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“Likewise.” The man has a slight accent.
Huh.I’m having the worst case of Déjà vu.
“Okay let’s eat. Tony, Kate, grab some plates,” my mom says. I tuck away the anxiety stabbing at me and offer Tony another passive smile.
“So,your mom tells me that you work in the city?” Tony asks.
The way he is glaring at me as I chew my sandwich, and the way his eyes pierce me, is disconcerting. I rapidly finish my mouth full of food and meet his eyes.
“Yes. I work for a large catering company there. Emporium Catering, maybe you’ve heard of them?”
I’m fishing; I know I am. The nagging pull that I’ve seen this man before is whittling away my manners and charm. He blinks a slow, irritating blink before resting his elbow on the table. His other hand finds my mom’s thigh, and I narrow my eyes at the contact.
“I have actually. I handle a lot of business in the city and many in my circle frequent their events,” he answers.
“And what exactly is your business?” I hold his gaze, and do not flinch as he twirls a ring on his middle finger. I can’t make out what it is, but it’s large and gaudy.
My mother chimes in for him. “Oh, Tony owns several restaurants in the city. We had dinner at the one; what was it? Oh, that’s right—Il meglio dell’Italia. Very delicious!”
Tony offers her a halfhearted smile that I don’t miss.
I mull over the information and realize he must have been at one of the catering events for his restaurants.
“Speaking of that, Tony brought a beautiful wine to have. Let me get that.”
To hear my mother speak about wine that doesn’t come in a box from the local gas station is astounding. In fact, the entire ‘we came to the city to eat and didn’t call you to let you know’ is festering in my thoughts. That is, until a slithering voice breaks through.
“Let me get that for you,cara,” Tony says, as he stands.
My eyes snap up to him.
Cara?
Memories play through my mind as I piece together the encounter and how I know this man.
“What floor, cara?”
That was him. That is where I know this man.
My palms are clammy, and I wipe them on my jeans, feeling short of breath. Tony is regarding me, and I swear I see a glint in his eyes. My eyes widen before I school my face, keeping it unreactive. It may be a coincidence that he was there that night. Right? Either way, I’ll see if my mom is familiar with a reason he would’ve been there. I plaster on my biggest smile.
“None for me, thank you.”
Chapter14
Kate
After the visit that dragged on for hours, Tony rang his car and left my mom’s house with a kiss and a goodnight.
Relieved to get time to decompress, I take my bag up to my old room and slug off my jeans that have been digging into my skin the entire afternoon. I slide into comfortable clothes and sigh, plopping down on the lumpy mattress from my teenage years.
This entire room is a time capsule, or lack thereof. With having to worry about my mom most of my teen years, I didn’t get to do the normal things teenagers do. My room is void of posters, notes from boys, or popular books that I couldn’t afford. There is a pickle jar on the window sill. The label on this one is tattered, the penmanship unreadable, but I’d know what this jar was for any day.
HELP FOR MOM.
I began the habit of saving my change and extra cash when I was only eleven and a half years old. My mother’s grief was neglecting our basic needs. So, I saved for new clothes, tampons, and duct tape to hold my worn shoes together. The tape was cheaper than new shoes.
I’m grateful my mother has made progress, but I still wish she would get help. There is no shame in therapy. She needs to allow the grief to come; instead of dealing with it through alcohol or men, she needs to face it head-on—feel it, accept it, and appreciate it. Appreciate that the grief and sadness are a reminder of what she had with my father. To wipe it all away would be to wipe him away.
