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The girl in the tight dress is made up more for an Instagram shoot than Sunday brunch with family. But she has a nice smile and leans forward eagerly to greet me. Or maybe she’s just glad to get a break from Shelly.
I nod at Shelly and shake hands with Janine.
“Nice to meet you, Janine. How do you and Joey know each other?” I ask politely.
“Nice to meet you too.” Janine giggles. “I work at Jessica’s Tavern in North Falls. Joey’s a regular.”
Okay, Joey’s new girlfriend is a stripper. “That’s great!” I reply.
“Blaze, honey,” Shelly says loudly, “Walden was telling me how you think it’s all his fault that the fire station wants the Addison but—”
If I don’t cut her off now I’ll be standing here for the next twenty minutes. “Hey, let me go put this down—” I heft the pan of buns, “and say hi to Mom and Marty, and I’ll be right back, okay?”
I have no intention of being right back. I wouldn’t mind chatting with the stripper, but I can only take Shelly in short bursts. I smile brightly and turn into the kitchen without waiting for a reply.
“Blaze!” Mom throws her arms into the air, splattering waffle batter, then wraps me in a big hug. “I’m so glad you could make it. And oh! Those buns look amazing!”
“Thanks, Mom.”
She steps back and turns her attention to the batter she’s mixing. Even now in her early fifties, Mom is slender and delicate-looking, with beautiful skin, long hair, and big Barbie-doll eyes. I inherited her blue eyes, full lips, good skin, and wavy blond hair.
And I’m not complaining. She’s a beautiful woman, and I’m lucky I got that much. But I do sometimes wonder why the gods of genetics stopped there. Why couldn’t I have gotten her delicate little figure as well?
Today, Mom is wearing a long, flowy cotton skirt and a beaded sari-style top that shows off a fair amount of midriff, more than you’d normally see on a 54-year-old woman. Or anyone not on a beach, really. Long beaded earrings brush her slender shoulders and the bangles on her wrists clank together as she mixes the batter.
My stepfather turns away from the stove, where he’s been assigned bacon-frying duty, long enough to give me a kiss on the cheek. “Good to see you, sweetheart. How’s the Honda treating you?”
Marty owns a used car lot. Cars are his number-one favorite topic.
“It’s running beautifully. Thanks, Marty.”
He grins. “I knew it would be a good fit. Classy and reliable, just like you.”
My stepdad’s compliments lean toward the automotive. “Thanks, Marty,” I say again.
Marty, to his credit, isn’t the slimy used-car sales guy stereotype. He really wants people to love their cars, to the point that if you don’t know him, it can come across as a little weird. He can’t remember birthdays or where he put his checkbook, but he’ll run into people who bought cars from him ten years ago and remember the year, make, and model of their car.
And if you’ve never met him before? His way of making small talk is to try to match you with a car.
But I can’t deny he makes a decent living as a salesman—thank goodness, because my mother is useless with money—and his passion for matching people with cars is probably part of it.
I look around. “Where’s Walden?” I’ve been worried that it’ll be awkward having to socialize with the mayor who’s holding my expansion plans hostage, but it’s more nerve-wracking not knowing when he’s going to jump out and surprise me.
“He ran out to buy some more syrup after Travis spilled most of it on Joey,” Marty explains. I wonder if Walden grabbed the errand as an excuse to avoid me. “He’s driving the Camry more these days,” Martin adds. “Better gas mileage than the Taurus.”
“Did you meet Joey’s new girlfriend?” Mom breaks in. “She’s an absolute darling.”
Mom is very positive about all of Joey’s girlfriends. She’s very positive about everyone, even in the face of incontrovertible evidence that it isn’t deserved. But Janine seems nice enough. She might be a good fit for Joey. Joey, despite not being related to my mother genetically, is the most like her. Sweet, outgoing… and, okay, not all that bright.
“She seems very nice,” I reply truthfully.
Marty looks over his shoulder. “Your mom has some news, did she tell you?”
I look at Mom, who smiles proudly. “Your friend Bailey sold a couple of my encaustic paintings,” she tells me.
“Oh, Mom, that’s great!”
I’m happy for both my mom and for Bailey. Mom’s very talented and creative, but she’s never been good at sticking to anything long enough to see any traction with it. There was the beaded jewelry phase, the mosaics made of smashed dinnerware phase, the silk flower phase, the historical costume phase, and a mercifully brief chainsaw sculpture phase.
