needed to send out a search party,” Evelyn said curtly.
I braced for Kristen’s snarky retort, but to my surprise she didn’t reply. Instead she stiffly kissed her mom hello.
“And where is Tyler?” Evelyn gave Kristen an air-kiss. “I hope we’re not going to be late. You know how I hate being late.” She glanced at a diamond watch.
Kristen’s eyes flicked nervously to me. “Actually, Tyler won’t be coming. We broke up.”
Evelyn’s lips pressed into a line. She waited a long beat before she replied with a cool, “I see.” She turned to me. “Joshua, would you care to join us? Our reservation is for three.”
Kristen spoke quickly. “He has a lot of orders—”
“I believe this was my brunch invitation,” Evelyn said. “You’ve deprived us of our threesome and failed to inform me in advance so I could make the proper arrangements to fill the seat. I’d like to invite Joshua, and it’s my invitation to extend.”
Her tone had a finality to it. I looked at Kristen. She’d gone totally silent.
Kristen, silent.
This alarmed me more than I could comprehend.
Something protective told me not to leave her alone with this woman. This Tyler thing seemed to be some sort of hot button between them, and I got the impression a buffer was needed. Maybe that’s why she asked. The empty chair might piss Evelyn off and just make things worse.
“Sure, I’d love to come.”
Alarm ripped across Kristen’s face.
I looked down at my clothes. “I’m not sure I’m dressed for it though.”
I didn’t know where we were going, but both Kristen and Evelyn were in dresses and heels and I was in jeans and a Burbank Fire T-shirt. I didn’t have anything else to change into.
Evelyn sighed. “You’ll fit right in with all the other underdressed millennials there, I suppose. I’m sorry Kristen didn’t make it possible for me to give you more notice.” She turned for the door. “Oh, Kristen? You really should put your trash cans where they can’t be seen from the street. Curb appeal matters, dear.”
Evelyn came in a black Town Car with a driver. On the twenty-minute trip to the restaurant, she picked lint off Kristen’s dress and commented on her damp hair. In between the nitpicking, I learned she was a tenured law professor at UCLA and a judge.
Man, she was uptight. I wondered if she ever hugged Kristen as a child. I couldn’t picture it. I couldn’t even imagine her smiling. Come to think of it, she didn’t even have laugh lines. Just two deep wrinkles between her eyebrows where she drew them down.
Kristen seemed paralyzed. It was the weirdest thing. I kept looking at her, trying to figure out what was wrong with her. She reminded me of a cornered animal so frightened that its fight-or-flight response had shut off and it just sat there, frozen and terrified.
The restaurant was in Simi Valley, and I was definitely underdressed. The other millennials were no help. They were in sport coats and button-downs. A hostess led us to a white linen-covered table with a small vase of roses on it by the window.
“We’ll have menus,” Evelyn said to the hostess in a bored tone. “I don’t trust buffets,” she explained. “Too many people pawing at it.”
Kristen and I shared a look. The buffet looked incredible. We both wanted to hit that up. It had a damn ice sculpture on it and a Bloody Mary bar. A fat prime rib sat on the carving table and iced crab legs and shrimp flanked the omelet station.
But I didn’t want to be rude. I was a guest. And Kristen didn’t look like she planned on arguing either, so we took our menus.
I don’t know why Evelyn let Kristen have one though, because when the server came, Evelyn ordered for her—eggs Benedict. Kristen didn’t comment, but I happened to know she hated poached eggs. She didn’t like runny yolks. And she definitely didn’t like being told what to eat.
I didn’t get this dynamic at all. Kristen was sitting there, but she was nowhere to be seen. Her flame was completely extinguished, like her mom drained all the fire right out of her.
Our drinks were delivered. I sipped an orange juice, and Kristen took a long swallow of her mimosa.
Evelyn pulled artificial sweetener from her purse and squeezed it into her coffee. “So, Kristen. What did you do to run off Tyler?”
What the fuck? My hand tightened around my glass.
Kristen carefully set down her champagne flute. “How do you know it wasn’t