry about getting your elbows bumped by the service cart. It’s all about personal preference. There’s no right or wrong answer. Unless you prefer the middle seat. Anybody who prefers the middle seat is out of their mind.”
Blake laughs. Mom laughs. I stare.
“But yeah, it was a perfectly good flight,” says Blake. “The woman next to me was a chatterbox, but she was going to see her grandchildren for the first time in three years, so can you blame her? I’m sure I did more than my share of talking when I told my friends about visiting you and Rod. They didn’t say anything, but I’d be willing to bet that a few of my buddies were thinking, We get it! You’re excited! Keep it to yourself!”
Blake and Mom laugh again.
“I’m glad you’re settling in,” says Mom.
“Oh, yes. Rodney was a great help with my luggage. Clearly, he’s had excellent parenting.”
Mom smiles. “Thank you. You’re so polite.”
Blake shrugs. “I guess I’ve had excellent parenting too.”
“Well, make yourself at home. Help yourself to anything in the refrigerator. Tomorrow we’ll go grocery shopping to make sure we’ve got food that you like.”
“Thanks, Aunt Connie. I really appreciate it. You must be tired from a hard day at work, so why don’t we order a pizza for dinner? Extra cheese. My treat.”
“That sounds great,” says Mom. She looks at me. “What do you think, Rod?”
I’m still kind of stunned by Blake’s act, and I don’t like the idea that he’s scoring points with my mother. On the other hand, I love pizza. “Sounds good to me.”
“Perfect,” says Blake. “You two relax, and I’ll order it.”
Mom goes to her bedroom to change out of her waitress attire. I sit down on the couch, watching as Blake takes out his cell phone.
What game is this guy playing?
Which is the real Cousin Blake? The condescending cretin or the shameless suck-up? Is he good at pretending to be evil or evil pretending to be good?
I’m pretty sure that the Blake I picked up from the airport is his true self and that the Blake who spoke to Mom is a fake, alien version of a teenager created to annoy me. I wouldn’t be surprised if Blake looked up at me and winked.
Blake looks up at me. He doesn’t wink.
“What do you like on your pizza?” he asks.
“Pepperoni.”
I expect him to make a comment about how only hillbillies put pepperoni on their pizza, but he simply taps at his cell phone screen. “Anything else?”
“Sausage.”
He taps again. “Anything else?”
“Honesty.”
“You want honesty on your pizza?”
“What’s your deal, Blake?”
“I’m trying to order a pizza. I don’t think I could in good conscience let Aunt Connie make us dinner after she’s worked so hard all day.”
“You know what I mean.”
Blake looks up from his phone. “Do I?”
“Don’t play dumb with me.”
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. All I want to do is order a delicious, piping hot pizza for you and your mother. I didn’t realize that was so terrible. Am I invading your territory? Are you the one who usually orders the pizza? I apologize if I overstepped my boundaries.”
“This has nothing to do with the pizza.”
“Was it the fib?”
“Depends which fib you mean.”
“I actually had a middle seat on the plane. It was really uncomfortable. It left me tired and cranky and, as we’ve previously discussed, socially awkward. But I’m better now.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Rodney, if you don’t like pizza, just say so. I’ll order you something else. A bowl of grits?”
I stare directly into his eyes. I don’t go so far as to point at my eyes with my index and middle finger and then point at him to convey “I’m watching you” in a sinister manner, but I hope he gets the message.
“Pizza’s fine,” I say.
“Excellent.” Blake looks back at his phone. “Pepperoni, sausage…and anything else?”
“Everything. If you’re paying for it, put everything on the pizza.”
“Anchovies?”
“Everything but anchovies. Actually, double everything. Triple cheese. Make it so they can’t close the box.”
“I don’t think it’ll cook properly.”
“Pepperoni, sausage, and double cheese is fine,” I say. I don’t want to sabotage this pizza just to make him pay more.
I’m not sure who wins this round. We’ll call it a draw.
6.
Blake's part of the pizza is topped with pineapples.
Now, in the heated “pineapples on pizza” debate, I take the controversial stance that pineapples are a perfectly decent pizza topping. Some people scream, “Unacceptable!” but I’m not one of them. Pineapple on pizza is fine. No problem there.
If your part of the pizza is only pineapple…well, that’s weird, right?
I don’t mean to offend you if that’s the way you choose to eat your pizza. I’m certainly okay with the concept of a veggie pizza, where pineapple chunks coexist with green peppers, mushrooms, etc. But when pineapple is your only ingredient except for cheese, I’m sorry, but I have to shake my head in judgment. I’m not saying that it makes him a bad person. I’m saying that on top of all the other stuff he’s done today, it’s one extra blotch on his record.
Blake is frustratingly charming while we eat. He’s witty and eloquent. He doesn’t make gross sounds when he chews, and I’m sure that Mom thinks he’s an absolute treat. I keep waiting for him to make a mistake, to give away his true appalling nature, but he never drops the ruse.
After the pizza
