“She got pregnant about six months ago, and word got around that she… well…” Mom pauses to look over both shoulders, making sure no one can hear her. “She got ayou know what,” she whispers.
“Wait.” I shake myself out of my state of disbelief. “But what does that have to do with her mom not doing the spaghetti dinner?”
“You really think Mrs. O’Doyle could keep a leadership position after that? You know how the congregation can be, Stevie.”
“Judgmental?” I ask.
“Straitlaced,” she corrects, looking away from me. “Anyway, Mrs. O’Doyle technically stepped down of herownvolition.”
“I bet,” I mumble under my breath. It’s not that I don’t want my mom to run the spaghetti dinner. I know she’d be great at it and she’s wanted to do it for so long, but it seems kind of crappy to me that Mrs. O’Doyle was basically forced into stepping down from a position she’s held for over ten years because of a choice her daughter made that doesn’t involve anyone else. My mom might be able to talk herself into believing the Church is always right, but we Catholics claim to be the most welcoming of people, and lately it feels to me like we’re the exact opposite.
I wonder where I stand now with it all…
“I recognize those faces!” Sue the waitress says, pointing her pen between the two of us as she approaches the table. “It’s been so long since you’ve been in.” She slips a notepad out of her apron pocket and holds it up to take our orders.
“It has?” I ask.
“It has,” my mom says simultaneously. “It’s good to be back, I’ve missed that pastrami on rye,” she adds, and Sue scribbles it down. “With an iced tea? Thanks.”
I order my favorite with an iced tea as well, and Sue heads back into the kitchen.
“Jeez, Mom, I know two weeks might seem like a long time away from your pastrami sandwich, but—”
“It’s been a little longer than that,” she replies.
“It has? Like how long?” I ask as she folds her maroon napkin wrapper into a tiny square.
She shrugs. “Maybe a little over a year.”
“Over ayear? I went a whole year without a chicken Caesar sandwich?”
“Well, I don’t know about that. Maybe you came with yourfriends or something.” She sits back against the booth, looking like a deflated balloon.
I watch her for a minute, waiting for her to elaborate, but she doesn’t.
“Mom?” I hate seeing her like this and I hate it even more that I don’t know why. “What’s going on?” I ask, but she doesn’t even look up at me. “Did something happen between us or something?”
“No, honey, of course not.” She shakes her head, unfolding the napkin across her lap.
“Mom—”
“Okay, I’ve got two sandwiches for two lovely ladies,” Sue announces, setting two plates down in front of us.
“Thanks,” I say, waiting for her to leave so I can talk to my mom, but the second she does, my mom changes the subject.
“Hey, I got you something. Yours didn’t make it through your accident.” She reaches into her purse and slides a brand-new iPhone across the glazed table. “I couldn’t figure out how to get into iCloud to back anything up, but I added a few numbers in there that I had.”
“Oh, cool. Thanks.” Whatever it is we need to talk about, it’s clear she doesn’t want to do it now. So instead I take the phone and scroll through the short contact list. “Savannah and Rory! Oh my gosh. I have to see them. They must be so worried.”
I remember in sixth grade when Savannah had to get her tonsils out, Rory was having panic attacks all day at school, thinking the doctor was going to slip and somehow leave Savannah unable to speak for the rest of her life. It wasn’t untilwe got to her house after school and saw her pounding down a pint of Neapolitan ice cream that Rory was finally able to relax.
“Did they come to the hospital a lot?” I ask my mom as she sips on her iced tea.
“They came…” She sits up straighter in her seat. “Oh, that reminds me, why don’t we get Nora something to go on our way out and take it over?”
“Who’s Nora?” I ask, sinking my teeth into a sandwich that could end world wars.Muchneeded after all the hospital food.
“Nora Martin. The girl who pulled you out of the water?”
