“We’re going to a restaurant that serves breakfast anytime,” I told her.
“Oh cool. I’m gonna get blueberry pancakes during the Renaissance,” she deadpanned. I stared for a beat and then she started cracking up.
“You scared me for a second. I was concerned about your IQ.”
“I got that joke from a TV show.”
I laughed. “Now I’m really concerned about your IQ.”
The place Grace and I used to go to was long gone, so I took Ash to a diner in our neighborhood.
“Mom told me you guys used to do this breakfast-for-dinner thing all the time in college.”
“We did.” I smiled at the memory but didn’t want to dwell on the past. “How was school?”
“Good. Boring, except for ceramics.”
“You like pottery?”
“I love it.”
“My mom—your grandmother—loved it. She had a little art studio set up behind her house in California. She called it the Louvre.” I chuckled at the memory.
“I know.”
“Your mom pretty much covered everything, didn’t she?”
“Why didn’t you want her to come tonight?”
This daughter of mine didn’t pull any punches. “Like I said before, things are complicated.”
“You guys love each other, so why the hell aren’t you together?”
“It’s not that simple, Ash. I need time.”
“Well, I think you’re wasting it.”
Why was the fifteen-year-old the smartest one in the room?
Because she doesn’t have decades of bullshit clouding her judgment.
We ordered pancakes and milk shakes, and Ash told me about school and a boy she liked.
“Boys are pigs. You know that, right? Stay away from them.”
She sipped her milk shake thoughtfully. “You don’t need to do this. Seriously.”
“I do. I want to meet your friends and come to your school events. And that’s not a request.”
“I know.”
After we totally stuffed ourselves with pancakes, I paid and we headed out. On our way to the door, Ash stopped in front of the refrigerator case.
“You want a piece of pie?” I asked.
She dug into the little purse slung across her chest. “No, I’m gonna buy a piece for Mom.”
“I’ll buy it. What does she like?”
