Well, this is exhausting.“I lost track of time, I guess.”
“Aren’t you writing your schedule down in that planner I gave you? Phones aren’t reliable if they die—”
“Yes, Mom!” I clipped, clenching my jaw tight.
Her eyes widened at my disrespectful tone, but fortunately, our waitress showed up with my coffee.
“What can I get you two ladies?”
I didn’t need to look at the menu. I always ordered one of two things. “Can I have the croque-madame, please? With a side of fresh fruit.”
The woman smiled as she jotted down my order. “And for you, ma’am?”
“Another coffee. To go. Add an extra shot of espresso. And could you bag me up an almond croissant? One without much powdered sugar on top.”
I stared at her for a moment after the waitress left us, watching her fold an unused napkin into a perfect triangle.
“You’re getting food to go?”
“I don’t have time to eat an entire mealnow, Avery. And you know how much I hate wasting food.”
I glanced at my watch. “You have another hour before you have to be at the hospital.”
Her smile was tight. “I have an early patient consult this morning.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m telling you now. You got here late; otherwise, you would’ve known sooner.” She sipped her coffee with a matter-of-fact look about her.
“So…we’re not eating together?” I sighed. “Why didn’t you order when I told you to on the phone?”
“I would’ve been eating without you if I had anyway. I come here to see my daughter and catch up. I didn’t want to be eating the entire short amount of time I got to spend with you this morning.”
“But—”
“Stop it. It’s fine. I had a late dinner last night anyway. I’m not that hungry.”
Oh. She was mad.
She always got short with me when she was upset. The mind games and the guilt were something I’d been conditioned to ignore or sweet-talk my way out of. A simple compliment or inquiry about a surgery was usually the trick to take the giant stick out of her ass.
I chewed on my lip and threaded my fingers through the handle of my warm mug, letting the guilt creep in despite my best efforts. “Did your surgery go well yesterday?”
She nodded, making her shoulder-length yellow hair fall over the collar of her blouse. “It did.”
I waited for the detailed minute-by-minute run-through but never got it.
The tiny waitress returned, handing my mother a small paper bag and a to-go cup.
She stood, threw a few bills on the table, and fastened her black designer handbag over her shoulder. “Philip heard all about it. Maybe he can fill you in. I really have to get going. Have a good day, sweetheart.”
“Ma, come on. I just got here…”
I had spent more time driving here than sitting with her.
“I’ll call you in the next couple of days, okay?” She kissed the top of my head and left without another word.
The waitress returned with my hot breakfast a few minutes later, and I ate in the corner, alone.
