Page 78 of Tony

She winces. “That’s a pretty long sequence.”

“Yeah,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “It kind of is.” I sigh. “So then. We’re connected.”

“I don’t mind being connected.”

“Well, I don’t mind either. I’m cool with our connection.”

“It did get us to a third date.”

I smile, then maybe blush a little. “That it did.”

“Are you worried about the third date?”

“Why would I be worried?”

“Because third date… that’s when… you know. Things get serious.”

“Serious as in…”

“Meeting my mother.” She smiles innocently. “Of course.”

I nod and grin. “Of course.”

The breakroom door opens dramatically and a woman in a long, red, paisley—robe? Shift? Mumu?—walks in, mid-conversation. “—is still hot. I was expecting you earlier, but you know how it is. Predictions are all about degrees of accuracy.” She stops just a few feet away from me and stares at Soshee. “Well. What are you waiting for?”

“Um…” Soshee shrugs. “I didn’t catch that first part, Mom. You started that convo out in the hallway.”

“Tea! Tea! Pour the tea! I left my client in the room to meditate. I only have about six point two minutes before she falls asleep on me and I have to get back.” She claps her hands as she talks. “Let’s get this show on the road!”

Soshee jumps up and walks over to a little kitchenette where a tea pot is sitting on a hot plate. An empty cup is waiting on the counter—tea strainer filled with leaves already positioned over the top—and Soshee pours the hot water over them.

“Don’t stir!” Madam Ameci orders. “He needs to do the stirring!”

“I know. I know,” Sosh says. She brings the cup over to me, hands me a tiny silver spoon, and says, “Stir it.”

“Ahh… why?” I ask, looking between the two of them.

There is a striking resemblance. Madam Ameci’s hair isn’t a deep scarlet red. There are streaks of light that might be blonde or gray. But you can tell it was long and wild, just like Soshee’s, back in her younger days. They have the same face too. I try and find a little bit of Boston in Soshee, but nope. She and Zach share almost no characteristics. She is the spitting image of her mother.

Which—can I just say?—is sorta comforting. Because Madam Ameci is still kinda sexy for being a fifty-something. Even with the paisley robe-shift-mumu thing covering her up from head to toe.

“That’s how I get your vibe,” Madam explains. Soshee tries to retake her seat across from me, but Madam snaps her fingers and points to the chair to my left. “That one.”

“Fine,” Soshee says, and slips into the chair to my left.

“Now you stir the tea.”

“Don’t you want to know who he is, Mom?”

Madam Ameci looks me straight on and purses her lips as her eyes narrow down into thin slits. “I know who he is.”

My eyebrows go up. Maybe she really is psychic?

“You’re the new boyfriend.”

“Ehhhh,” I say, bobbing my head. “I was expecting a little more than that.”

Soshee covers her mouth to stifle a giggle. This earns her a heated glare from her mother. But that only lasts a second. The heated glare darts right back to me. “Do not get smart with me, Tony Dumas.”