if you’re not hungry, I might as well get what I want.”
“Gross!” Predictably, Annette was on her feet in a flash. “You can’t order from there.” But instead of protesting that she hated their pizza, which was what Leslie expected, Annette had a completely different issue. “Scott Sexton does their deliveries now, so you can’t order from there! I’ll die! Scott Sexton! ”
Scott Sexton. Leslie didn’t know why she was shocked that her daughter knew the name of a boy who had to be a good three years older than her—given that he even had a job which required him to drive around—much less that she knew where he worked.
This was puberty. Be still, my intrepid heart.
“So?” Leslie said, pretending to be unaware of the reason for Annette’s objection. “Was he mean to you at school or something?”
Annette flushed crimson. “No, he doesn’t even know...you can’t, you just can’t,” she insisted, unusually furious. “I won’t let you. I won’t even be here if you do.”
The devil in Leslie was tempted to order form Macetti’s and insist that Scott did indeed make the delivery—just to see what he looked like, maybe assess her daughter’s burgeoning taste in teenage boys—but for tonight, she’d let it go.
The La Perla bra had already done more than double duty. It was owed a nice soak in her gentle washables detergent.
“Well, if you don’t vote, you can’t count on anything,” she said and returned to the kitchen. “That’s what my father always said.”
“I thought he said that if you didn’t vote, you couldn’t complain.”
“It’s pretty much the same, don’t you think? And I like pizza.”
Annette was right behind Leslie, fuming. “Not Macetti’s, then. Get Domino’s.”
“But we should support a local business over a big chain.” Leslie couldn’t resist teasing her, as Matt would have done. “That’s what your father always says.”
“Well, he’s not here. And if you order from Macetti’s, I’ll hate you forever.”
“Here I’d thought that I was already in that club,” Leslie said. “Maybe there’s hope for an enduring maternal bond with the fruit of my womb yet.”
Annette braced to go at it again, but for the sake of world peace—or an approximation of it in this particular corner of Eden—Leslie made a compromise suggestion. They could both do with some vegetables, though she wouldn’t get them into Annette without a few carbs.
Like noodles.
“So, how about Vietnamese instead?”
* * *
“Hey, you’re not going to wake up tomorrow if you keep this up.” The bartender gave Matt a nudge. “Don’t you got somewhere to go?”
“Here is working just fine for me.” Matt drained his glass and pushed it toward the bartender.
That man braced his massive elbows on the bar. “Maybe it’s time you squared up with me and went off to bed, my friend.”
“You think I can’t hold my booze?”
“I think you’re holding enough for a good four or five men your size.”
“I’m not that small.”
“No, you’re tall, but you’re lean, man. You’re the kind that takes it on good at the beginning, but can’t keep it up.” He framed his considerable paunch in his hands, jiggled it and grinned. “You need bulk to go the distance, and you ain’t got it.”
“Give me another.” Matt looked around and realized that the bar was empty except for the two of them. And it wasn’t nearly as blurry a view as he’d prefer. “Please.”
The bartender leaned on the bar again. “Look at the time. You’re the last person in this place, and I’d like to go home as much as anybody. You don’t need another drink. What you need is a coupla aspirin, a coupla bottles of Perrier, then you won’t hate either one of us in the morning.”
“But...” But I can still taste my wife’s kiss...
“You don’t think I seen lots of drinking in this city? You look like a smart man, a man smart enough to know when to quit.”
“Just one more.”
“Gross!” Predictably, Annette was on her feet in a flash. “You can’t order from there.” But instead of protesting that she hated their pizza, which was what Leslie expected, Annette had a completely different issue. “Scott Sexton does their deliveries now, so you can’t order from there! I’ll die! Scott Sexton! ”
Scott Sexton. Leslie didn’t know why she was shocked that her daughter knew the name of a boy who had to be a good three years older than her—given that he even had a job which required him to drive around—much less that she knew where he worked.
This was puberty. Be still, my intrepid heart.
“So?” Leslie said, pretending to be unaware of the reason for Annette’s objection. “Was he mean to you at school or something?”
Annette flushed crimson. “No, he doesn’t even know...you can’t, you just can’t,” she insisted, unusually furious. “I won’t let you. I won’t even be here if you do.”
The devil in Leslie was tempted to order form Macetti’s and insist that Scott did indeed make the delivery—just to see what he looked like, maybe assess her daughter’s burgeoning taste in teenage boys—but for tonight, she’d let it go.
The La Perla bra had already done more than double duty. It was owed a nice soak in her gentle washables detergent.
“Well, if you don’t vote, you can’t count on anything,” she said and returned to the kitchen. “That’s what my father always said.”
“I thought he said that if you didn’t vote, you couldn’t complain.”
“It’s pretty much the same, don’t you think? And I like pizza.”
Annette was right behind Leslie, fuming. “Not Macetti’s, then. Get Domino’s.”
“But we should support a local business over a big chain.” Leslie couldn’t resist teasing her, as Matt would have done. “That’s what your father always says.”
“Well, he’s not here. And if you order from Macetti’s, I’ll hate you forever.”
“Here I’d thought that I was already in that club,” Leslie said. “Maybe there’s hope for an enduring maternal bond with the fruit of my womb yet.”
Annette braced to go at it again, but for the sake of world peace—or an approximation of it in this particular corner of Eden—Leslie made a compromise suggestion. They could both do with some vegetables, though she wouldn’t get them into Annette without a few carbs.
Like noodles.
“So, how about Vietnamese instead?”
* * *
“Hey, you’re not going to wake up tomorrow if you keep this up.” The bartender gave Matt a nudge. “Don’t you got somewhere to go?”
“Here is working just fine for me.” Matt drained his glass and pushed it toward the bartender.
That man braced his massive elbows on the bar. “Maybe it’s time you squared up with me and went off to bed, my friend.”
“You think I can’t hold my booze?”
“I think you’re holding enough for a good four or five men your size.”
“I’m not that small.”
“No, you’re tall, but you’re lean, man. You’re the kind that takes it on good at the beginning, but can’t keep it up.” He framed his considerable paunch in his hands, jiggled it and grinned. “You need bulk to go the distance, and you ain’t got it.”
“Give me another.” Matt looked around and realized that the bar was empty except for the two of them. And it wasn’t nearly as blurry a view as he’d prefer. “Please.”
The bartender leaned on the bar again. “Look at the time. You’re the last person in this place, and I’d like to go home as much as anybody. You don’t need another drink. What you need is a coupla aspirin, a coupla bottles of Perrier, then you won’t hate either one of us in the morning.”
“But...” But I can still taste my wife’s kiss...
“You don’t think I seen lots of drinking in this city? You look like a smart man, a man smart enough to know when to quit.”
“Just one more.”
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