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“I’m so excited to talk to you about your work.”
“Seriously. She’s talked nonstop since she met you last night,” Ted says with a chuckle.
“I was wondering if you would like to talk to my students?”
Avery nods as if she’s not surprised and like this happens every day. “I could do that. What’s the class?”
“Social Media and the generational divide.”
“Ah, yeah. I spoke to a similar class at the University of Texas last year. What do you want me to talk about?”
“I think discussing the piece about elderly people and social media.”
“That is something I know well.”
The report on her said she wrote a few papers, but I had no idea she was so sought after.
“I take it you’re working with the LOLs on that?”
As my mother and Avery go into their version of nerdy—talking about sociology—I shared an amused look with Ted.
“I think the gals are just a little smarter than we are.”
Avery glanced over at Ted. “There are different kinds of smart. Like Fritz, he has a hair trigger sense or something like that. He said he knew when things would be bad when they went out for the day.”
“Went out for the day?” Ted asks.
“Oh. Sorry. I forget that not everyone knows my whole life story. My brother is retired Army.”
“He’s one of the owners of Camos and Cupcakes in San Antonio.”
“Oh, my, I love that place. I don’t get into San Antonio often, but I always go over there,” my mother says. “And that little bookshop across the hall?”
Avery notices that Ted and I are being left out of the conversation.
“They’re housed in a historic home in the King William district in San Antonio.” She looks at my mother. “EJ is the owner of the bookshop. She’s engaged to one of the other owners of C and C, Harry.”
“Is he the big baker?”
“Oh, no, that’s Ed.” She sighs.
“What was that?” I ask.
“What?”
“That sigh.”
“Well, it’s Ed.” And that’s all she says. Like that breathy little sigh explains everything.
“And?”
“He’s like six-five, drives a motorcycle, has tattoos, and bakes. They call him the Ginger Jesus because he can create happiness with sugar and flour. I think that every heterosexual woman would sigh over that.” She smiles at me. “Don’t worry. He’s older and married to his Sunshine.”
“Sunshine?” my mother asks. I glance at her, and her eyes are dancing.
“His wife, Allison. He calls her his Sunshine. Isn’t that sweet?”
Before anyone can answer her, our food arrives. We all dig in, and even though I had breakfast, I am famished again. Avery’s the same, although you couldn’t order more different meals. I have a salad with grilled chicken, and Avery orders a patty melt with fries, again.
