“Wonderful.” My mother claps her hands together with a little too much glee.
“So, Linda, tell me about yourself.”
“It’s Lyndi,” I correct her.
Mom taps her forehead with her finger. “Sorry, I don’t know why I keep doing that.”
I know why.
Lyndi must sense my anger rising because she shoots a look my way, instantly silencing me with the confidence in her eyes. “Not much to tell. I work online and run a small Etsy shop while raising Crew.”
“A single mother. A noble calling,” Mom says, and for the first time tonight her tone isn’t condescending. “Any family in the area?”
Lyndi clears her throat and a flash of panic rises in me. I forgot to ask more questions about her family. “They’re in Tucson. I think.”
She thinks?
“And do they help out with Crew?”
Lyndi’s lips press into a firm line. “No.”
I knew her dad was gone, but I figured she still had someone. She doesn’t haveanysupport?
Mom does her best to frown, but the Botox puts up a good fight. “That’s a shame. He’s a beautiful boy.” I’m surprised by my mother’s genuine care. But if anyone can worm their way into my mother’s heart, it’s an innocent child.
Lyndi swallows and nods. “He is.”
Crew’s nose crinkles and beet juice spews across the table. Purple liquid stains the pristine white tablecloth and Crew sticks his tongue out, voicing his dislike with spluttering noises.
“That’s disgusting!” He spits again.
The boy has timing. I’ll give him that.
“Crew!” Lyndi grabs his cloth napkin and wipes his mouth. There’s no hope for the napkin or tablecloth. “That is not nice. We don’t say things like that, and we don’t spit.”
Collins looks down from the other end of the table. “That’s okay. I don’t like them either, buddy.” Thank goodness for that woman.
“That’s enough. Stop complaining,” my father interrupts. “Your mother slaved over this meal all day.”
I choke on a piece of turkey, and Jeremy does his best not to smile. My mother has never cooked a day in her life. I’m not even sure she knows where the kitchen is.
“Oh stop it, Phil.” My mother rolls her eyes. Then the conversation comes around to the elephant in the room, or rather at the table.
“Sophie,” Mom addresses her, “tell us about all the work you’re doing for Mayor Brown’s campaign.”
She’s a secretary to the mayor. Hardly anything noteworthy. Not one person wants to listen to Sophie brag about the local government officials she’s been schmoozing at work, but we are all tortured with it for the next ten minutes.
“It really is amazing, all the work he’s doing, especially for the kids.” Sophie looks right at me as she says the last part.
“The kids are the future.” My mother nods along with her.
“Which is why we are having another one,” Collins interrupts. She never could go long periods without talking.
My mother’s spoon freezes over her bowl of never-ending soup. “What? You’re having another baby? When?”
“September.”
“September? That’s in five months!” She doesn’t stop to let Collins get a word in. “When were you going to tell me? I’m your mother. I should be the first to know.”
