trying to act perturbed, but she seemed more amused than irritated.
'Luc wants grandchildren, I take it?'
'Of course.'
I could picture Tien throwing her hands in the air. If she wasn't holding the receiver in one.
'After all,' she continued, 'everyone else has them.'
Not me. Not yet. And, when your only offspring is a gay male, maybe never. But that was OK with me, if it was OK with Eric. 'Sounds like peer pressure.'
'That's what I told him. All those "if everyone jumped off a building, would you do it?" lectures are coming back to haunt him.' Then her voice changed. 'Umm. Not that having kids is like jumping off a cliff, of course.'
Yeah. Like Tien had to worry about offending me. 'At three a.m., with a colicky baby and a job to leave for in three more hours, it sure can feel that way.'
She laughed. 'So, how's this? I won't show up before closing tonight. I'll arrive more like midnight or one a.m. and get my baking done, put together sandwiches and maybe make soup. Then I'll be able to help after you get in at six.'
'I can't tell you how much I appreciate this, Tien.'
'Maggy, it'll be fun.'
I hung up the phone thinking I didn't deserve her. Before I could start pondering less pleasant things I also didn't deserve, I heard a commotion out front.
Enter the soccer moms.
At the original Uncommon Grounds, the group had staked out their favorite tables, even their favorite seats around same. On this occasion, though – the soccer moms' first visit to our new location – you'd think we'd just shanghaied them to another planet.
Ten minutes, minimum, for the ladies to decide on a table. And I thought they'd never find the condiment cart and napkins.
'Maggy, just lovely,' one of them said, as she went to open the door to finally leave. Since Caron had, in the first incarnation of Uncommon Grounds, a better memory for names than me, I'd never bothered to differentiate among 'the moms'. The whole group knew me, though.
This mom dropped her voice. 'I thought we'd be here yesterday, but with all the unpleasantness. . .' Hands held out and a shrug.
Yes. Death could be so . . . inconvenient. Especially for the dead guy. Or gal, in this case.
'Well, I'm glad you made it this morning,' I said, genuinely meaning it, despite the fact that I sometimes (OK, often) make fun of their foibles. The group had sought us out in our new location, and I really was very grateful. 'Thanks so much.'
I went to close the door behind her, but it was pulled out of my hands.
'Sorry, Maggy,' Jerome said.
He wasn't carrying his camera today, but he did arrive with Kate McNamara, more's the pity.
'C'mon in,' I said, circling back to my post behind the service window. 'What would you like?'
'Answers.' Kate slapped a five on the counter.
I pushed it back. 'I refused to be bought for a ten yesterday.'
'This is for the coffee.' She shoved it again. 'I don't pay for information.'
'Kate has journalistic ethics,' Jerome said.
'And,' Sarah whispered in my ear, 'no slush fund for informants, I'll bet.'
'OK,' I said to Kate. 'Let's start with the coffee and forget about the answers.' And, please, God, everything else that had happened over the last two days – at least until I could get home for a decent glass of wine, a good think, and a better cry. 'Jerome? What can I get you?'
'Coffee. Black.'
'Really? When did you start drinking the stuff straight?'
The hardbitten videographer waggled his head. 'All right, I'm outed. Iced mocha, extra whipped cream.'
'Cherry?'
He looked at Kate, who rolled her eyes, before he said, 'Sure.'
I'd plop on two.
'And you?'
'Coffee. Black.' Kate threw Jerome a withering look.
Sarah reached for the pot on a bottom burner of the coffee brewer, but I redirected her to one on top.
Again she whispered in my ear, 'But should we use that? Hasn't it been sitting too long?'
'Of course. And who else would we serve it to?'
I slid the inky brew over to Kate. As I feared, instead of carrying it to a table, she stayed
'Luc wants grandchildren, I take it?'
'Of course.'
I could picture Tien throwing her hands in the air. If she wasn't holding the receiver in one.
'After all,' she continued, 'everyone else has them.'
Not me. Not yet. And, when your only offspring is a gay male, maybe never. But that was OK with me, if it was OK with Eric. 'Sounds like peer pressure.'
'That's what I told him. All those "if everyone jumped off a building, would you do it?" lectures are coming back to haunt him.' Then her voice changed. 'Umm. Not that having kids is like jumping off a cliff, of course.'
Yeah. Like Tien had to worry about offending me. 'At three a.m., with a colicky baby and a job to leave for in three more hours, it sure can feel that way.'
She laughed. 'So, how's this? I won't show up before closing tonight. I'll arrive more like midnight or one a.m. and get my baking done, put together sandwiches and maybe make soup. Then I'll be able to help after you get in at six.'
'I can't tell you how much I appreciate this, Tien.'
'Maggy, it'll be fun.'
I hung up the phone thinking I didn't deserve her. Before I could start pondering less pleasant things I also didn't deserve, I heard a commotion out front.
Enter the soccer moms.
At the original Uncommon Grounds, the group had staked out their favorite tables, even their favorite seats around same. On this occasion, though – the soccer moms' first visit to our new location – you'd think we'd just shanghaied them to another planet.
Ten minutes, minimum, for the ladies to decide on a table. And I thought they'd never find the condiment cart and napkins.
'Maggy, just lovely,' one of them said, as she went to open the door to finally leave. Since Caron had, in the first incarnation of Uncommon Grounds, a better memory for names than me, I'd never bothered to differentiate among 'the moms'. The whole group knew me, though.
This mom dropped her voice. 'I thought we'd be here yesterday, but with all the unpleasantness. . .' Hands held out and a shrug.
Yes. Death could be so . . . inconvenient. Especially for the dead guy. Or gal, in this case.
'Well, I'm glad you made it this morning,' I said, genuinely meaning it, despite the fact that I sometimes (OK, often) make fun of their foibles. The group had sought us out in our new location, and I really was very grateful. 'Thanks so much.'
I went to close the door behind her, but it was pulled out of my hands.
'Sorry, Maggy,' Jerome said.
He wasn't carrying his camera today, but he did arrive with Kate McNamara, more's the pity.
'C'mon in,' I said, circling back to my post behind the service window. 'What would you like?'
'Answers.' Kate slapped a five on the counter.
I pushed it back. 'I refused to be bought for a ten yesterday.'
'This is for the coffee.' She shoved it again. 'I don't pay for information.'
'Kate has journalistic ethics,' Jerome said.
'And,' Sarah whispered in my ear, 'no slush fund for informants, I'll bet.'
'OK,' I said to Kate. 'Let's start with the coffee and forget about the answers.' And, please, God, everything else that had happened over the last two days – at least until I could get home for a decent glass of wine, a good think, and a better cry. 'Jerome? What can I get you?'
'Coffee. Black.'
'Really? When did you start drinking the stuff straight?'
The hardbitten videographer waggled his head. 'All right, I'm outed. Iced mocha, extra whipped cream.'
'Cherry?'
He looked at Kate, who rolled her eyes, before he said, 'Sure.'
I'd plop on two.
'And you?'
'Coffee. Black.' Kate threw Jerome a withering look.
Sarah reached for the pot on a bottom burner of the coffee brewer, but I redirected her to one on top.
Again she whispered in my ear, 'But should we use that? Hasn't it been sitting too long?'
'Of course. And who else would we serve it to?'
I slid the inky brew over to Kate. As I feared, instead of carrying it to a table, she stayed
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