Not until she’s passed at least five gas stations will she select one, even if there is a mere penny’s difference in the price. But now she nods and smiles at Sid as he parks in front of the gas pump. She offers her credit card, and Sid says, “My treat.”
“Sid is treating? Damn. We should’ve taken my car,” I say somewhat seriously.
“Oh, Mimi.” Mom laughs as if I’ve just said something terribly witty. Sid laughs with Mom, then turns off the car. He gets out of the car and stands near the pump. New Jersey is one of the last states to resist self-serve gas pumps. Attendants abound. There’s no need to get out of the car. “What’s he doing?” I ask Mom.
“Supervising,” Mom answers. “It’s an older man thing.”
Really? Dad never did that.
Everything in life should be full service, Dad said.
A gas attendant puts the nozzle into the gas tank, and Sid watches the numbers turn as the tank fills. Then he hands the attendant money and the two men nod at each other as if they have concluded a business deal. This strikes me as insane.
Back in the car, Sid says to Mom, “You’re all taken care of, sweetheart.”
“Thank you, honey.”
This is getting a little too sweet for me.
“How about a little music?” Mom suggests as Sid pulls out of the gas station.
“Your mother has a beautiful voice,” Sid tells me.
“Thank you, sweetie,” Mom says. “Yours is wonderful, too. We make beautiful music together.” With that, Mom pushes buttons on her CD player and music comes out of the speakers. Sid clears his throat and Mom waves her hands to the music. And then…
They sing. They harmonize.
I know this car has air bags. Does it have barf bags?
Meet the Children
Sarah is waiting for us on the brick steps of her home. She looks up at Sid. “What am I supposed to call you?” she asks. “I have a Grandpa and a Zadie.”
“Do you have a Sid?” he asks.
Although she accepts Sid’s initial effort, Sarah remains aloof toward him. I watch Sarah watch Sid, and part of me—the really immature part of me—is grateful that she’s on my side. The rest of the Louis family is being exceedingly polite to Sid. Even Jeremy. He must have gotten a talking-to from his wife.
As for Allison, she is in rare form. I volunteer to help her finish dinner.
“I can do it,” she insists.
“I know you can do it, Ally. But let me help. I’ll be your sous chef.”
“My what?” She looks at me with crazed eyes.
“Your assistant. Tell me what to do. You’re the boss.”
“Fine. Good. Thanks. Can you handle the macaroni and cheese? And the mashed potatoes?”
“That’s what we’re having for dinner?” I ask. “Not that I’m judging.”
Allison tosses her salad and explains. “The twins want chicken fingers and mashed potatoes. It’s easier to give them what they want then have them throw a fit in front of company. But Sarah has decided that she’s not eating brown food. So, I’m making her a hot dog and the macaroni and cheese. The grown-up food is brisket, rice pilaf, creamed spinach, and corn soufflé. Oh, crap. I forgot about the soufflé.”
Allison dives into the oven and removes the soufflé. From where I’m standing, I can see that the soufflé is burnt. Allison watches the soufflé cave in on itself. “Oh, no,” Allison says. “Now what am I going to do?”
“Here, gimme.” I take the casserole dish from her. With a serving spoon, I take off the burnt crust and scoop the rest of the soufflé into another bowl. “See? All better.”
“Thanks, Mimi.”
“Why the crazy?” I ask, hoping there’s no earth-shattering reason. “You want to tell me what’s bothering you?”
Allison exhales. “Next week, my mother is coming to visit.”
Phoebe Greene travels from Boca Raton to Jersey twice a year, during Chanukah and August. Since her husband died seven years ago, Phoebe has traveled quite a lot more than she did when Hal Greene’s work schedule kept them in Florida. Hal was a real estate developer who left his widow a comfortable fortune, which Phoebe spends freely. Almost as freely as she dispenses advice on how Allison should cook, eat, dress, and parent.
I adore Phoebe. But I have the advantage of not being her daughter.
“You have all week to worry about your mother,” I tell Allison. “Tonight, let’s worry about mine.”
Other than the corn soufflé, dinner goes perfectly. The twins tell Sid about their preschool teachers, and he tells them about his