Page 58 of Enemies to Lobsters
I finally spot my mom, sitting in a conspicuous booth where I’ll be vulnerable to attack and requests for diagonal parking spaces around the town green. That was Muffie’s latest suggestion. If we rearrange things and paint diagonal spaces, it would be easier to park, and we could fit twice as many spots. She’s right, except the street isn’t wide enough. When I told her that, she suggested that we either shrink the green or narrow the sidewalks. Honestly, I’d rather duke it out with an actual orc.
I drop onto the bench across from my mom. “You look nice today. You’re radiant, Mom.” Some might say she’s glowing. Almost like she spent the last couple months on a second honeymoon, I remember with some accompanying nausea.
She smiles over her menu. “Always such a charmer. I raised my boy right.” Her tone changes. “You didn’t bring Diana?” Her voice is a little too bright.
“She’s meeting a guy about the exterior lights. She’s usually pretty busy, between the renovation and her job. She works hard.” My mom respects hard work, and I sound like I’m selling her on the idea of Diana, so I back off. She’ll smell me coming a mile away. I pretend to look at the menu, though my lunch order never changes.
“No one works harder than my son, and you made time for me.”
I’m not going to respond to that. I didn’t meet her for lunch to start another argument. Last night was a doozy, but my mom was hurt. I get it. She seems to have cooled off now, except for the passive aggressive comments. I know my mom—she needs to eat. Luckily, rescue is on the way.
“Hey Ike.” Marlow stands beside our booth with her notepad ready. “Hi Mrs. Wentworth. What can I get ya?”
My mother smiles. “I’ll have half an Italian, hold the peppers. And could you get me the biggest Diet Coke you have?”
Marlow nods, scribbling her order and turns to me. “Your usual?”
“Yeah, and a Moxie. The biggest one you have,” I add with a wink to my mother.
Marlow’s nose screws up at my request for the classic Maine cola. She’s not a fan. “Okay, I’ll get your order in and be back with your drinks in just a sec.” She leaves, her wilted blonde ponytail swinging behind her.
My mom purses her lips. “Now that’s a nice girl. Down to earth. Owns her own business. Works hard and hasn’t had anything handed to her.” The subtext is, “Why couldn’t you have married a girl like that?”
I might be too tired for this. “Mom, Marlow and I are friends. That’s it.” I refrain from reminding her that I’m married to Diana. That would be like a shot of her Aqua Net hairspray on the flame of her ire. I choose life.
She throws up her palms in innocence. “What? I’m just saying. She’s a good girl. Why didn’t you two ever date?”
“Mom.” She’s never suggested that I date Marlow. She’s getting desperate now. I repeat the things I said to appease her last night. “I told you. I’m married to Diana. It’s only for a year, and it may not be a traditional marriage, but I’m going to respect it. Can we just eat lunch?”
My mom frowns, and Marlow slides an icy glass of soda across the table to me, a twinkle in her eye. How much of that did she hear?
Out of nowhere, Muffie Horowitz plops onto the bench next to my mother, bouncing her a few inches into the air. “You made it back from your lovefest, eh Shelly?”
I never thought I’d see the day when Muffie Horowitz’s nosiness would save me, but here we are. With the pressure off, I lean back in my chair and take a long drink of cold Moxie while my mom excitedly fills in Muffie on her road trip.
I’m fighting to tune them out. It’s just me and my glass of Moxie versus the nauseating world. I heard the words “sexy, private campsite” and now I’ll have to bleach my ears. But I guess I’m glad my parents are happily married.I guess. I take another long pull from my glass.
“Well hello, young man.”
When I look up, Patricia and Charles York have stopped at our table, doggie bags in hand, smiling at me.
Why do I suddenly feel like I’m smashed between two glass slides, squirming under a microscope? What do Diana’s grandparents see when they look at me, and why do I want them to approve? Diana’s overthinking is contagious. I need to knock this off, especially because they’re standing right there.
“Hello, Charles.” I smile at Diana’s grandma. “York Patty.”
What just came out of my mouth? Of course, I’ve thought about calling her York Patty before, but I’ve never acted on it.I’m not crazy. But all of this Moxie must’ve gone straight to the bad joke center of my brain.
Luckily, Patricia smiles widely at the nickname. Her eyes are bright when she says, “That’s cute.”
Charles chuckles. “That’s good. I may use that.” He takes in my company, who have paused their uncomfortable conversation—praise the skies—and are shamelessly staring at Diana’s grandparents. Charles clears his throat, not unaware of their rapt attention. “Where is our Diana today?”
Our Diana. I like that. I like feeling some kind of claim on her, even if it’s only through a legal technicality. “She’s at home meeting with our electrician.”
I don’t miss the look of satisfaction that covers York Patty’s face at every word of what I just said. She nods. “That’s excellent. We’ve been meaning to pop by the lighthouse to see the progress, but we wanted you to have as much space as newlyweds need.”
My mother makes apssshtsound at the word “newlyweds.” If it were up to her, this charade would end immediately.
The bracelets on Muffie’s wrist clink as her long nails click something urgently into her phone. This is a lot of gossip to remember. She’s either taking notes, or giving someone the play-by-play in real time.
