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That’s odd. The security people look at licenses all day. How could they misread it?
We get on the plane and I take a short nap so I’m rested when we arrive. My mom meets us at the airport. When I see her, I run up to her and give her a huge hug.
“Mom, I’ve missed you so much.”
“I’ve missed you too honey.”
I stand back and look at her. She seems different. She’s lost some weight, probably from all the walking she does here in the city. And her hair is shorter, cut in a cute bob. “You look great, Mom! I love your hair!”
“I just got it cut. I wasn’t sure about having it this short but I really like it.” She sees Kyle approaching. “And you must be Kyle.”
“Yes.” He shakes her hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Sage talks about you all the time.”
My mom smiles at me. “She talks about you too.”
“Should we go?” I ask, because people are filing past us, acting annoyed that we’re blocking their path. “We can talk more when we get to your apartment.”
Her apartment is across town and it takes almost an hour by cab to get there. It’s on the second floor and tiny. So tiny that it feels almost claustrophobic. The kitchen is part of the living room, with the couch just a few feet away from the tiny stove and refrigerator. Everything is so small it reminds me of the dollhouse I had as a kid.
“What do you think?” my mom asks.
“It’s nice,” I say, trying to be positive. I wouldn’t want to live here but she seems to like it and that’s all that matters.
“I know it’s small but I’m used to it now. And I don’t spend much time here. I’m always at the studio.” Her face lights up at the mention of her studio. “Let’s grab lunch and then I’ll take you over there.”
We go to lunch at a place just down the street from where she lives. The place is so crowded that people are bumping into me as I sit at the table. Living in a small, quiet town, I’m not used to all these people and all the noise and activity. It doesn’t seem to bother Kyle at all, but being from L.A., I’m sure he’s used to crowds.
“So Kyle,” my mom says, “tell me about your book.”
He gives her a summary of the story and the two of them continue to talk. I don’t interrupt because I really want them to get to know each other. I can see myself having a future with Kyle so having the two of them like each other is important to me.
Over the next couple days, my mom takes Kyle and me all over Manhattan, to tourist spots like the Statue of Liberty, but also to places that most tourists don’t go, like small, almost hidden, art galleries.
There are so many artists here. My mom fits right in. It’s like she’s starting her life over again, going back to what she always wanted to do.
Seeing how happy she is makes me feel better about her staying here after the summer. She hasn’t said that’s what she’s going to do yet but I’m going to tell her she should. I know it’s what she wants. She just won’t tell me. I think she’s waiting for my approval, which she doesn’t need. As long as she’s happy, I’ll go along with whatever she wants, even though I’ll miss her terribly.
It’s now our last night here and we go to dinner at a seafood place on the Upper West Side. It’s really expensive so I’m surprised my mom picked it. She’s making good money now, but still, this is a lot to spend on dinner.
“We’re having a guest join us,” she says as we’re looking at the menu. “He’ll be a few minutes late.”
“A guest?” I look up from the menu. “Who is it?”
“A man who wants to commission me to do a painting.”
My phone rings and I check it. Must be a wrong number. I don’t recognize it.
“Why is he coming to dinner? Wouldn’t it be better if you met with him without Kyle and me?”
“This was the only time he could meet. He’s a very busy man. We don’t have to talk business all night. I told him you and your boyfriend would be here and he was fine with that. He said it’s always nice to meet an artist’s family. He even offered to pay for dinner, which I told him he didn’t need to, but he insisted.”
My phone rings again. It’s the same number that just called. It’s a Kansas area code but nobody I know.
“What does he do for a living?” Kyle asks.
My mom doesn’t answer. She must see whoever this man is because she’s waving him over. I look back and see him walking toward us. He has dark hair and dark eyes and is wearing a black suit and tie. He looks rich, but I guess you have to be in order to commission artwork. I wonder how much he’s paying her.
My mom stands up and smiles. “Mr. Bonacci.”
