Now Eddie was doing favors for my friends. I’d never be able to pay him back and get him out of my life.
“Ada’s addicted to those cop shows,” Mom explained.
Eddie smiled just as the buzzer rang.
“I’l get it,” I said because Mom was transfixed watching Eddie smile.
Trixie was at the door, “Hey Jet. Sorry I’m late.” I was just relieved there was no overnight bag.
“We’ve already started eating,” I told her.
She wasn’t listening, she was walking into the dining area and beaming at Eddie.
“Eddie! Great to see you again. Hey Ada.” She sat down, poured herself some iced tea and, without further ado, started to pile food on her plate.
“Eddie’s going to arrange a tour of a police station for me,” Ada announced. “They’re gonna take my prints and everything!”
“That’s fantastic,” Trixie replied, then turned to Mom,
“Have you packed?”
I looked from one to the other as Mom nodded.
“Packed?” I asked.
Trixie looked at me.
“Yeah, your Mom’s spending the night with me.” I closed my eyes and silently asked God, Why me?
God had no reply.
The table was created for four, five was a tight fit.
Eddie’s arm slid along the back of my chair, even as he continued to eat. I looked at him and realized he was having the time of his life.
He met my gaze.
“I really don’t like you,” I whispered.
His dimple came out.
“What was that?” Mom asked.
“Nothing,” I muttered and started to shovel food into my mouth.
“Jet, this meal is wonderful,” Trixie said, digging in. Then she looked at Eddie, “Jet’s an excel ent cook.”
“The best,” Mom chimed in.
“You should taste her meatloaf. Never had meatloaf as good as Jet’s,” Ada added.
Dear Lord.
Meatloaf was meatloaf.
Yeesh.
“And she makes lemon meringue pie, from scratch, even the crust. Her crusts are light and flaky. You’ve never tasted anything so good,” Trixie said.
“Always been a good cook. She’s got the gift,” Mom put in.
I wondered how rude it would be if I got up and started walking, and didn’t stop until I hit Vancouver.
“She’s a great kid,” Trixie went on, winking at me.
“Couldn’t have asked for better. Got great grades, never got into trouble. Even when her Dad left, Jet kicked in…
took care of everyone,” Mom said.
I froze.
This particular conversation was not going to happen, not now, not ever.
“Mom…” I warned, giving her a kil ing glance.
“What? You did.” Mom looked at Eddie, “She was fourteen, got herself a job to help me with grocery money…”
“Mom…” I repeated, a lot louder this time.
“What?” Mom said, a lot louder too, “You did. I’m not embarrassed to admit I fel apart when your Dad left.
Especial y not considering I’d raised a daughter who kept the family together.” She turned to Eddie and smiled her dazzling majorette smile, “I take ful credit.” I leaned into her, what I thought was threateningly.
“Stop talking,” I demanded, stil in the throes of the Bitch Strategy.
I guess I wasn’t very threatening.
“You should be proud of yourself,” Mom said to me, using her “don’t argue with your mother” voice I ignored The Voice.
“Why? Anyone would do it,” I returned.
“Lottie didn’t,” Trixie pointed out.
This was true; Lottie didn’t, mainly because I didn’t want her to. I wanted her to be able to be a kid and that’s what she was.
“Let’s change the subject,” I suggested.
“Eddie,” Ada said, forging into the breach, “what do you think of Jet’s new hair-do? Isn’t it pretty?” I gave up trying to eat and leaned back in my seat.
“Somebody, please kil me,” I asked the ceiling.
Eddie’s hand curled around my neck and his thumb stroked me there.
Electricity shot from my neck, straight to my ni**les.
Bad idea, leaning back in my seat. I forgot about Eddie’s arm.
I leaned forward immediately.
“What’s for dessert?” Trixie asked, her eyes dancing.
She’d caught the hand action. “I hope it’s lemon meringue pie.”
I could have shot myself.
I’d made chocolate sheet cake. Trixie loved my chocolate sheet cake, demanded that I make it for her birthday every year. I should have bought something Sara Lee.
“Chocolate sheet cake,” Mom announced.
Trixie’s eyes got huge and she turned to Eddie, “You’l ask her to marry you after you taste her chocolate sheet cake.”
I threw my chair back, got up and grabbed my plate.
“I’m done. Anyone else done?”
Mom looked up at me. “Jet, sit down. No one else is done.”
“Then I’l go make more iced tea.”
And I ran.
My f**king mother.
And yes, it was definitely an f-word moment.
I hid in the kitchen, making more iced tea and getting the coffee ready for dessert. I also got out the dessert plates and forks. I also cleaned the pots, rinsed my plate and cutlery, put them in the dishwasher and wiped down the counters.
Then Trixie came in, bearing used dishes.
She glared at me.
“That was rude.”
I didn’t care if it was rude. Rude was good. I was embracing rude with everything I had.
“You don’t understand what’s going on,” I told her.
“So explain it to me,” she shot back.
Since I didn’t understand what was going on either, I couldn’t.
“Just trust me, this is not what it seems.”
“Mm-hmm,” she said, al pissed off and not believing me, not even a little bit. She put the dishes in the sink and then a hand to her hip.
I was surrounded by women who could pul off the attitudinal hand on hip. Again, I had to ask, why me?
She went on, “From where I sat, it seemed like he was very interested in every word that was said. From where I sat, he seemed very interested in watching you the whole time we talked. From what I can see, he seems like a nice guy.”
“How can you tel ? You haven’t let him get a word in edgewise,” I said.
She started to look uncomfortable then hid it.
“Maybe we were laying it on a bit thick.”