Page 57 of Huge Dynamite
As soon as James walks away, my mother shakes her head at me.
“All right, Mom.” Sitting upright, I place my water glass down and lean forward. “What was it that was so urgent you had to see me tonight?”
Looking at my father, my mother shifts uncomfortably in her seat.
“Oh no.” Shaking my head at my mother, I can feel the anger building in my belly. “Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what, dear?” She tilts her head condescendingly.
“You know what. You call me fifty-five times today, and then, when you are finally faced with confrontation, you hide behind him.” I nod to my father.
“Holly, I just don’t know what’s going on with you lately.” Glancing at our neighboring tables, she takes a sip of her Pinot Grigio.
“How so?”
“Holly.” My father clears his throat like he always does before he makes some kind of declaration. “We’re worried about you.”
“Worried about me?” Smiling, I cover my mouth with my hand. “I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life.”
“With that… building in…thatneighborhood?” my mother whispers.
“Mom. You don’t have to whisper. Yes, I bought a building in Greenville. I’m opening a clinic.” Sitting forward, I rest both elbows on the table and look from parent to parent. “You know, I would have thought that you would be incredibly proud of that. I worked hard and had the down payment. I secured a mortgage on my own, all so I can do some good in the world.”
“But, Holly,” my mother reprimands, “you’re so smart and so beautiful. Let someone else do good.”
“Do you seriously hear yourself right now?”
“All I’m saying—” My mother reaches out and pats my arm with her warm hand. Her perfectly manicured nails shine. “—is that you need to get married and have a family. You’re almost thirty years old.” She whispers my age in case the Lowneys at the next table hear.
“What is this? The eighteen-hundreds? I will get married, Mom, if and when I want to. Not because I’m almost thirty.”
“You’re awfully snippy tonight,” she counters.
“No, I’m standing up for myself. Isn’t it about time?”
My father gives me his displeased look that used to floor me when I was a kid. But tonight—nothing.
“Sorry, Dad, that you’re displeased but this is ridiculous.”
Picking up my water glass, I take a large gulp. In my peripheral vision, I see someone moving toward us quickly. Oh no.
“Hello!” Dr. Robert Covens comes rushing up.
Oh, cripes. Could this night get any worse?
Holding his tie against his chest, he bends down to kiss my mother on the cheek, and she pats his hand. Then, standing, he shakes my father’s hand. “May I?” He points to the empty chair.
There’s always an empty chair next to me that seems to eventually be filled by Robert. Cripes. Spotting him, James comes rushing up and pours him a glass of wine.
“He’ll have the blackened fish, too,” my mother tells James.
“Very good, ma’am, sir.” With a small bow, James backs away.
Turning to Robert, I furrow my brow. “What are you doing here?”
Sitting up tall, he smiles. Damn. Have his teeth always been that white?
“What am I doing here? Having dinner with you. Like always.”
