She owned that look before it became trendy. She’s paired her clingy black top, cinched with a silver chain-link belt, with slinky leggings and black ankle boots. The woman defies age. Her dyed blonde hair—obviously it’s dyed, she likes to say with a knowing grin—is cut pixie-short.
She rises from her spot at the restaurant bar, embracing me then turning to Leo and clasping his shoulders. “Look at you.”
“How do I look?”
“Like someone we need to see more of.”
Leo laughs then drops a kiss to her cheek. “Pleased to see you again, Miss Diamond.”
She waves a hand affectionately. “Oh, I love you. Thank you for calling me ‘Miss.’”
“You forbade me long ago to ever call you ‘ma’am’ or ‘madam’ or ‘Mrs.’”
“And you remembered.”
He taps his skull. “Your daughter makes me work my brain.”
My mom turns to me with an approving nod. “And I made her work hers, even when watching TV.”
I hold up a finger to make a point. “Especially when watching TV.”
She shifts instantly into professorial mode. “When you watch it with a critical eye, you can study people, psychology, and human interaction. More so, we can understand the images that shape our world and perception.”
“Have I mentioned my mother teaches media and culture?” I tease.
“I had no idea,” Leo jokes.
“I can go on and on, and I will. Just giving you fair warning. But, Leo, just call me Tabitha.”
He nods. “I’ll do that . . . Tabitha.”
She smiles, gathers her bag, closes her tab, and gestures to a table. “Come, sit. The host held us this table when Lulu told me you were coming.”
“Thanks for letting me crash your dinner.”
“You’re the kind of dinner crasher I welcome.”
“And what kind is that, Mom?” I take my seat in one of the bright blue chairs at the table.
My mom winks. “Someone who’s entertaining. I can’t abide boring dinner guests. That’s my hard limit.”
“It’s good to have standards,” Leo says dryly.
She drums her short, unpolished fingernails on the table as she looks at Leo. “Tell me everything. How have you been? How is work? How’s life?”
The two of them chat after the waiter drops by to take our drink order, and I listen, enjoying the ease of their interaction, enjoying, too, that Leo thanks the waiter and so does my mom. They dive right into conversation, volleying with a steady cadence. When appetizers arrive, my mom tastes the shrimp and rolls her eyes. “You have to try this.”
I take a bite, and it melts on my tongue. “Fantastic.”
She holds out her fork to Leo. “And you.”
“Delicious.”
Between courses, she returns her focus to Leo. “How is your mom doing? Is she still making the most beautiful arrangements of irises and lilies in all of Philadelphia? When I led a symposium there a few years ago, I stopped by and ordered a bouquet from her to thank the organizers. She looked lovely and well.”
Leo smiles warmly. “She’s great. She mentioned you’d stopped by. She said, and I quote, ‘Lulu’s mom is a total delight, and I can see why you—’” Leo slams the brakes on that word, then takes a sharp right. “‘I can see why Lulu is the way she is.’”
I stare at him quizzically, as if I can will him to say what he intended, but his eyes are impassive.
My mother laughs, sets a hand on my arm, and squeezes. “Lulu is the way she is because she’s an amazing woman.”
“Raised by an amazing woman,” I add, but even as they chat more, my brain keeps snagging on his unfinished sentence—I can see why you . . .
Why he what?
“What is she up to now?” my mother inquires.
“She retired a year ago, along with my dad. I helped them pay off their mortgage, so they don’t have to worry about that.”
My heart warms instantly. “Leo,” I say softly.
“What?”
“That’s so sweet.”
“Your parents must be so proud of you,” my mother chimes in. “That’s a very lovely gift to give them. The gift of no longer worrying.”
“It’s the least I could do.”
