Page 2 of Lovebug
“Hear me out,” I say before he can get a word in. “I’ve been thinking about this. Remember the second semester of senior year when Isabella, the Italian exchange student, came to our school?
“Yeah.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure she pronouncedallher syllables, and she’s actuallyfromItaly, so…”
“Nah. You must have heard her wrong.”
“I don’t think so.” I do my best to keep a sweet smile on my face. “I remember the way she—”
“Mabes?” he interrupts. “It would mean a lot to me if you tried to say it the right way. Particularly when we’re out for a special dinner at an authentic Italian restaurant.”
I internally sigh as I look at him.
He’s not asking that much really.
“Sure,” I acquiesce. “Okay, yes. I can do that. I’m sorry. I feel silly saying the words that way, but I’ll get over it. I just… why would something that’s spelled prosciutto be pronounced pruh-zhoot? And pasta e fagioli has all these wonderful sounds, so why skip them and say fah-zool? Also, I have a hard time believing that mozzarella really wants us to call it mootz-zuh-rell.”
“Mabes?”
“Yes, Bert Alert?”
He sighs. “I don’t want to fight.” He gives me a genuine, warm smile and reaches across the table to caress my cheek.
“Neither do I.” I place my hand over his.
He leans over and kisses me.
“Neither do I,” his mother pipes up from where she sits between us.
That’s right, Bert’s mother is sitting between us. Lately, it seems as though Bert’s mother is always sitting between us. Bert tries to deepen the kiss, but—call me crazy—it’s hard for me to feel romantic with my boyfriend’s mom watching us, so I pull away.
Don’t get me wrong, Doreen is a dear, and I love her like my own mother—well, not exactly like my mother because they are incredibly different human beings—but I sometimes wish these weekly dinners could be about the two of us, instead of the three of us. It’s our Sunday night dinner out as a family, though, so what can you do? True, we’re nottechnicallyfamily, but when you’ve been dating since junior year of high school, things do start to feel… blended.
“Sweetheart, we’d like to talk to you about something,” Doreen says, looking very serious all of a sudden.
“Alright good, yes, let’s do this!” Bert says. He follows that up by slappinghis cheeks a few times and punching the air as though he’s psyching himself up for the big game. “You’re better at this sort of thing than I am. Take it away, Mom.”
“Thank you, Bertie,” she says. “Mabel?”
“Yes, Doreen.”
“We’re concerned you’re not pulling your weight in… The Business.”
“Oh gosh, really?” I say on a bit of a squeak.
I’m actually trying like crazy to “pull my weight.” Can’t they see that? Lord knows I need the money. Big time. I’m just not sure I’m cut out for this sort of thing. Also, every time Doreen says “The Business,” I feel like I’ve gotten involved with the mob. But wearejust talking about a multilevel marketing vitamin business. Right?
“Mom, I thought we were going to do the other thing first!” Bert says on a harsh, throaty whisper.
“Ooh, what other thing?” I ask. I’m hoping “the other thing” is something more fun than where this conversation seems to be heading.
“No,” his mother replies, ignoring my question. “We agreed theotherthing would comeafterthe first thing.Thisis the first thing.”
“Fine!” Bert continues the whisper-shouting contest with his mother. “Can we get the first thing over with quickly then, so we can move on to the other thing? The longer we wait, the more nervous I get about the other thing.”
What in the world are they talking about? Jack Canfield, theChicken Soup for the Soulguy, says “When in Doubt, Check it Out,” so I decide to heed his advice.
“Hey, what are you two—”
