That's Richard—never let the staff think you're anything less than generous, even when you're storming out on your wife.
"We'll talk at home," he tells me quietly and then he's gone.
My mother stands without a word and walks away, so I follow her out.
When she realizes it's raining, she curses the sky under her breath, pulling her scarf over her fresh blow-out.
"Let me get a taxi—"
"No. I want to walk," she snaps.
"Are you sure? It will be about twenty minutes."
"Yes," she says, already leaving me behind.
I shrug and walk behind her. All I care about is texting Ben.
Me:Left the restaurant. Walking home now
He replies instantly, like he was waiting by the phone.
Ben:Got the umbrella?
Me:No. It's fine. Rain's not the worst thing I've walked through today
The silence between Mom and me turns deafening by the time we hit Market Street, and with each step, the guilt tags along.
I almost apologize to her for blowing up their perfect lunch when I see her sour face, but then I notice the city lights spilling over the wet pavement, and my mood elevates.
"Look," I tell Mom, my hand shooting up. "Doesn't it look like neon ribbons? Pretty cool, huh?"
Mom barely glances down at the pavement before she notices me and scowls. "What on earth are you doing?"
I stand in the drizzle, arms stretched wide, letting the sky kiss my face. I don't know why, but suddenly I feel not guilty, but free to be myself.
Mom snaps at me, "You'll get sick," and stalks off evenfaster, heels clicking on the wet sidewalk. I watch her go, and for once, it doesn't hurt me.
I quietly walk behind her, purposely dragging my shoes through a few puddles before I catch up with her.
She's chatting with some stranger about the weather, pretending I'm invisible, so I turn my eyes to the traffic light that's red for pedestrians and glance at my building in front of me.
Then, across the street, I notice someone waving. A man. Grey rain jacket, hood up over his sharp jaw like he wants to blend in. Like he ever could.
Ben catches me staring and smiles, jogging across when the light turns green, and I smile back like some idiot who won't have her heart broken.
Three steps in front of me, the umbrella unfurls ceremonially—Italian flag with gondolas.
"Oh no. You brought this?" I can't stop the sputtering laugh that escapes.
"I'm a romantic at heart," he says, fighting his grin, and winks. "And it's for you. I don't mind rain."
He doesn't wait and steers me underneath. Then his eyes fall on my shoes and my gritty calves.
"They were salmon," I say, lifting one foot for emphasis.
"They're stew now," he says, shaking his head. "Honestly, how have you survived this long without me?"
I shrug playfully, but my pulse stutters. Ben's posture shifts too, shoulders square, face turned toward my mother who wedged herself under the umbrella, her eyes darting from Ben tome.
