“Expensive,” I cut in, not necessarily attempting to be rude. “Twenty-seven dollars and no meat, sheesh. I’ll have the…” Gee, I should just stick with a side of lemon water.
“She’ll have the frisée salad,” my mother gestures toward the waiter who has made his way my direction. There’s no declining the overpriced lettuce as Lolita makes her request and then waves the guy away.
Her hazel eyes warm over. “Look, Reese, I haven't always been able to say what I mean to say.”
It's true. Either Lolita needs a muzzle, she's just that emotional when arguing, or you'd think there was invisible duct tape over her mouth. Not sure what I prefer, the high or the low.
“I know,” I mumble, shoulders rising just slightly.
“Tony reminds you of him?” She hasn't said my dad’s real name since the day he died. Either Lolita would be bitter, hell bent on calling Milo out on his name or she’d be depressed to the point of catatonia. However, it's evident shit-talking the dead isn't her intention.
I shake my head, ‘no’. “Nah, not really. Well… Tony reminds me of my dad just a little. When Tony said, ‘C'mere, doll,’ during our first encounter.” I shrug it off and pluck up the French baguette again.
She wants to tell me to wait for the salad, but I suppose today Lolita is picking and choosing her battles. “Okay, good. I’m glad Tony doesn’t fully remind you of him. But, yy-you miss him.” Her gaze flits away. She misses him too, and I don't see a problem in that. Milo was a helluva guy, when he wanted to be.
The waiter returns. Snapper is placed in front of my mom, and the salad that I must eat every morsel of is placed in front of me.
Lolita toys with her snapper. “I've told Tony about your father.”
My pupils burn. “What? How could you–”
“Reese, you made me feel so guilty.” Lolita rakes a hand through her bone-straight hair. “I love Tony. I’ve never been so frank with a man since…”
I wave her off, heartbeat blearing through my ears. “What if... What if Tony tells–”
“Tells? Who, who would he tell?”
I lean back, attempting to extract my feelings from the moment. Only Jamie has acknowledged my feelings for Evan, and I’d like it to stay that way. Torn between an attempt to stay blasé and true worry, I say, “Uh, his son? What's the guy’s name again?”
“Evan?” My mother smiles. “He's rather handsome. Tony brags about him lots. He’s a good guy.”
Oh you bet your ass, I know him! Evan is a self-assured, karmic sex God. He’s damn good at blowing my mind. Though it’s been weeks since he’s touched my body, I feel him within my being. I will keep a piece of his soul forever, to that I'm grateful.
“Reese, I know cops across the nation are getting a bad rep these days,” Lolita continues as if my silence indicates I need to be further convinced. “Evan truly is a nice guy. You should get to know him. We're all family now.”
Isabella said how much of a good guy Evan was the night we met and I was consumed with envy. Now mom. It’s starting to sink in but I refuse to allow it.
Tossing the baguette back toward the center of the table, I lean forward in my seat. “Why do you keep saying that? Me. You. We're family, Ma. We are family. Your sister and her children are all we have left. Grammy’s gone. You’ve never mentioned your father, so, Ma, our family can be counted on one hand.” I mention, as if my mother needs a mental breakdown of her dwindling family tree.
The silent treatment is the only gift my mother offers me. I glare at her, as she demolishes her entire plate. Carbohydrates my ass, when she gets home I bet she eats her ass off and colonics are just the beginning of the reversal process.
After leaving a proper morsel on her plate—not enough to seem gluttonous, but the plate is clean nonetheless—Lolita says, “There'll be no more divorcing, I'm in love with Tony.”
Now I shove away my costly salad, appetite gone.
“Oh okay, don't believe me, baby. I'm sure only time will prove it,” she promises.
The waiter returns to inquire how my salad is, he’s satisfied with my mother’s cleaned china. “Can I interest the two of you in the dessert menu?”
“No,” I snap, and am too angry to give a damn about his feelings.
“I’ll leave this right here,” he grabs the ticket from his black apron. I purse my lips, a feeble attempt to apologize for being an ass.
“Eat, Reese.”
“I’m not even a lettuce and grass type of gal,” I grumble. “So you told him,” I repeat as if speaking the words makes it true.
“My running-record is fucked, Reese’s Pieces, but this one’s gonna stick and that's a promise. I love Tony.”
“Yeah, well, while you’re living a friggen happily ever after, I just hope Tony keeps his lips clamped when it comes to the shit you just had to divulge.”
“I don't mind, Reese. Like I said, Tony is the best thing that has ever happened to me, well besides you.” She gives a smile of encouragement. “I honestly have no reservations with him telling Evan, baby...”
I start to arise unable to hear any more of her delusions. “You invited me, Mom. So you got this, right?” I gesture toward the check.
I start to walk past, but my mom stands. In six-inch Manolo’s to my off-brand ballerina flats, she is a dominating force.
“Uh, no.” My mom slides the leather-bound book, which was equidistant from us both, toward me. “Now, sit back down so we can finish talking.
“Thanks, Ma.” I snatch the tab off the table. “And nope, I’m a little too restless to sit. FYI: I prefer street tacos and pico de gallo at the hole-in-the-wall restaurant–which is only a skip and a
