A shocking reminder of what’s at stake if I start to lose my mind.
She doesn’t leave a voicemail.
Mom:Dinner tomorrow?
I stand there in the dark foyer trying to compose a message that says something to the effect of:I’m busy—legitimately busy—and I’m not blowing you off, please don’t hate me.
Mom:Our treat.
Fuck. It’s with both of them.
My heart skips.
Do they know? Did they find out?
Then they wouldn’t be inviting you for dinner, idiot.
“This is way toomuch family time,” I mutter to myself as I wait for my parents outside the front of the restaurant in the cold winter evening.
I know my stepdad’s going to be early, therefore I have to be earlier than him, so I’ve been standing out here for the last half hour because I do not want to start this interrogation—excuse me,dinner—on the wrong foot.
“I didn’t think you’d be early.”
“When you’re on time, you’re late,” I reply.
“You see,” Frank tells Mom. “We should have left early.”
She rolls her eyes and pats his arm affectionately. “You boys.”
This isn’t a fancy restaurant. It’s a hole-in-the-wall place filled with honest, hardworking people, as Frank likes to say.
“You could have changed out of that monkey suit. Do you ever wear real clothes?” Frank asks when we all sit down.
“This is the only place in New York City where you can get a halfway decent Philly cheesesteak,” Frank says after we order at the counter.
“You feeling homesick?” I ask Frank.
“Nope. Going back next weekend for the Eagles game.”
“He really is enjoying your birthday present to him—wait,ourpresent.” Mom winks. “I got him an Eagles mug, so we basically did a joint present—right?”
“You should come to a game,” Frank offers, but he doesn’t really mean it. He likes to go with Ryan and Max and Sean, and I only bought a four-person season-ticket package to avoid Frank feeling obligated.
“I’m busy.”
“You always work so hard. You don’t need to keep paying for things. We could have gotten dinner.” Mom carefully folds up her paper straw.
“I get credit card points.”
The server brings over our beers.
“Bet you’d rather have that—what was that fancy drink you brought over Christmas?”
“Sake,” I say smoothly.
“You liked it,” Mom reminds Frank. “He liked it,” she tells me.
My stepdad gives me a sour look.
