Mom & Me Four Archive

    The evening went so well that just a few minutes ago, before Mom retired (her light is still on, though...she was fairly jazzed, even when she went to bed; my guess is that it'll be on for another half hour or so) she said, "So. What're we gonna do tomorrow?"
    "Good question, Mom. What do you want to do? Should we do some window shopping and hit one of those courtyard restaurants for lunch?"
    "Hmmm...well, we'll see."
    "Do you have any suggestions?"
    "Let me think about it. I'll tell you in the morning."
    Tomorrow, though, promises rain. Every day, lately, has promised rain but it hasn't occurred. Tomorrow, though, it looks likely, especially since the clouds are hanging low tonight and it's significantly warmer than it has been the last few nights. If the weather is heavy, even if we, in this specific area, don't get rain, I doubt that she'll want to go out.

    Anyway, although the restaurant was loud for the first half hour after we arrived, which bothered Mom because it confuses her tired ears, although it was crowded, although it was difficult for her to get to our booth because the only one left was next to a large family partying up two birthdays and their chairs sprawled into the already narrow aisle, although for the first 15 minutes Mom was a little miffed and mentioned that "this wasn't the way [she] remembered it," once we were settled she was in her element.
    In the booth next to us was a sweet, small girl who stood on the seat, next to her mother, facing us, and chatted us up: Marley, two, "soon" to be three, showing off her bracelet, talking about food, waving her unusually long fingers because I'd commented that she had "beautiful hands", offering us an unintelligible song she'd recently learned. Once their food arrived and her mother turned her to eating, my mother noticed that the party next to us had turned a dour shade of drunk, which delighted her, as this made for an excellent guess-gossip topic.
    It took her awhile to decide what she wanted. She chose a full rack of ribs, even though the waitress and I suggested the half rack. I'll be damned if she didn't put away every last bit of food, including the beans, the fries, the cole slaw and her root beer. When we'd finished eating and the restaurant had emptied and quieted, I indulged her love of "just sitting", looking around, observing people, commenting on the activity and environment, it was a pleasant evening. Except...
    ...weirdest thing. I was about halfway through my "Mexican Fiesta Salad", which wasn't Mexican and certainly not festive but it was the only hefty dinner salad that looked like it would go well with a chopped chicken breast and included a variety of vegetables (I'm not a fan of Applebee's food). Mom decided she needed several more wet wipes, since she was using them as napkins instead of using the pile of napkins she'd been provided and saving her two wet wipes until after dinner. I signaled the waitress, who arrived within seconds, asking, "What can I do for you ladies?"
    I looked up at her and without warning my eyes welled with tears, trust me, they were not tears of joy, which immediately gushed down my cheeks. The waitress stepped back and stared at me. I shrugged my shoulders, held up my index finger in a silent request that she wait for a second while I controlled my out-of-order self, brushed away those tears that hadn't dripped off my face, smiled crookedly to show her that I was as surprised by my behavior as she, then choked out my mother's request. Both the waitress and I looked furtively at my mother. She was lost in her ribs and didn't notice, thank the gods. The waitress returned with several wet wipes and held them above the table, waiting for me to take them from her hand. I felt a piece of paper beneath, on which she had written, "Is there anything I can do to help?"
    A laugh warped by yet another surge of tears erupted from my throat. I nodded my head, grabbed a pen from my purse and scribbled on the other side of the paper, "Yes. You can trade lives with me tonight and take care of my mother while I cover your shift."
    She read it, looked at me and the two of us burst out laughing. She offered me a high five, which I enthusiastically returned, grasped my shoulder, leaned into me and said, "I gotcha covered, girl."
    My mother noticed the merriment, of course. She sat, holding a half scoured rib above her plate, staring at me as the waitress moved to her next table. "What was that about?" she asked.
    "Oh, nothing. Inside joke," I said.
    "Really! Have you been a waitress? I have, too," she said, coaxing me to explain the incident to her.
    "No," then, as an out-of-time video of everything I've ever done for my mother charged through my head and another rush of tears threatened, I corrected, "well, yes, I have."
    My mother returned to her ribs, nodding.
    When we left I tipped the waitress all the extra cash I had, which added up to almost 100% of the cost of our dinner.
    For the rest of the night I was fine, except...
    ...weirdest thing. We were home and settled. Mom was watching the first of two abridged episodes of Sex and the City showing on the channel on which she'd just watched the news. I'd finished the evening chores and stretched on the sofa like a Roman after a banquet, scanning the screen to catch up. It happened again. The last of the night's spontaneous torrent of tears. I let them flow. They lasted for maybe a minute. Before they stopped, though, The Little Girl, the oldest of my beloved cats, moved in front of my face from her position above my head, examined my cheeks, then licked off the tears. I hadn't been sobbing, but my malaise must have been tangible. Although she's seen me cry, many times, her reaction tonight was a first. She worked over my face until it was clean.
    Cats don't accept tips. They only accept devotion. Mine to her redoubled tonight.
    Later.