“I don’t need the sarcasm this morning, Mandy. Your sister has an announcement she wants to make to everyone at dinner this weekend. I want to make sure you’re coming.”
“What’s the announcement?”
“I don’t know, Mandy—that’s what the dinner is for. I’m making your father’s favorite. A rib roast, twice-baked-potato casserole, a garden salad, and those Pillsbury rolls you like. I wanted to confirm that you’re coming.”
I roll my eyes. “No, Mom, I have a hot date.”
“You have a date? Ma, Mandy has a date!”
Heavy breathing from the other end. “Mandy?” Gran asks. “Can you see me, Mandy?”
“Hi, Gran!”
“I can’t see you. I can’t see her, Gale.”
“This isn’t Facetime, Ma!”
Wincing, I hold my phone away from my ear.
“Who’s your date?” my mother demands. “Is he as nice as the last boy? The one who sent you all those lovely flowers?”
Yeah, even more people in my life who don’t know about the stalker situation.
“He doesn’t need to be good-looking as long as he has a good job,” my mom continues. “At your age, you need to settle.”
“Never settle,” Gran rails. “I settled and look what it got me—two sons who never write, never call. I have to live with your mother and that hobbit she married. Shoot for the moon, Mandy!”
“Gran…”
“Just go into this date with a positive attitude,” my mother says. “Don’t worry about dinner. I’ll make you aplate.” I can visualize my mother in her eighties kitchen, glasses perched on the end of her nose.
“Mom, of course I don’t have a date.”
“Oh my gosh, Mandy, how can you do this? You get my hopes up, then it’s just more of your sarcasm. I guess I’ll just die without ever being a grandmother then.”
“Yeah, it’s a real injustice for you.”
“I don’t need the attitude, Mandy. Your father’s been doing yard work since six this morning. I’m going to strangle him with the cord from the weed eater. I’ve gone through half a box of wine already. My nerves.”
“She drank all my wine,” Gran complains.
“I’ll bring you some more, Gran.”
“Nothing in the bottles,” my mother warns. “It’s too much of a pain to try and recycle them. Just buy the box.”
“The pink box,” Gran says. “I’ll send you a picture. Gale, send her a photo.”
“Sure, I’ll bring some. Anyway, have to go. I’m out buying lunch—”
“You don’t have money to waste eating out,” my mom scolds. “Things are so expensive—you need to save your money. Honestly, I thought I raised you girls better than this. I was at the market yesterday, and do you know how much a lemon is these days? A lemon!”
I hold the phone away from my ear, silently counting to five. “I’m buying my boss’s lunch.”
“Well that’s fine, then. Just text me when you’re at the restaurant, so I know you’re safe.”
A lump clogs my throat. Sure, my mom is annoying, but something about her just wanting me to be safe feels like it is breaking my heart. I want to tell her. I want someone to help me solve my problems—want someone to save me—but Ican’t dump my problems on her and my dad. It would kill them.
“And call me when you’re back at your office,” Mom is saying. “There are lots of dangerous men downtown. I watch the news—I know these things. You need a nice husband, one who will take care of you so you don’t have to work in the city.”
