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“You’re rude.”
“Like you’ve got room to criticize,” Nealy countered. Oh, this was too much fun.
Mat looked amused. Marigold slapped her hands on the high chair tray, demanding her sister’s attention. “Ma ma Ma!”
Lucy’s face crumpled. “I’m not your mother. She’s dead!”
Nealy glanced over at Mat, but he’d begun studying the menu. “Lucy, I’m really sorry about your mother. I lost my mother, too, when I was very young. Anytime you want to talk about her—”
“Why would I want to talk to you?” Lucy scowled. “I don’t even know you.”
“She’s got you there,” Mat said.
A gray-haired waitress appeared, pencil and pad poised for action. “Are you folks ready to order? Hey, sweetie. What a cute baby. How old is she?” Nealy had no idea.
“Forty-seven,” Lucy retorted. “She’s a dwarf.”
“Ignore her,” Mat said to the waitress. “She’s annoyed because we’re getting ready to lock her up in an institution for the criminally bad-mannered.”
The waitress nodded knowingly. “Teenage years are hard on parents.”
Mat began to correct her, then seemed to decide it wasn’t worth the effort. “I’ll have a cheeseburger and fries. And whatever you’ve got on draft.”
“That’s so not fair! “ Lucy sputtered. “How’s come you can have a beer and I can’t?”
“Because you’re too old to drink.” He discarded his menu.
Nealy smiled, then turned her attention to her own order. She realized she was famished. “I’ll have the fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans. Blue cheese dressing on the salad.”
“Bacon sandwich,” Lucy said. “No lettuce. No tomato. No mayonnaise. And white bread. And red Jell-O.”
“We only have lime.”
“That blows.”
The baby slapped the tray and let out a demanding shriek. Clearly liking the sound of her own voice, she did it again.
The waitress nodded indulgently. “What’s the little angel going to have?”
Mat snorted.
Nealy didn’t know what the baby ate other than jarred food, and she was once again forced to look to Lucy for help.
“You can mash up some of your green beans and chicken real small with a fork. Don’t put butter on the beans,” she told the waitress. “And bring her some crackers to keep her busy until the food gets here, then some applesauce.”
“How about scrambled eggs or something easy to eat like that?” Nealy said, trying to be helpful.
“Babies can’t have egg whites until they’re a year old. Don’t you know anything?”
The waitress stared at Nealy for a long time—obviously pegging her as the worst mother of the century—then she turned away.
“Buh-buh-buh!” the baby shouted at the top of her small lungs. “Gah!”
Mat looked longingly toward the counter with its row of stools.
“Don’t even think about it,” Nealy said.
“She’s so loud, “ he grumbled. “Why does she have to be so loud?”
