Standing up, I kissed her cheek. “You’re looking fine, Mamacita.”
“Well, thank you, sweetheart. You’re looking…”
Her eyes passed over me, no doubt ready to return the compliment, but got stopped up on my t-shirt, which read, ‘This guy likes bacon.’
“Keith, come on. I thought you changed.”
“I did. You should have seen my other option.” Something told me she’d have been even less enthusiastic about the shirt with ‘Vegetarian’ across a giant pot leaf.
She sighed. “We’re going to a nice restaurant. Would it kill you to put more effort into your wardrobe choices?”
I glanced down at my clothing. I’d been going for whimsical fun, but clearly my mother had no sense of humor. “Thiswaseffort. I even applied deodorant.”
Mom laughed. “Oh, well then, that more than makes up for the dead pig parts on your shirt.”
“Exactly. Who’s going to care what I look like when I smell Arctic fresh?”
“Off you go,” Mom said, physically turning me in the direction of my room.
“Fine, but I’m warning you, I can’t guarantee my next choice will be any better.”
Her lips tipped in amusement, she answered, “I believe in you, honey. Surely you can find something in your closet without words.”
“Actually, I’m not sure if I can.”
“I need you to dig deep into that closet of yours. Remember the Christmas clothes I buy you every year? Why don’t you see if you can find those?”
Ah yes. Christmas – that special time of year when my parents tried to turn me into a golfer. I might not have been Pearl Beach’s drug dealer anymore, but I still had a reputation to uphold, and that did not include clothing with buttons.
I could stand there holding my ground for as long as I liked, but that didn’t change the fact that I wasn’t going anywhere until I was wearing something that passed her inspection. Without a word, I headed down the hallway.
“And hurry,” she called out after me. “We have reservations in fifteen minutes. If they figure out who the party of eight is before we get there, we’re screwed. Oh, and Keith, do something with your hair.”
My hair too?I reached up to run my fingers through my mop, but the digits got stuck in the tangled strands, forcing a pain-filled squawk from my throat. I’d hit the point in my hygiene where nothing short of a head shave would fix the ratty strands of hair occupying my head.
“Oh, my god, Mom,” I hollered at her from down the hall. “It’s your birthday, not the crowning of a new president.”
Emma passed me in the narrow passageway, always ready with a sarcastic reply.
“Yes. Because the coronation proceedings of our elected officials are always the highlight of American politics.”
I had absolutely no idea what she’d just said, but it was annoying enough to warrant pushing her into the wall. I thought that squared us up, but Emma had never been one to play by the rules. Retaliation was swift, in the form of a knee to my ass. She’d been going for the crown jewels, but I knew a thing or two about her combat skills and twisted my body away in the nick of time.
Emma grinned mischievously, her face flushed from the fight. “You give up?”
“Never,” I panted. And then, with a swiftness I hadn’t been expecting, I was avoiding her jabbing knees as if my balls were the target in a whack-a-mole game.
“Okay,” I laughed. “I give up. You win. Jesus, you’re ruthless.”
“Emma,” Mom hollered from the kitchen. “Leave your brother alone. He’s going to need every second of the fifteen minutes I gave him to be presentable.”
She opened her arm to let me pass, but I didn’t trust her for a minute. “You heard Mom. Go.”
Pressing myself against the wall, I slid past her and darted off down the hall. I’d almost made it to my room when a list of demands was volleyed down the narrow passageway.
“Remember, Keith. Clean shirt, nothing offensive, no words, no holes, no shorts… and as for your hair, just pull it off your face. That’s all I’m asking.”
I shut the door on her requests. Short of sticking a post-it note to my forehead, there was no way I was remembering that lengthy list. But I got the general idea of what she was expecting. As I rummaged through my drawers, my brother Jake let himself in. He didn’t say anything, just plopped himself down onto my ratty beanbag chair and watched.
