“I don’t own one, but Greg does.”
“Oh my god! I was just joking,” she said with a laugh. “We have to take the girls to the island. They need their first beach adventure.”
A family outing?
“My mother dated this guy who had a beach house once,” Tess said as the waiter came to collect our plates. “He owned a house off the Florida coast. It was pretty run-down, but my mom would drive us there pretty much every weekend for the few months they were dating. She was always trying to get me to consider her boyfriend du jour as my new father.” Tess scowled and took a sip of her wine.
“At least that one had a beach house,” I said.
Tess snorted. “Yeah, about that. Turns out he was breaking and entering some random person’s beach house. They came home one day when we were there, called the cops, and we were all arrested. My mom just acted like it was hilarious and liked to relay it as a fun bonding story.”
“The fact that you did a stint in prison makes everything about you much clearer,” I joked.
Tess stuck her tongue out. “It was only overnight. And of course, my mom didn’t learn her lesson. She always had some terrible guy she was dating. Obnoxious guys with no jobs. Once she dated a loser who called someone a pompous. Not ‘pompous ass’ or ‘acting pompous,’ but ‘a pompous.’ Another guy had this gross old ‘leather’ jacket that was flaking, and parts of it were just the fabric underneath. Whenever I was with him and my mom on one of her forced family outings, he would use any opportunity where he could see his reflection—a puddle of dirty water, a window, a random mirror of a car—and he would say, ‘Damn I look good today!’ while he smoothed down his mangy jacket, and then he would prod me until I agreed.”
“Your mom just let that happen?”
“Whenever she dated, she would essentially lose her sense of self and mold her personality into what she thought was the perfect girlfriend, agreeing to whatever the guy said and expecting me to go along with it.”
“Sounds like my mom,” I said darkly, picking up my wineglass.
“Did you talk to her after you escaped the cult?” Tess asked in concern.
I snorted. “No. She had left years before my dad kicked my brothers and me out of the compound because we were, in his words, competing against him for his new wives.”
“She wasn’t able to take you with her?”
“I’m sure she could have. After all, my dad had lost interest in his first sets of kids by then and had moved on to his new sister wives and their kids.” I scowled at the memory, the old hurts and betrayals flooding back. “No, she told us before she left that she was tired of raising children. She had given up her life for us, and she was finally going to be free.”
“Ouch. She really gave up the winning lottery ticket,” Tess said. “Guess her loss is my gain, especially since I don’t have to deal with a fake mother-in-law!”
“As soon as word started getting out about our business success, she came crawling back. Some of my brothers give her money. I did for a while; I felt bad for her. Then I found out she was giving the same sob story to all of my brothers and had been given enough money in eighteen months that had she saved and invested it, she would have lived quite comfortably for the rest of her life. Instead, she spent it on handbags, shoes, and hotels.”
Tess looked awkward as she speared one of the scallops that had come with the next course. “I mean, I’m not going to judge. I’m not the best with money. And I might have sort of bought some things that were not exactly real expenses on your credit card.”
I laughed. “You’re buying takeout and the occasional T-shirt. My mother burned through one million dollars on high fashion and hotels. And she wasn’t even taking care of any of my younger brothers. She was just spending it on herself. You’re being very helpful with my sisters,” I told her, taking her hand. “I honestly couldn’t do it without you.”
“You probably could have managed,” she said, slightly embarrassed.
“Maybe, but they probably wouldn’t be as happy,” I admitted.
I sat back in my chair as the server came by with yet another course. There were two bite-sized pieces of raw duck with about a dozen little dabs of sauces. Another server set a pile of rocks on the table with a large black one that radiated heat on top.
“One thing we recommend to all people on a date,” the server said, smiling sanguinely, “is to choose for your date which combination of the duck and the sauce they should try.”
“A date?” Tess wrinkled her nose after the waiter left. “I’ve had too much wine. I’m going to spiral into an existential crisis.”
“This is basically a not-date,” I said. “We didn’t meet online or get introduced by mutual friends. You’re living in my house. This is a friendly meal.”
“Yes, this is a friendly pre-hookup meal,” Tess said.
Pre-hookup? Fuck yeah.
She tasted a little of each sauce on her fork then cut each raw duck piece in half and placed them to sizzle on the rock.
“Don’t overcook it,” she said when I placed my pieces beside hers. “I like my meat raw.”
“I thought you liked it hard.”
