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She and mom laugh in full agreement with Mr. Levine’s assessment while Maggie and I share a look because we like boba tea.
A waitress comes over, taking our drink orders and telling us the evening’s specials, and when she gives us a moment with the menu, as I expected, Melinda tells us, “Dinner’s on me this evening, ladies. No arguments, it’s my pleasure.”
Maggie doesn’t say a word, knowing it’s futile, and I stay quiet, grateful for the gift. But Mom, who grew up with a lot of pride in self-sufficiency because of Gramma’s financial situation, opens her mouth, but then closes it and nods. “Okay. But you will be getting on my jelly and cookie list.”
“Jelly and cookie list?” Melinda repeats, and Maggie grins. “You know about this, Maggie?”
“You’re in for a treat,” Maggie says. “Mama Hill makes the most amazing plum and apricot jellies that she sends to Raven, and the Christmas cookies? They’re worth the New Year’s Resolution, I promise you.”
“We keep saying that we’re going to share them out with Ami, but other than her snagging a few if she comes over around the time the box arrives, we demolish the whole thing,” I admit, and Mom preens a little. “I hope that I can get that good someday.”
“First, you’ve got to have a kitchen capable of real cooking,” Mom points out, and Maggie and I laugh. “Raven, seriously. I’ve seen college dorm rooms with better kitchens than what you have. How you cook anything in that apartment is beyond me.”
“It does take a special kind of organization,” Melinda says with a fond smile. “Dianne, I remember my first big city kitchen, too. It was a single eye hotplate that plugged into the wall, and a microwave. Trust me, I got very good at one skillet meals. And microwave noodles.”
“Let’s order before my appetite disappears,” Maggie says, catching the waitress’s eye. “Raven keeps making these chili lime shrimp Cup Noodles that smell like death.”
“Hey!” I argue. “Those are delicious.”
Maggie eyes me comically.
The waitress returns, setting our drinks down, and we place our orders, keeping it relatively simple with a mix of beef wellington, pork chops, and two different chicken dishes. Apparently, we’re sampling the menu tonight.
Maggie holds her glass up, clearing her throat. “To good moms, better daughters, great surprises, and new jobs!”
We clink our glasses together, toasting the evening and thankful we get to spend it together.
“Yes, tell me about your new job, Raven,” Melinda says excitedly.
I give them a general rundown, keeping some of the not-so-appropriate bits to myself and focusing on the investing. “I’m learning a lot and enjoying every minute of it,” I say, and Maggie nearly chokes on herwine. She’s got to stop doing that, I think, flashing her a warning smile. She arches a brow as if to say, ‘really?’
“I’ll be honest, I don’t quite understand all the details of what you’re doing,” Mom says. “But I’m proud of you.” I swear, tears are springing up in the corners of her eyes. “When you were so driven by that little investment game back in school, I thought it was cute. You’d talk in all these acronyms I didn’t understand. But it was interesting to you, and that’s all that mattered. I certainly didn’t think it’d become this. Now I see I was wrong.”
“These kids will grow up and surprise you, won’t they?” Melinda tells mom, agreeing with her sentiment. “Maggie used to wrap up in curtains and say she was a bride, then it became a model, and finally, she started cutting my good sheets up and hand-stitching them into dresses and blouses. I nearly came unglued the first time I found strips of my favorite Sir La Table tablecloth strewn about the floor.”
Mom gasps. “The first time?”
Melinda pins her with a look. “It happened so many times, I finally had to lock the linen closet and get her a line of credit at the fabric store. Sounds ridiculous, but I think that saved me thousands of dollars over the years. And now she’s on the marketing side of fashion. I never would’ve expected that, but I’m sure Raven’s glad Maggie’s not swiping the bathroom towels to use as ‘accessories’ these days.”
I grin behind my glass, glad that Maggie’s getting a bit of a smackdown instead of me this time.
“What about your son, Mark, right?” Melinda asks Mom.
She waves her hand. “Oh, you should see that boy. He’s a foot taller than me. And you’d be shocked at how much time he spends in the garage, all sorts of little wires and doodads organized at his workstation in little boxes. Sometimes, it seems that he’s just swapping parts around from one box to another, and sometimes, he’s bent over a circuit board with his soldering gun for hours. I don’t get it, but he’s enjoying it. He’s evengetting an organization started, getting some of his classmates and friends to go out looking for these broken computers for him to fix and give away to families in need.”
“Sounds like there will be a lot of families who are going to owe Mark a big thanks when it’s all said and done,” Melinda says. “Just think, all the students who’ll have the tools to follow their dreams.”
“Yeah, we’re all pretty great,” Maggie says and the moms give her a double dose of Mom-glare. She flinches dramatically. “What? You were singing our praises a minute ago, and now I’m supposed to be all humble and modest?”
“Alright, missy. If we’re done talking about both of your meteoric rise to success in your fields, how about you spill the beans on the dating scene in the city?”
Maggie pales. “Spill the beans? Nobody says that anymore, Mom.” Melinda’s gaze holds steady, and Maggie tries another track. “The dating scene? Why? Are you leaving Dad?” Melinda and John Levine are solid as can be, and Maggie’s completely kidding. With a desperate side of deflection.
“Ooh, yes. Do tell,” Mom says eagerly, turning her attention to me. “Maggie told me about Evan last we talked… Do you want to talk about it?”
“Thanks for this,” I deadpan, promising Maggie with my eyes that I will absolutely take the last cup of coffee and not start a fresh pot next week as payback for her getting both mothers on our cases.
“Nothing really to tell right now,” I answer.
