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“You know what.”
“I’m just getting in touch with my inner mom and interfering in your life. You do it to me all the time.”
“Don’t feel special, dear, she does that to everyone,” joked Adele.
“And you, Mom,” Frankie said in disgust.
“There’s nothing wrong with getting out and having some fun,” Adele said.
“And you need to,” Natalie continued gently. “It’s time.”
“I already have plenty of fun,” Frankie insisted.
“Not the kind of fun she’s talking about,” said Adele. “If you need inspiration, I’ll loan you my book when I’m done with it.”
“Very funny,” Frankie said, frowning at her. “The man’s way too young.”
“Age is just a number,” Adele said with a flick of her hand. “And since you don’t go for the hunks with the high numbers like Mitch, maybe someone younger will do it for you.”
No one was going to do it for Frankie, no matter what his age. She couldn’t, wouldn’t fall in love again. The risk was too great.
Tonight at La Bella Vita, it would be anchovies and arrivederci.
5
Done being a PIB, Stef texted Frankie.
PIB was right. She had, indeed, been a pain in the butt.
Want to go to Carol’s Place for happy hour sliders and peppermint martinis?
No way was Frankie telling Stef she was going out with Brock. That would be salt in the wounded pride.Can’t. Catch you at Mom’s tomorrow?
KK, came the reply.
Thank heaven Stef hadn’t gotten nosy and asked what Frankie was doing. Frankie was surprised she hadn’t, but never look a gift reindeer in the mouth.
This was probably only a short reprieve anyway—the topic of Frankie’s dinner with Brock was bound to come up. Adele loved living vicariously through her daughters. And romance novels.
“Pretend men are always better than the real deal,” she often joked, but Frankie knew that her father had been her mother’s hero. Just like Ike had been Frankie’s.
“Ike would want you to find someone,” Adele had told Frankie on more than one occasion. When she did, an image of Mitch would always spring to mind. Mitch was her buddy. Maybe, in another life, another time, he would have been her man. She’d occasionally caught herself checking out his biceps. Or his pecs. Or enjoying the deep rumble of his voice. That was simply friendly admiration, though, and she didn’t indulge those moments for long.
“Dad would have wanted you to find someone, too,” Frankie liked to shoot back, turning the spotlight off herself.
“At this age, it’s too hard to train a husband,” was her mother’s typical response. “But you’re still young.”
Frankie was hardly young. Although, she supposed age was a relative thing. To Adele and her friends, Frankie was a mere baby, with lots of time left for love. But one experience of love dissolving into loss was enough for her.
She kept on her work pants and black sweater for her dinner out with Brock and left the perfume on her dresser. She hadn’t worn it since Ike died. Other than brushing her teeth—because who wanted anyone to have bad breath—she did nothing to fix herself up. Not even any makeup refreshing or messing with her hair. To look like she’d tried would send the wrong message.
“You look great,” he said when she walked into the restaurant.
Who was he kidding? “Thanks,” she said.
He looked great, too. He wore jeans, and she could see a clean shirt underneath his jacket. She caught a whiff of cologne as she got closer.
She wasn’t about to tell him how good he looked. And smelled. It would only make him think she was interested. And she had no intention of becoming interested. Instead, she pointed to his shirt. “You’re brave, wearing a white shirt to an Italian restaurant. Or else you’re an amazingly fastidious eater.”
