Love, Life and Linguine - By Melissa Jacobs Page 0,42
past makes me cranky. When Aaron suggests lunch, I say, “I have to go to work.”
“But you work at a restaurant,” he says. “So that works out well.”
Inside Café Louis, I lead Aaron to an empty booth. Christopher instantly materializes. “Lovely to see you, Mr. Schein.” He nods at me. “Mrs. Schein.”
Aaron laughs, but I don’t. “Chrissie? Menus? Please?”
We order—Aaron the chicken salad sandwich and a side of fries, me a bowl of gazpacho—then Aaron says, “What’s bothering you?”
To avoid telling him about my ex-boyfriend, I tell Aaron about my mother’s current boyfriend. “Tonight my sister-in-law is having a dinner to introduce Sid to the family.”
“What do you know about him?” Aaron asks.
“As little as possible,” I say.
“Don’t you think you should look out for your mother?” Aaron says.
“I am looking out for her,” I say.
“A lot of scam artists use the Internet to get money from little old ladies.”
“Bobbi Louis is not a little old lady,” I say.
“Still,” Aaron says. “If my father died and my mom started dating, I’d find out everything I could about her boyfriend. I would feel like it was my responsibility to protect her. Don’t you think your father would want you to protect your mother?”
Our food arrives and Aaron eats with his usual gusto. I’ve lost my appetite.
Interrogation
“Sid will be here to pick us up in fifteen minutes.” It’s the night of the family dinner, and I have made up my mind to find out more about Sid. By asking Mom.
As I finish putting on makeup, I think of all the times Mom and Dad interrogated me about new boyfriends. Who would have thought that the tables would turn?
I know I’m not the only thirty-year-old who has a newly widowed mother diving into the dating pool. I know this because I’ve read articles about it. Swinging Seniors. Bada Bing Boomers. But what about us kids? How are we to deal with our parents’ love lives?
“Mom?” I sit on her bed. “Tell me about Sid.”
“What do you want to know?”
Where to start? “He was married?”
“Of course,” Mom says. “For thirty years.”
“Where is his wife?”
“Beth Israel Cemetery,” Mom says.
So Sid is a widower. The death of a spouse. That’s something they share. Common ground. Common burial ground. “What did she die of?”
“Cancer,” Mom says.
Was it a long death or a short one? I don’t need to know that. Moving on. “Does Sid have children?”
“A son.” Mom turns to me. “He’s single. I could fix you up with him.”
“Right. That wouldn’t be weird.”
Mom laughs.
“What kind of doctor is Sid?”
“A dentist. He retired a few years ago.”
There goes the free whitening. “So Sid is financially stable?”
“Yes,” Mom says. “I don’t know the specifics, but he’s certainly comfortable.”
“Good.”
Mom says, “Any more questions, Detective?”
“I think that’s all for now,” I say. “You’re free to go. But don’t leave the country.”
Mom laughs. “Actually, we’ve been talking about leaving the country. To travel. But Sid and his wife traveled around Europe, and he’s not keen on going back to places he’s already been.”
“You’ve never been to Europe,” I say. “Doesn’t he want to go with you?”
Mom shrugs. “He’s more interested in going to the Caribbean. He wants to relax. Sit in the sun. Play golf.”
I can’t imagine my mother sitting still for more than a meal. But I don’t want to rain on her Caribbean parade, so I refrain from commenting.
“You look pretty, Mimi.” Mom runs her hand through my hair, which has grown past my shoulders. The doorbell rings.
Sidisms
Mom volunteers to drive to Allison’s. “Oh, but I need gas,” she says as if this is an insurmountable problem.
Why is Mom acting helpless? As I open my mouth to admonish her, Sid leaps to the rescue. “I’ll get you gas.”
Mom smiles gratefully. “Thank you, honey.”
Sid as he opens the passenger door for her. “Anything for you, Bobbi.”
Over Sid’s shoulder, Mom winks at me.
She just played him. Played him? No. Mom made Sid feel important. Needed. Valued. She is not helpless. She is certainly capable of getting gas for her car. Why should she if Sid will happily do it for her?
Did Mom do that with Dad? Not that I remember.
Have I ever done that with my boyfriends? Made them feel needed? I don’t know. I’m always busy proving how independent I am. Isn’t that what Nick told me? I don’t need anyone for anything?
Interesting.
Sid drives us to the highway and pulls into the first gas station we see. Mom never, ever pulls into the first gas station. She shops for gas.