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“Shh!” My mother shushes me. I’m 32, and that sound runs up my back the way it did when I was five. I look at the waiter and shout, “Can I get the left side of the appetizer menu for the table and two shots of Jameson?”
“On the rocks?”
“Nope. One glass, straight up. Thanks.” My dad glances up and shakes his empty Scotch glass at the waiter and nods for another.
“Kat, that’s too much food. It’s embarrassing.” I ignore her.
“And can you wrap up a couple of like whole chickens and all the sides to go? I have to get out of here.” I show my phone to the waiter and his eyebrows hit his hairline.
“You need cake. And shit ton of red meat. Be right back.”
My mother frets. “What are you doing? What’s happening here?” My father engages her in something about the house and I slink back in my reprieve.
I rub my finger over the resin cast ring with a small picture of Zelda from the video game in it. I thought he was a safe choice, some one to have and to hold. People liked him well enough. There was a time he was dirty in bed. Now I can’t stay up long enough for him to finish Call of Duty so I call my own duty most nights.
During the wait, BT, before text, my mother took the opportunity to remind me my ovaries were past peak, smile lines were on their way then gifted me thinning hair shampoo and a lecture on the proper way to wrap a present.
The food arrives quickly. My father dips into the oysters immediately and states, “Well, there slugger, it seems your mister isn’t showing up.”
And now we usher in the AC era. After Chad. “No he’s not.”
It feels a bit like when you burn yourself on the stove and there’s a moment where you think you’re okay until the searing pain sets in. Whenever someone’s in shock, they throw that silver space blanket on them. I’m going to need one hell of a space blanket to shield me from this next moment.
I clap my hands together and the stupid shirt pops up. Whatever. I have a stomach. “Mom, Dad. I’ve got some exciting news. We’re breaking up.”
“Kat, what did you do?”
My father reaches over and takes my hand. I push my bottom lip out and shake my big loopy curls behind me.
“When did this happen, sugar smack? Are you okay?”
“Just now, Daddy.” He squeezes my hand and my mom pats it away.
“Don’t indulge her, she’s way too old for coddling. I’m sorry it ended. Do you have any prospects?” Her eyes light up and I look around the room for validation she’s insane.
I slide my phone across to her. “I know, why don’t you whip me up a Tinder profile and I’ll see if I can drum up a hook-up by dessert.”
“Don’t be snide.”
I lean forward. “It happened six minutes and two Jamesons ago. Give me a moment. Order some salmon, relax. Please. I’m begging you.”
My dad looks up from the roasted bone marrow. “Hard agree with our daughter. Stand down, hot stuff.” He kisses my mom on the cheek. “Seriously, Kat, you okay?”
“Sure, Dad.”
“Liar.” He winks at me, gets up, and pulls me into a hug. He slips a wad of cash into my pocket.
He whispers, “Mad money. I’ll wine and dine that woman and we’ll stay in the city tonight. Go home. Call your sisters and figure this out. And for what it’s worth, I can honestly say Chad was the most boring person I’ve ever met. And don’t forget we used to be friends with Alan Greenspan. I support you, but could the next guy be interesting?” I hug my dad harder.
My mom flattens her hands on the table as waiters deliver more appetizers and several shopping bags full of food. She looks flustered from all the food surrounding her, and it’s making everything a little better.
I kiss her on the cheek. “You’re the most consistent thing in my life.”
“That’s lovely.”
“Context clues, Mom. Read the room. Love you both,” I say as I walk out with three shopping bags, a box of cake, and my dad’s mad money. Not the worst exit I’ve ever made.
On the drive home I fire off a 911 voice text to the girl group chat.
