Crave: A BWWM Romance (5 page)

T
hat fact
that my mother was treating me to brunch at the The Honey Dew did little to assuage my frustration. My morning with Cole stuck like a burr in my brain. It wasn’t all bad though. He definitely knew how to make me feel good. But last night couldn’t happen again. It was unprofessional and not the kind of foot I wanted to start on with my new restaurant. Honestly, who would take me seriously as a businesswoman if word got out that I slept with my contractor? Especially since said “sleeping” happened before the work was finished. I took solace in the fact that there was only one week left and then I would never have to see him again. Affair over. Problem solved.

I was so distracted by my own tumultuous choices, that I barely had time to wonder
why
my mother was treating me to brunch at The Honey Dew. Sure, it was a terrific restaurant. The décor gave me the warm-fuzzies, which is to say that every time I walked inside, I wanted to curl up on one of their couches and fall asleep. It was the kind of homespun coziness that you might expect on a winter night by a fire, hot cocoa in one hand and a cheesy book in the other. Of course I never got that kind of coziness at home. My apartment didn’t even have its own washer and dryer let alone a fireplace. That’s why I came here.

All of the seating took the form of couches or easy chairs. There were even some dining and rocking chairs for those who preferred a firmer back. Each “table” was simply a collection of these furniture pieces around a low coffee table. This might make eating difficult if the cuisine were your typical brunch fare. However, The Honey Dew served brunch and lunch tapas. Little bacon wrapped deviled eggs and miniature crepe pockets stuffed with ricotta and ham were among the “finger brunch” selections served in the classic Spanish style. What’s more, they had a bloody Mary menu that went on for three pages. I had no idea there were so many different ways to have a bloody Mary! As I eased into one corner of a love seat, the first to arrive as per usual, I made a mental note to discuss drink inventions with Sonia. Maybe we could work something out on the bloody Mary front for our own bar.

My Mom hated this place. Ever the purist, she preferred old-fashioned diners. If it couldn’t easily be confused for something in a movie about the 60s and if there wasn’t at least an inch of grease on every observable surface, then it wasn’t good enough for Mom. Whenever we planned to have brunch and I suggested The Honey Dew, she would turn her nose up at it, complaining that the people there weren’t nearly as friendly as the ones at her diner. She’d make the claim that all the hoity-toity restaurants, gifted to the city through the wonders of gentrification, lacked the openness of their predecessors. Louise Hart was always lamenting the loss of a Boston that “knew how to be your friend”. When I told her about my plans to open a restaurant, I’d promised her that I would make mine the friendliest joint in the neighborhood. She liked that; she even promised to swing by every once in a while.

So it’s no surprise that I was not on my A-game this morning. My mother invited me to The Honey Dew? She’s going to open her wallet for a restaurant whose only courtesies are to ask her how her day is and take her order? Not to mention her insistence that this happen now, not tomorrow, not this evening, not even an hour from now. If I hadn’t been wrapped up thinking about how much I never wanted to see Cole’s gorgeous ass ever again, I might have been worried that she was preparing to tell me some very bad news.

Kaila was the next to arrive. When she saw me curled up at one of the “tables” she smirked.

“Mom’s the last to arrive as per fucking usual,” She sighed as she nestled into a cushy armchair.

“Yep.” I was still browsing the bloody Mary catalogue, trying to decide what drink most complimented my shame.

“Wonder what’s got her all hot and bothered. I was in the middle of my Saturday morning yoga routine when she called. She kept
insisting
that we have breakfast at nine. I’m just thinking ‘please mom, let me squeeze in a sun salutation at least.’”

“I know what you mean.”

“What were you in the middle of?”

I paused for a moment. I should have prepared for this question. Flustered, I said the first thing that came to mind. “Shopping”.

Kaila cocked an eyebrow in my direction. “Shopping,” she repeated in disbelief. “Between seven and nine on a Saturday?”

“Grocery shopping.” I corrected. “You know the fridge needed a facelift.”

“Didn’t we go grocery shopping just before your big dinner? What did you smoke last night to make you clear out your whole fridge.”

“Oh I mean, I just forgot some things. That’s all.”

“Alright.”

Kaila gave me a long look. She was not at all satisfied with my responses. I tried to prepare myself for the inevitable questions. The best I would be able to do was to deny everything and hope she got bored.

She didn’t ask any questions though. Instead, my sister just looked me up and down, probably scanning for evidence of some kind, while she waved the waiter down and ordered a mimosa with lime. I took that opportunity to ask for a Mary Shiraz, which the menu informed me was with cinnamon, a hint of Shiraz, and a strawberry spear.

As we waited for our drinks, Kaila gazed wistfully around the restaurant. Mostly she seemed to eyeball other drinks. It was Kaila who had famously said that the beauty of the brunch cocktail is that it’s never too early to start.

‘I can’t believe you got Mom to agree to come here again.” She finally interrupted our awkward silence.

“Me? No, this place was Mom’s idea.”

“Excuse me?” Now I had Kaila’s full attention, even more so than when we were discussing my morning activities.

“No joke. She
insisted
.”

“God. I hope everything’s all right? Oh no, you don’t think she’s going to tell us she has cancer do you?”

“Jesus!
Now
I’m thinking that. Thanks Kaila.”

We were saved from further conjectures by a familiar face calling to us from across the house floor. My mother was in top form, waving manically at us and smiling giddily. I could tell she was ecstatic to see us. The whole restaurant could. I didn’t care though, I was suddenly just happy that she didn’t look like a woman preparing to tell her children she had cancer.

Louise Hart was quite the specimen. She strode to the table in gray leggings and a long white tank top that covered her to her thighs. Over that, she wore a sheer, flowy top with long sleeves. She loved to wear white, claiming it was 'her color'. And, in this case, it was hard to argue. Her skin glowed like copper against the snowy shirt. She was certainly not one to dress her age, but she also took better care of herself than a lot of women in their 50s. I was actually relieved to see her so dressed up. With Mom, it was usually cotton pants and artsy vests or loose sleeveless dresses. She constantly looked like she belonged in Harvard Square, selling homemade copies of Georgia O’Keefe paintings and throwing in a booklet of her poetry for free. Sometimes it was hard to look at her and believe that she ever raised two kids by herself. That must have required of her a level of practicality that her body and mind have been rebelling against ever sense. She did all right though. Kaila was a lawyer and I a chef. Somehow, after my father left when I was still a baby, my mother managed to make a home that worked, even on her meager museum salary. I supposed I shouldn’t knock cotton pants.

Mom plopped down on the other end of my love seat, her legs flopping into a cross-legged position the way they always did when she wanted to add a little flare to an occasion. One wrist hung out of her knee while her other hand was at her ear, fiddling with her diamond earrings.

“Isn’t this nice?” She said, as if we all didn’t already know that she would much rather be at Ruby’s in Somerville, ordering the pumpkin pancakes and slathering them with syrup.

“It is.” Kaila said pointedly. She clearly wanted Mom to get to the point.

“The dinner last night went very well.” I said. Kaila glared at me for stalling, but I didn’t care. We were at The Honey Dew. I wanted to order before Mom got to the point lest she change her mind. I’d been inwardly drooling over those pineapple and cream cheese stuffed French toast squares ever since I eyed them on the menu. Crave was going to have to consider getting into the brunch business.

“Oh that’s terrific. I’m so glad! Oh honey, I hope you know how proud I am of you.”

We continued to exchange pleasantries while Mom’s drink arrived and we placed an order for about six different tapas that we wanted to try. All thoughts of that morning had been temporarily evicted from my brain in favor of delicious cream cheese filled and bacon wrapped thoughts. But really, aren't those the best kinds of thoughts?

Once the order was placed, Kaila steered the conversation back to my mother, determined to have her out with it. “So. Mom. Enjoying drinks at your favorite brunch spot?”

“Oh I know. You don’t have to be so snarky about it.” Mom rolled her eyes. “Seeing as you’re eager to know, and I’m eager to tell you, let’s get down to it.”

She paused for dramatic effect and took a sip of her guava Bellini. “Anyway,” she continued, enjoying our frustration. “You both know I just got back from my trip.”

“Yes we know!” Kaila howled. “You’re obligatory mid-life crisis or whatever. Don’t tell me you lost all of your money.”

“No Kaila. And there’s nothing ‘mid-life’ about this. I met someone.

She paused for dramatic effect.

“In
Vegas
?” I asked.

“Was he dressed like Elvis?” Kaila asked.

“Yes to you Moneka. No to you Kaila.” She pinched her face at my sister's teasing. “ For your information, he was dressed in a smart suit. Armani.”

“Oh, good for you Mom. He’s got bucks.” Kaila looked genuinely impressed. She raised his mimosa and announced, “to Mom and her clearly not-so-degenerate gambler.”

I was less impressed than Kaila. Of course I wanted my mom to be happy, and she
did
look happy. But she's always been one to dive head first into things and that usually involved her getting hurt. I decided to be happy that she had a good time in Vegas and cautiously optimistic about the rest. “Cheers,” I offered.

“So, tell us more about him.” Kaila leaned forward and dug one hand under her chin. “Was this a one time thing or are you seeing Mr. Millions again?”

“Oh, I’ll be seeing
a lot
of him.” A Cheshire cat smile spread across her face, giving me a chill.

I didn’t like the way she stressed “a lot”. There was definitely something else here that we weren’t getting. I wished she’d just be out with it.

“What do you mean?” I asked. “Does he live in Boston?”

“Yes. On the North Shore actually. And he’s not a millionaire. But he has made a comfortable life for himself as an architect.”

“Fancy
and
smart.” Kaila was loving every bit of this.

It was always like Kaila to encourage our mother and than turn around and complain about her to me. We both agreed that she should be more grounded. She should try to think more practically and stop wasting her money and her time on frivolous pursuits that ultimately came to nothing. Kaila would commiserate with me and we would congratulate ourselves on our practicality. But Kaila secretly loved it. She lived vicariously through our mother so she could pretend that she was still practical and feel good about herself. Sometimes I thought that when she encouraged me to take risks, like hook up with Cole, it was only so she could do the same thing. If Kaila found out about the other night, she’d just turn to Sonia and say, “you know, this is why you’ve got to keep a level head”.

“So are we going to get a chance to meet him?” I asked. Trying to be the reasonable one at the table.

“Of course! In fact, I was hoping you’d meet him on Monday.”

“Oh.” I was taken aback by such a specific answer. “Mom you know this is Hell week for me. The restaurant opens in less than a week and there’s still so much to take care of.”

“Which Sonia assures me she can help with.”

“You talked to Sonia?” I was starting to get worried again. Why Monday? Why that day in particular? One glance at Kaila told me that her ruse was over, the concern all over her face.

“Mom, I’ve got Monday things too. Sonia can’t finish my briefs for me can she?” She paused contemplatively. For a moment, I thought she might actually be considering asking Sonia to take on some of her work.

“Please. I know that you are both very busy and successful, but this is important to me. Just give me this one day.”

“
All
day?” Kaila and I spoke almost in tandem.

“Yes. That’s how long the move will take.”

“Move?” Now we were definitely in sync.

“Yes. I’m moving into his house on the North Shore. It’s gorgeous. I’m so excited.” She wasn’t kidding. I could tell from the way she clutched her Bellini with both hands that she was bursting with enthusiasm for this mystery architect. For a moment, she reminded me of a small child talking about the first day of school.

“You’ve seen it?” Kaila asked. All of her former enthusiasm was wiped clean.

“No. Just pictures that he’s shown me. Ever since I got back, it’s just been packing, packing, packing. In fact, if either of your are around this…”

“Hold up Mom.” I put a finger up, feeling like the real mother at the table. “Why? Why moving in so fast? How well do you really know this guy?”

“We spent nearly the entire trip together. I’d say well enough to know I love him.”

“What? Mom, please can we just start from the beginning?” I pressed my fingers to my temple, trying to not be a buzz kill and failing spectacularly.

“Ok. Well, we first met at baggage claim. We’d been on the same flight from Boston and were two of the only people traveling alone to Vegas. He made a joke about that and helped me get my bag off the belt. We parted ways and that might have been it, but we saw each other again that night. We were staying in the
same hotel
. Can you believe it?”

“No.” Kaila gazed dreamily at mom. She was sucking her in. It wasn’t going to work on me.