Gretchen turned to Addison at the reception desk. “How does my afternoon look?”
Addison cleared her throat and clicked the mouse a couple of times. “You have appointments at two-thirty and four.”
“See? Plenty of time,” her mother said.
“I’ll get your purse,” Addison offered. While she walked back to Gretchen’s office, Gretchen slipped into her own coat and gloves. Addison returned a moment later and handed Gretchen her bag. “You want anything from ToeBeans?” Gretchen asked her.
“No, thanks.”
Gretchen followed her mom outside onto the sidewalk. They walked in silence for a block before her mother said, “This is a cute neighborhood.”
Gretchen stopped short. “Okay. Who are you and what have you done with my mother?”
“What do you mean?”
“A cute neighborhood? Do you not see the tattoo parlor? The art gallery with the nude sculpture in the window?”
“Of course I see them.”
“That is not your idea of cute.”
“I’m trying to make conversation. Now, come on, I’m cold.”
Gretchen started walking again. The theme to the Twilight Zone played softly in her head. “Yes, it’s a cute neighborhood,” she finally said. “I love it here.”
“And your apartment is close by, right?”
“Just a couple of minutes away.”
“Well, you’ll have to show me that too.”
“My apartment?”
“Yes.”
“Mom, seriously. What is going on? Are you dying or something?”
To her utter surprise, her mother barked out an uncharacteristic laugh. “No.”
“Dad? Is Dad dying?”
“No! Gretchen, for God’s sake.”
“The business is going under, and you’re here to tell me that you’re about to go full Schitt’s Creek.”
Her mother laughed again and shook her head. “Are you truly that cynical?”
“You’ve met me, right?”
“I just wanted to come see where you work and live.”
“After seven years?”
“It hasn’t been that long, has it?”
Yes. Seven years. That’s how long Gretchen had lived and worked in this neighborhood, and neither one of her parents had ever come to see it. “Well, this is it. Where I work and live.” Gretchen pointed to the café on the corner. “And that’s ToeBeans.”
The cafe was even busier at lunch than in the morning. A line of people waiting to order stretched to the doorway, and another cluster of a half-dozen people waited by the counter for their to-go food. Nearly every table was full. If she could pull it off, Gretchen would try to film her mother’s reaction to—gasp—having to wait for so long to be served.
But then Alexis spotted them, and she marched over in mock annoyance. Today she wore a Christmas scarf braided through her long hair. “How many times do I have to tell you?”
“I know. Friends don’t wait.” Gretchen smiled. “Um, this is my mom, Diane.”
“So nice to meet you.” Alexis beamed. Sincerity oozed from her voice because Alexis did everything with sincerity and generosity. “Grab a table, and I’ll be over in a minute to take your order.”
Gretchen didn’t bother arguing this time because her mother had already thanked Alexis profusely and was heading toward a table by the window.
“This is charming,” Diane said, lowering daintily into one of the hard-backed wooden chairs.
“Alexis has worked really hard.”
The small bistro table was only big enough for the two of them. A vase with a small arrangement of holly and berries was in the center. Wedged between the salt and pepper grinders were two thin menus.
“What do you recommend?” her mother asked.
“Everything is good here, but I like the chicken salad sandwich and the cream of asparagus soup.”
“Well, that’s what I’ll get too.”
The Twilight Zone theme played louder. “Don’t you want to know what’s in it?”
“If you like it, I’m sure I will too.”
Something was definitely going on. Her mother practically demanded a list of ingredients for everything she ordered because Lord knows there would be hidden calories just waiting to attach themselves to her slim, Pilates-toned hips.
“The sandwich has mayonnaise in it,” Gretchen said.
“Sounds wonderful.”
“And I’m pretty sure the soup is loaded with butter.”