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This particular conversation was not going to happen, not now, not ever.
“Mom…” I warned, giving her a killing glance.
“What? You did.” Mom looked at Eddie. “She was fourteen, got herself a job to help me with grocery money—”
“Mom…” I repeated, a lot louder this time.
“What?” Mom asked, a lot louder too. “You did. I’m not embarrassed to admit I fell apart when your dad left. Especially not considering I’d raised a daughter who kept the family together.” She turned to Eddie and smiled her dazzling majorette smile. “I take full credit.”
I leaned into her, what I thought was threateningly.
“Stop talking,” I demanded, still in the throes of the Bitch Strategy.
I guess I wasn’t very threatening.
“You should be proud of yourself,” Mom said to me, using her don’t-argue-with-your-mother voice.
I ignored The Voice.
“Why? Anyone would do it,” I returned.
“Lottie didn’t,” Trixie pointed out.
This was true. Lottie didn’t, mainly because I didn’t want her to. I wanted her to be able to be a kid and that’s what she was.
“Let’s change the subject,” I suggested.
“Eddie,” Ada said, forging into the breach. “What do you think of Jet’s new hairdo? Isn’t it pretty?”
I gave up trying to eat and leaned back in my seat.
“Somebody, please kill me,” I asked the ceiling.
Eddie’s hand curled around my neck and his thumb stroked me there.
Electricity shot from my neck, straight to my nipples.
Bad idea, leaning back in my seat. I forgot about Eddie’s arm.
I leaned forward immediately.
“What’s for dessert?” Trixie asked, her eyes dancing. She’d caught the hand action. “I hope it’s lemon meringue pie.”
I could have shot myself.
I’d made chocolate sheet cake. Trixie loved my chocolate sheet cake, demanded that I make it for her birthday every year. I should have bought something Sara Lee.
“Chocolate sheet cake,” Mom announced.
Trixie’s eyes got huge and she turned to Eddie. “You’ll ask her to marry you after you taste her chocolate sheet cake.”
I threw my chair back, got up and grabbed my plate. “I’m done. Anyone else done?”
Mom looked up at me. “Jet, sit down. No one else is done.”
“Then I’ll go make more iced tea.” And I ran.
My fucking mother.
