by Kasie West
He laughed, which I hadn’t expected. Normally he was ready to meet my snark with his own. I must’ve caught him off guard with that comment. I rolled my eyes and couldn’t collect the rest of the flowers fast enough before I was able to hurry away.
The brunch was in full swing. Jett Hart and Mr. Williams were hovering protectively around the food like their presence would make it taste better. I wasn’t hearing any complaints so maybe it was working. Micah and Lance were helping with drink refills and questions. Andrew was socializing with guests, but actually, I realized, taking pictures. And my mom still wasn’t here.
I stood watching the parking lot and checked my phone again. There were no Sorry I’m going to be extra late texts.
I tucked my phone back in the pocket of my skirt and peered down the road. Maybe she’d gotten stuck at work. I mean, her job didn’t save lives or anything, but the owner of the diner where she worked sure acted like it did. Maybe it was better that she wasn’t here; then I could just do my job and not worry.
“Where’s your mom?” Micah asked as she passed me, holding a pitcher of orange juice.
I shrugged, pretending I hadn’t noticed her absence.
“She’ll be here,” Micah said.
“Who will be here?” Andrew asked, walking by at that moment with his phone in hand. Ugh.
“Sophie’s mom.”
“Speaking of moms, yours is trying to get me to eat with her because you can’t,” Andrew said to Micah.
“Don’t fall under her spell. Sophie can never resist my mom.”
“It’s true,” I said. “Mrs. Williams has power over me.”
“That’s because she loves you,” Micah said.
“And here I thought I was special,” Andrew said, putting his hand on his chest.
“Nope,” I answered back.
Micah waved her hand through the air. “She loves you too, Andrew, don’t worry.” Then Micah hoisted her pitcher and left.
“Mrs. Williams loves everyone,” I assured Andrew.
“You know, you really should be the one refilling glasses with orange juice.”
“You already made one swipe at the skirt today. Get some new material.”
His eyes lit up with amusement. Had he found me funny for the second time today? I didn’t like this change. I liked the shot-back insults better. I avoided his gaze and scanned the parking lot again.
“You should just text her,” Andrew said.
“What?” I asked, then realized he knew who I was looking for. “Shouldn’t you be taking pictures?”
He held up his phone and snapped one of me, then smiled and left. I scowled at his retreating form.
It was time to distract myself with work. I found Caroline standing under a tree, scrolling through her tablet. “Should I get the game started?” I asked her.
She looked up. “No, not yet. Gloria and her daughter are going to sing for us again this year. Will you go and see if they’re ready?”
“Yes. Um … Did they bring a keyboard or some music?” I had suggested both at our pre-event meeting. It wasn’t that Gloria and her daughter weren’t good singers … Well, it was sort of that. They were decent. They could definitely carry a tune. But I knew they’d sound better with some background music.
“I think they’re going a cappella again. But the guests seem to love it. I always get positive feedback. They’re sweet.”
“Okay, I’ll go talk to them. If they’re ready, you want them to go on now?”
“Yes. Thank you, Sophie. And tell your mother I said hi.”
My mom? I turned just in time to see her car pull into a parking space. She stepped out wearing tight jeans, a black T-shirt, and heels. Not what she’d worn to work that day, but obviously not the dress I’d bought her either. Her long, bleached-blond hair was down and straightened.
I took a deep breath and went to find Gloria. She was sitting at a table and waved when I approached. “Hi, Sophie, good to see you!” she called. “I just adore the flowers this year.”
“Thank you,” I said. They weren’t my design or preference, but I supposed I had put them into their holders so there was that. “Are you ready to sing?”
“Nearly,” she said.
“Okay, just head on up when you are.” I pointed to the microphone set up by the big tree.
Gloria nodded happily.
I looked over and saw that my mom was approaching. I hurried to meet her halfway.
“Hey, honey,” she said. “Sorry I’m late.”
I gave her a hug. “It’s okay. I’m glad you made it.”
“Well, don’t you look colorful today,” she said.
“Yes. I do.” I looked down at my outfit then back up at my mom. “Did you get my present?”
“Yes, it was so cute. Thank you.”
I swallowed. “I thought you could wear it today.”
“Oh! Well, you know I don’t really wear dresses to casual events.”
She was right, I did know that. I wasn’t sure why I’d gotten her one at all. I should’ve gotten her a pair of cute shoes … or a gift card. A gift card was safe and didn’t take my taste into account at all.
“Maybe I can wear it around the house,” Mom added.
I nodded, as if I didn’t care. “Well, come eat,” I said. “There’s lots of food.”
She looped her arm through mine and we continued across the grass. “Is Jett Hart here?” she whispered.
“Yes, he is.”
“Will you introduce us? I’ve always wanted to meet someone famous.”
“I don’t really know him, Mom.” Or rather, he didn’t know me except as the girl who always got in his way. “And he’s not really famous.”
She let out a puff of air to disagree, then said, “You’ve worked two events with him and you haven’t introduced yourself? Why are you so antisocial?”
“I’m not antisocial.”
“You are. You know if you practice more, you’ll get better at interacting with people.”
“I’m fine at interacting with people.” At least, the ones I liked.
“I guess I’ll just have to introduce myself. Is that him?” She pointed to Jett Hart, still standing like a sentinel by the food.
“Mom, just wave or something. He’s really busy.”
“He doesn’t look busy.”
“Let’s dish up our food and then we can tell him how nice it looks when we get to the end of the line.”
She didn’t listen. While I retrieved a plate, my mom marched straight up to Jett, her hand extended.
“The Jett Hart,” she said. “We’re so honored to have you in our little town.”
He shook her hand and presented her with the first smile I’d seen him give. “Happy to meet you.”
“I hear you’re trying to bring us culture with fancy food.”
I cringed. “Mom, I have your plate,” I called.
She didn’t budge.
“I’m trying to bring you variety with bold flavors,” he said, like he was suddenly in a commercial for international coffee or something. So this was where Andrew got his speaking skills from.
Speaking of variety and bold flavors, I was now staring at what looked to be green peppers cut in half and filled with cooked egg. I glanced down the row of dishes to see if there was a different egg dish. I saw a very colorful quiche and wondered what was in it.
“I like bold,” I heard my mom say. I could tell Jett was done with her. He’d crossed his arms and was looking over her head. I thought about dragging my mom back to the food line, but the less attention I drew to myself in this moment, the better.
Finally, Jett rescued himself. “Excuse me, I need to go check on something.”
Mom came to my side and picked up a plate. “He’s not nearly as bad as you made him out to be,” she said.
“Shh,” I responded.
She looked around. “Who are we worried about hearing?” Then her gaze landed on Andrew Hart. “Who’s that?”
“W
ho?” I knew exactly who she was talking about so I didn’t know why I was putting on an act.
“Broad shoulders, great hair, and handsome as all get-out, that’s who.”
“Mom, he’s seventeen.”
“I wasn’t lookin’ to date him, child. I just asked who he was while appreciating his finer qualities.”
“That’s Jett’s son.”
She tilted her head and looked back at me. “Jett has a son? How come you didn’t tell me about him before?”
“Didn’t I?”
“No, you didn’t. That means one of two things: You like him or you hate him.”
“Or maybe I just don’t think about him at all.”
“Nope. Which one is it?”
“Neither, Mom. Can we eat now?”
Suddenly, Gloria and her daughter were singing, and I silently thanked them for the interruption.
My mom moved down the row of dishes, taking a little bit of each. “Ugh,” she said after a moment. “Why does Caroline still let them sing at this?”
“Mom. Shh.” They actually sounded good. They’d gotten better.
“I was quiet,” she whispered. “It’s just I’ve been puttin’ up with Gloria since high school. That woman can’t carry a tune in a bucket. Do you know she sang the national anthem at nearly every football game? And you thought I liked attention.”
“I never said that,” I mumbled.
“Here, hold this,” she said, handing me her plate.
“Why?”
The song ended and my mom marched straight up to Gloria. By the time I realized what she was doing, I had to scramble to find a place to set our plates.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” Mom said into the microphone. “How y’all doin’ today?”
There was only one whoop back. I cut through tables, heading toward her.
“I’d like to sing you a song now called ‘Jesus Take the Wheel’ by the lovely Carrie Underw—”
I snatched the microphone from her hand. “She’s just kidding. My mom, isn’t she funny? Enjoy your brunch, ladies. Can we give a hand for this lovely spread provided by Mr. Williams and Jett Hart?”
I turned off the microphone to a smattering of applause.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that, it was fun,” Mom said, and left me holding the microphone.
Micah appeared at my side. “It’s okay,” she said, squeezing my arm. “You smoothed it over.”
“You think?” I asked, grateful for her assurance even if I knew she was lying through her teeth.
“It’s all good. Do you want me to hide that somewhere?” She nodded toward the microphone.
I handed it to her. “Yes, please.”
“And you should probably go rescue Andrew.”
“What?” My head whipped over to see my mom holding her plate and heading straight for Andrew.
“Mom!” I called. “Our table is over here.”
She didn’t listen. She tromped across the grass, me trailing behind, and paused in front of him.
“Young man,” Mom said to Andrew, “follow me.”
And he did.
If I had to hear my mom laugh at some stupid thing Andrew said one more time, I was going to lose it. After sitting down with my mom at our table, Andrew had already shown her several scrolls’ worth of pictures (including the one of me giving him the look that I imagined I directed at him all the time), and they were now discussing the food. It was mostly my mom asking, “And what’s in this?” and pointing to things on her plate. He had the standard mocking twinkle in his eye, so even though he was being polite, overly polite, I knew he was silently judging my mom.
I noticed Caroline walking over to where the microphone had been. She looked around, probably for the microphone that Micah had hidden. Then she cleared her throat and said loudly, “I have a game for y’all to play!”
I thought I was in charge of the game. I started to stand up and Caroline waved her hand at me as though she anticipated my reaction.
“I want all the mothers and daughters to play it.” That was directed at me. “You know what’s on the line: Barbecue.”
“Barbecue?” Andrew asked as Caroline began handing out the yellow paper and pens.
“Hank’s Barbecue,” Mom answered. “The best barbecue in town.”
“The only barbecue in town,” I said.
“Which makes it the best,” Andrew said.
“Exactly,” Mom agreed with a smile. I tried not to let out a huff. How was Andrew winning over every person in my life?
“You should try my dad’s barbecue,” Andrew said.
“I’d like to try your dad’s barbecue, honey,” she said.
Andrew raised his eyebrows at me.
“Mom,” I said darkly.
“What? It was a statement. If it’s as good as his fancy eggs, then I’m sure I’ll like it.” She waved her fork over the quiche she had barely touched.
“Don’t they have quiche at the diner, Ms. Evans?” Andrew asked.
“Call me Larissa. And, no, they do not. The diner specializes in greasy eggs and lots of added cheese.”
Caroline handed both me and my mom sheets of yellow paper. “Have fun,” she said.
I sighed and took the paper and pen. Andrew tilted his head to read my mom’s sheet. She moved the paper in between them.
“You should help me answer some questions about Soph,” my mom said.
“He really shouldn’t,” I said. “He knows nothing about me.”
Andrew picked up the pen and said to Mom, “I’ll be your scribe.” He scanned the questions, then started. “What’s her favorite book?”
I lowered my eyes, realizing this was actually going to happen, and the more I fought it, the more he’d enjoy it. I pretended like I didn’t care and tried to focus on the sheet in front of me. Mom’s favorite book. She hated to read. When she wasn’t at work, she was out with friends or watching a movie or bingeing a television show. I left it blank.
“Easy,” Mom said. “She loves Harry Potter.”
I did love Harry Potter, but it had been several years since it had been the top on my list.
“Favorite music?” Andrew asked.
I wrote down classic rock for my mom.
“She likes poppy stuff,” Mom replied. “Like Taylor Swift and those guys who dress like they’re from the eighties. There’s something about a moon in their name.”
“Walk the Moon?” Andrew asked.
“Maybe?” Mom said.
Again, she was a couple of years behind on my tastes.
“What’s the most embarrassing thing to happen to her?” he asked.
I raised my hand. “Right now is winning at the moment.”
Mom laughed. “No, no, no. I can do way better than this moment. When she was twelve, we were at the town Fourth of July celebration up at the lake—”
“Mom, seriously?”
Andrew leaned back in his chair like he was ready to be entertained.
“And she threw up all over Charlie, who she had a big crush on at the time.”
I put my head in my hands.
“Poor Charlie,” Andrew said.
“Poor Charlie?” I looked up, furious. “He’d put a worm from his fish bait in my sandwich! He deserved it.”
“Yes, Andrew, be careful.” Mom laughed. “You do not want to get on Sophie’s bad side.”
“I fear I am too late,” he said.
“You are,” I assured him.
Mom’s mouth fell open and then she rolled her eyes. “She’s just kidding.”
“I’m really not.”
“Back to the questions,” Andrew said, bending over the sheet of paper once more. “What does Sophie like to do on a rainy day?”
My mom squinted her eyes in thought.
I liked to drive. That’s what I liked to do. I liked to listen to the sound of the rain pounding on the metal roof of the car. Sometimes I would park at the lake or the canal or the historic house downtown and watch the way the drops
pelted the water or poured off the eaves.
“She hates the rain. Thunder scares her.”
I looked at my mom in surprise. Thunder didn’t scare me. Not anymore. But then I realized my mom wasn’t just a couple of years behind in her knowledge of me. She was five years behind. She was still living in the summer my dad left. She’d stopped paying attention after that. It shouldn’t have surprised me. It didn’t. But I hadn’t had proof until now.
Andrew was staring at me and I relaxed my face to neutral.
“Are you?” he asked.
“Am I what?”
“Scared of thunder?”
“Are you trying to cheat? Hank’s Barbecue is on the line.” I wrote down the answer for my mom on the paper: Drink coffee and watch black-and-white movies.
When I looked up, Andrew’s gaze was moving between me and my mother. “You two look nothing alike,” he said.
Of course he was right. My mom was pale and blond with blue eyes. I had olive skin, brown hair, and dark brown eyes.
“Sophie takes after her father,” Mom said. “He was Italian.”
“Is, Mom,” I said.
“Is what?”
“Dad is Italian.”
“Was, is.” She waved her hand through the air like those two words conveyed the exact same meaning.
“Your dad is from Italy?” Andrew asked me.
“His parents. He grew up here,” my mom answered for me.
Perhaps it was the ominous tone in my mother’s voice that kept Andrew from asking for more information, but he looked back at the paper and said, “Okay, Ms. Evans, another question. Name one of Sophie’s bad habits.”
I wondered what she’d say for this. Five years ago my bad habits consisted of leaving dirty clothes on the floor or art supplies scattered all over the table. I put my pen to the paper and almost wrote: My mom only thinks about herself. But I stopped and chose instead: Habitually late.
“Maybe you should answer this one,” Mom said to Andrew.
I crossed my arms and looked at Andrew in a silent challenge that said: You better not. But I already knew Andrew’s bad habit was not listening, so of course he answered.
“Bad habit?” He bit the inside of his cheek and squinted his eyes. “Too judgmental. Or stubborn,” he said. “Or closed off.”
“You were supposed to pick one,” I said.
