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Great, I’ve made her self-conscious.
“She’s super easygoing,” I say, even though it’s a whopper of a lie.
Mom weaves through the stalls like a horse aiming for best in show, quick and determined.
Panic radiates off Tillie.
“I’ll keep it short,” I assure her.
“Maybe I should browse the market.” Tillie slowly sidesteps away from me.
“Good luck,” I say, but then it’s too late. Mom has both arms around my neck, dragging my forehead down for a kiss. We rock back and forth, and I peer over her shoulder at the market’s inhabitants, washing over with both belonging and embarrassment at how long it goes on.
She finally releases me and turns to Tillie. “Who’s this?”
Tillie has made it several feet away, but she halts, her panicked eyes meeting mine.
“Mom, this is Tillie, a bartender from the States. We’re having a cocktail challenge at the hut tonight and are shopping for some fruit.”
Mom moves in to hug Tillie, but I take her arm and turn her away. “Mom. You don’t want to leave your stall too long. The tour bus will drop off passengers any minute.”
Mom plants her feet, then grips my chin so that I look her right in the eye. This is a common tactic, and those warm brown irises are so familiar to me that I could have painted them from memory. “Gabriel Adam Landers, are you tryin’ to get rid of me?”
I spot Pete and his brother hiding smirks behind their hands. Yeah, she just used the middle name of a twenty-eight-year-old to scold me.
It’s Tillie who steps up. “I’m afraid it’s me who’s got Gabe in a rush. He has to open his bar, but he graciously offered to bring me into town to grab a few things I need for the cocktail challenge.”
Mom releases me to consider Tillie. She lifts a pair of silver-rimmed reading glasses from the chain around her neck, then extracts a folded piece of paper from her pocket and turns it around.
It’s the flyer for the booze brawl. Great.
“Is this the girl from Georgia?” She peers at it. “The hottie drinkslinger?”
I let out a long rush of air. I purposefully left out the specific state Tillie’s from when I introduced her.
Tillie may have tried to sneak off earlier, but now she’s standing her ground. “It’s a rather colorful description made by Gabe’s friend.” She lifts her chin. She’s not letting anyone judge her, not even my mother.
Mom takes Tillie in. “I would have gone with ‘spritely,’ or maybe ‘fairy goddess.’”
Tillie’s shoulders relax. “I like those better.”
There’s another long appraisal, but Tillie is significantly less defensive. She and Mom seem to come to some understanding, and Mom tucks the flyer away. “What are you buyin’?”
“Some coconuts to use as cups. And pineapple.” I take a step back to show Mom that we have to move on.
But Mom threads her arm through Tillie’s. “Come with me to look at candles. I have one to bring good luck for the challenge.”
And here we go. Mom’s candles don’t have regular scents like vanilla or lavender. They have purposes. And so many f-bombs.
Fuck cancer. Fuck bad bosses. Fuck your ex.I’m guessing the candle she’s going to show Tillie isFuck bad juju.
I draw in a breath. It will be fine. Tillie can handle it. And even if she doesn’t, in a couple of days, Tillie will be gone and so will this Mother lode.
Pete sidles up. “You got yourself a lady?” He grins, showing a mouth of gold teeth.
“No. I have a rival in a cocktail challenge. I’m going to need ten coconuts, made for drinking. Can you do that for me?”
He nods. “You want ’em right now? That’ll take a minute.” He whistles at his brother. “Hey, Bodeen, start chopping.” He turns back to me. “Ya want the water out of ’em?”
