Page 5 of Savage Keepsakes

I smile. “So you’ve said.” Our relationship has turned into a toxic hug from the past. Each malicious poke reminds me of my parents.

The restaurant is a big chain. Families crowd other tables and chatter fills the large space. Miles’s parents sit in a booth with a table and chairs across from them.

Herb is a balding guy, his face a reddish colour, and he looks like he’s aged ten years since I last saw him. Barb is wearing bright orange. It clashes withher box-dyed red hair, which is curled. She has a big, fake smile plastered on her face.

She stands to give us both a hug. His dad stays seated. Her overpowering rose perfume hangs in the air, mixing with the smell of fries and chicken.

“We’re so glad you both could make it to dinner. Sad that we couldn’t do it at your house tonight, but maybe another time,” she says, narrowing her eyes at me as we take our seats. “If you feel up to it, dear.”

If Miles or his father notice, neither comment. I hold my tongue. She’s the wingnut who wanted to have supper on moving day. Miles and I sit in the chairs across from them.

“We’re so happy to be here with the two of you. Sorry, moving was a lot of work.”

I put on my fake smile, letting Miles lead the conversation.

“Mom, your hair looks great. Do you have a new stylist…”

My attention moves to the art behind their heads above the booth. His mother and him dominate the conversation, seeming to fight over who can talk the most.

I imagine Miles gets his attitude from his mother. Years of narcissism rub off on a person. They either grow from it and become a diamond over time, or they become like their worst nightmare, spreading the sickness to others.

A server dressed in all black shows up, asking for our drink order, and hands us menus. Miles orders a beer, but I stick to water. I’ve never been much of a drinker. Years of watching my father poison his body and mind ruined it for me.

“When do you intend to go back to work, Lucy?” Barb asks.

“I’m taking a few days to get unpacked and settled, then I’ll return to my normal shifts.” I smile, mostly at the server with my water.

“Interesting. In my day, it was a simple thing to work and get a house ready, but I guess this generation is different.”

I wish I were anywhere else but here, although if I’m making wishes, I would hope Barb gets hit by a bus. Her remarks are snide and unneeded.

“Everyone ready to order?” The server grins, ready to scribble down the orders.

“Lucy, the salads are to die for.” Barb is on my last nerve. Every single fucking time we have to meet with them, she has a new diet for me to try. If she can’t accept that I won’t be a stick figure, the least she could do is shut the fuck up.

“I’ll have the quarter chicken dinner with fries, thank you.” I hand back the menu.

Barb clasps her hands together, resting her chin on them. Her lipstick is over her lip, which surprises me because, at first glance, she looked put together. “I guess you worked hard today.”

“She sure did. It was incredible. I hardly had to do anything.” Miles tells her, stretching his arm over my shoulders.

“Good, because you’re going back to work. Wouldn’t want to pull any muscles moving furniture. Do you guys need anything for the new place?”

Miles straightens in his seat. “Well—”

“The house came furnished. And while it needs some tender loving care, I know it’ll be perfect in no time at all.”

Barb’s mouth opens at the same time the server comes with our drinks. I hide my smirk behind my water glass.

Barb and Miles, as per usual, continue to control the dinner conversation. I tune them out and look around the establishment. Chain restaurants are always the same and lack personality. I glance at Herb, who’s gazing around the place. It almost feels like we’re interrupting a date between mother and son.

Someone is celebrating a birthday, and the cake looks delicious, or maybe I’m just starving. Thankfully, the server comes with our plates. Focusing on my fries, I don’t glance up at Barb. She can suck a lemon if she thinks she is going to make me feel bad about enjoying this meal.

We barely finish eating before Herb stacks the plates in the centre of the table, placing the silverware on top.

I reach for the dessert menu, and Barb’s eyebrows raise. I almost laugh, because the hairy arches could make it clear off her forehead if she tried hard enough.

“Do you think you should eat so much?” she questions.

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